I was happy enough to sit there in the sunshine and listen. The Scotch was taking care of
my nerves, and she was taking care of my thoughts. For the first time since that car crash I
relaxed.
After a while she said, “But I’m talking too much about myself. What do you do?”
I was expecting that one, and had the answer ready.
“Insurance,” I said. “I’m a leg man for the Pittsburgh General Insurance,”
143
“Do you like it?”
“It’s all right. Like you, I get around.”
“It must pay well if you can stay at the casino.”
I had to get that straightened out at once.
“I promised myself I’d live like a millionaire for a couple of days, and I’ve saved for years
to pull it off. Well, this is it, but I’ll be moving into the town on Tuesday.”
“Do you like being a millionaire?”
“There’s nothing like it.”
“That’s the last thing I’d want to be.”
“Well, I guess I’ve never had enough money,” I said, surprised at her emphatic tone. “It’s
my greatest ambition to get my hands on a roll and spend it. The casino is a kind of dress
rehearsal.”
“You mean really big money?” She was looking at me with interest.
“You bet I mean big money.”
“Well, how will you get it?”
That stopped me. I suddenly realized I was talking too much.
“I haven’t an idea. It’s all a pipe-dream, of course. Maybe someone will die and leave me a
fortune.” I didn’t get the joke over, and I noticed she looked curiously at me.
I was floundering around to change the subject when she remembered they were giving a
recording of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony on the radio.
“Toscanini is conducting,” she said. “Could you bear it?”
“Go ahead.”
I had never heard Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony; for that matter I had never heard any
symphony, and I had only the vaguest idea what it was all about. But when the music came
pouring out into the sunlit silence, its richness and its surging onrush had me gripping my
chair. And when it was finally over, Virginia leaned forward and shut off the radio and
looked at me enquiringly.
144
“Well?”
“I’ve never heard anything like that before,” I said. “I’ve steered clear of that kind of
music. I thought it was only for highbrows.”
“Does that mean you liked it?”
“I don’t know about that. It did something to me, if that’s anything. All that sound, the
movement, the way that fella built it up - well, I guess it was something.”
“Like some more?”
“Is there any?”
“I have records inside. The Ninth’s even better. The choral’ll make your hair stand on end.”
“Then I’d like to hear it.”
She stood up.
“Come and help me load up. I’ve one of these record-changing gadgets.”
I followed her into the big lounge: a comfortable, well-furnished room, full of books and
water-colours I guessed were hers.
Against the wall was a massive radiogram, and by it a cabinet full of records.
“Is this place yours?” I asked, looking round.
“Oh, yes, but I don’t come here often. I don’t get the chance. When I’m not here I rent it to
a girl friend who writes novels. She’s in New York right now, but she’ll be back in a couple
of weeks.”
“And where will you be?”
“Anywhere. I might be in China, for all I know.”
That was a disturbing thought.
“But you’re here for a couple of weeks?”
“Possibly three.”
She loaded the record holder, putting on Beethoven’s Ninth and the Eroica.
145
She sat on the settee away from the radiogram and I sat in an armchair near the open
casement windows where I could see the beach.
She was right about the choral in the Ninth. It did make my hair stand on end. When the
Eroica came to an end she loaded the record holder with a symphony by Mendelssohn and
another by Schubert, saying she wanted me to hear the differences in their technique.
It was getting on for seven o’clock by the time we were through playing records, and that
still gave me five more hours before midnight.
“You wouldn’t care to go some place for dinner?” I asked. “Nowhere very grand. I don’t
want to go back and change. But maybe you’ve a date, or something.”
I waited for her to turn me down, but she didn’t.
“Have you been to Raul’s yet?”
“No. Where’s that?”
“Oh, it’s part of your education to go to Raul’s. It’s on the waterfront. Let’s go. It’s fun.”
We went to Raul’s in her Lincoln convertible. It was a small Greek restaurant full of lighted
fish tanks set in the walls, plush seats and gilt-framed mirrors.
Raul himself, a fat, cheerful Greek, waited on us. He said he knew just what we’d like. He
didn’t consult us, and started us with bean soup, then turtle steaks and young asparagus
shoots and baked guava duff to follow.
While we ate, we talked. Don’t ask me what we talked about. All I can remember was she
was the easiest person in the world to talk to, and there wasn’t one moment’s silence during
the whole meal.
We went on the verandah, overlooking the waterfront, and had coffee and brandy, and
talked some more. By the time we had finished the coffee I was calling her Ginny and she
was calling me Johnny. It seemed like we had known each other for years.
Later we walked along the waterfront and watched the fishing-boats going out for a night’s
fishing. She told me she had gone out in one of them the last time she was in Lincoln Beach.
“You must go, Johnny,” she said. “Out beyond the bar the water is phosphorous. It’s like
sailing through a sea of fire. And the fish are phosphorous, too, and when they pull in the
nets, it’s marvellous. Let’s go, Johnny, one night. It’ll be fun, and you’ll love it.”
146
“Why, sure,” I said. “We will. Maybe you can …” I broke off as a street clock not far away
started to chime, and I stood still, counting the chimes, and each stroke was like a bang under
the heart with a mail-clad fist.
Ten … eleven … twelve.
“What’s the matter, Johnny?” she asked, looking at me.
“Nothing. I’ve got to get back. I’ve just remembered a very important date …” That was as
far as I could get. It came to me like a punch in the face that for the past eight hours I’d been
living in a pipe-dream.
“I’ll drive you back. We won’t be ten minutes.”
We got into the car. My mouth had dried up and the back of my throat ached, and my heart
was going like a steam-hammer. She must have guessed something was wrong, but she didn’t
ask questions. She drove fast. We reached the casino gates in seven minutes. I knew that
because I kept my eyes glued to the clock on the dashboard.
I got out of the car. My knees were shaking. Reisner, Della and the lion pit were now as
real as the warm wind against my cold, sweating face.
“So long, and thanks,” I said, and my voice croaked. I wanted to say something else, make
a date, let her know how wonderful I thought she was, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Are you in trouble, Johnny?” she asked anxiously.
“No. It’s all right. I’ll look out for you.”
I left her sitting in the car, wide-eyed and startled, and I walked towards the gates of the
casino.
The guards opened them. The one with the green eyes gaped at me, and caught his breath
sharply, but I walked on past him and headed up the long, green-lit carriageway.
IV
I pushed open the door of the cabin and walked in. The radio was playing muted swing, and
every light in the room was on.
Della was lying on the divan, a cigarette between her lips, her face as expressionless as a