But she ignored this little dig. She was frowning,‘deep in her own thoughts:
“If it was very serious, Leo would have rung up and told me …” she murmured at length. And this reflection appeared to ease her mind considerably.
We walked out together to the corner of the street, where Sally picked up a taxi.
“It’s an awful nuisance living so far off,” she said. “I’m probably going to get a car soon.”
“By the way,” she added just as we were parting, “what was it like on Ruegen?”
“I bathed a lot.”
“Well, goodbye, darling, I’ll see you sometime.”
“Goodbye, Sally. Enjoy yourself.”
About a week after this, Sally rang me up: “Can you come round at once, Chris? It’s very important. I want you to do me a favour.” This time, also, I found Sally alone in the flat.
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“Do you want to earn some money, darling?” she greeted me.
“Of course.”
“SplendidI You see, it’s like this… .” She was in a fluffy pink dressing-wrap and inclined to be breathless: “There’s a man I know who’s starting a magazine. It’s going to be most terribly highbrow and artistic, with lots of marvellous modern photographs, ink-pots and girls’ heads upside down you know the sort of thing… . The point is, each number is going to take a special country and kind of review it, with articles about the manners and customs, and all that… . Well, the first country they’re going to do is England and they want me to write an article on the English Girl… . Of course, I haven’t the foggiest idea what to say, so what I thought was: you could write the article in my name and get the moneyI only want not to disoblige this man who’s editing the paper, because he may be terribly useful to me in other ways, later on… .”
“All right, I’ll try.”
“Oh, marvellous!”
“How soon do you want it done?”
“You see, darling, that’s the whole point. I must have it at once… . Otherwise it’s no earthly use, because I promised it four days ago and I simply must give it him this evening. … It needn’t be very long. About five hundred words.”
“Well, I’ll do my best… .”
“Good. That’s wonderful. … Sit down wherever you like. Here’s some paper. You’ve got a pen? Oh, and here’s a dictionary, in case there’s a word you can’t spell… . I’ll just be having my bath.”
When, three-quarters of an hour later, Sally came in dressed for the day, I had finished. Frankly, I was rather pleased with my effort.
She read it through carefully, a slow frown gathering between her beautifully pencilled eyebrows. When she had finished, she laid down the manuscript with a sigh:
“I’m sorry, Chris. It won’t do at all.”
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“Won’t do?” I was genuinely taken aback.
“Of course, I dare say it’s very good from a literary point of view, and all that… .”
“Well then, what’s wrong with it?”
“Its not nearly snappy enough.” Sally was quite final. “It’s not the kind of thing this man wants, at all.”
I shrugged my shoulders: “I’m sorry, Sally. I did my best. But journalism isn’t really in my line, you know.”
There was a resentful pause. My vanity was piqued.
“My goodness, I know who’ll do it for me if I ask him!” cried Sally, suddenly jumping up. “Why on earth didn’t I think of him before?” She grabbed the telephone and dialled a number: “Oh, hilloo, Kurt darling… .”
In three minutes, she had explained all about the article. Replacing the receiver on its stand, she announced triumphantly: “That’s marvellous! He’s going to do it at once… .” She paused impressively and added: “That was Kurt Rosenthal.”
“Who’s he?”
“You’ve never heard of him?” This annoyed Sally; she pretended to be immensely surprised: “I thought you took an interest in the cinema? He’s miles the best young scenario writer. He earns pots of money. He’s only doing this as a favour to me, of course… . He says he’ll dictate it to his secretary while he’s shaving and then send it straight round to the editor’s flat… . He’s marvellous!”
“Are you sure it’ll be what the editor wants, this time?”
“Of course it will! Kurt’s an absolute genius. He can do anything. Just now, he’s writing a novel in his spare time. He’s so fearfully busy, he can only dictate it while he’s having breakfast. He showed me the first few chapters, the other day. Honestly, I think it’s easily the best novel I’ve ever read.”
“Indeed?”
“That’s the sort of writer I admire,” Sally continued. She was careful to avoid my eye. “He’s terribly ambitious and he works the whole time; and he can write anythinganything you like: scenarios, novels, plays, poetry, advertise—
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ments… . He’s not a bit stuck-up about it either. Not like these young men who, because they’ve written one book, start talking about Art and imagining they’re the most wonderful authors in the world… . They make me sick… ,”
Irritated as I was with her, I couldn’t help laughing:
“Since when have you disapproved of me so violently, Sally?”
“I don’t disapprove of you”but she couldn’t look me in the face“not exactly.”
“I merely make you sick?”
“I don’t know what it is. … You seem to have changed, somehow… .”
“How have I changed?”
“It’s difficult to explain… . You don’t seem to have any energy or want to get anywhere. You’re so dilettante. It annoys me.”
“I’m sorry.” But my would-be facetious tone sounded rather forced. Sally frowned down at her tiny black shoes.
“You must remember I’m a woman, Christopher. All women like men to be strong and decided and following out their careers. A woman wants to be motherly to a man and protect his weak side, but he must have a strong side too, which she can respect. … If you ever care for a woman, I don’t advise you to let her see that you’ve got no ambition. Otherwise she’ll get to despise you.”
“Yes, I see… . And that’s the principle on which you choose your friendsyour new friends?”
She flared up at this:
“It’s very easy for you to sneer at my friends for having good business heads. If they’ve got money, it’s because they’ve worked for it. … I suppose you consider yourself better than they are?”
“Yes, Sally, since you ask meif they’re at all as I imagine themI do.”
“There you go, Christopher! That’s typical of you. That’s what annoys me about you : you’re conceited and lazy. If you say things like that, you ought to be able to prove them.”
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“How does one prove that one’s better than somebody else? Besides, that’s not what I said. I said I considered myself betterit’s simply a matter of taste.”
Sally made no reply. She lit a cigarette, slightly frowning.
“You say I seem to have changed,” I continued. “To be quite frank, I’ve been thinking the same thing about you.”
Sally didn’t seem surprised: “Have you, Christopher? Perhaps you’re right. I don’t know. … Or perhaps we’ve neither of us changed. Perhaps we’re just seeing each other as we really are. We’re awfully different in lots of ways, you know.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that.”
“I think,” said Sally, smoking meditatively, her eyes on her shoes, “that we may have sort of outgrown each other, a bit.”
“Perhaps we have. …” I smiled: Sally’s real meaning was so obvious: “At any rate, we needn’t quarrel about it, need we?”
“Of course not, darling.”
There was a pause. Then I said that I must be going. We were both rather embarrassed, now, and extra polite.
“Are you certain you won’t have a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks awfully.”
“Have some tea? It’s specially good. I got it as a present.”
“No, thanks very much indeed, Sally. I really must be getting along.”