I'll Never Be Young Again (34 page)

Undressing together at night, Hesta with a sensitive skin always scratching at herself when she took off her things. ‘I forgot to tell you, the wretched
blanchisseuse
is down with ’flu, what are we going to do about the laundry this week?’ and I, leaning over the wash-basin, my mouth full of rinsing water for my teeth, shrugging my shoulders, then spitting out the water, rattling the brush round the glass: ‘I should ask the daughter to find somebody. ’

Lying in bed, the accustomed warmth of her body, the scent of the eau-de-Cologne she used on her skin, then yawning, settling myself in comfort by her side, caressing her mechanically with one hand. ‘Remind me to get that book in the morning,’ and she: ‘Oh! so funny. I saw one of the girls from the pension this afternoon; she didn’t see me, though.’

Falling asleep later, she on her side, me on my face, neither of us moving much, used to each other’s positions.

Sitting down to a meal at the Coupole, and glancing at an English paper, crumbling up her bread when I had finished my own.‘You know, darling, I think this place is going off, the service is shocking,’ then she leaving half-way through to be in time for her lesson. ‘Will you remember, Dick, to buy some
chocolat
: we’ve finished it all,’ and I saying ‘All right,’ and going on with my food, following her vaguely with my eyes as she swung through the doors, then looking down at the paper again.

In the evening, cutting work for a while, lounging in a chair, trying to read a French novel and missing half the meaning, with Hesta opposite me, squinting as she threaded a needle, bad at darning a hole in her stocking, sewing it up in a knot.

‘Some of the people are quite amusing this term; another girl and I are going to play duets, and she has a brother who composes.’

‘Really?’

‘It’s much more fun if one knows just two or three of them. I never bothered before, I don’t know why.’

What was the meaning of
crépuscule
? I never could remember. I couldn’t bother with a dictionary.

‘There’s rather an intriguing person who is quite new. The Professor says he is brilliant, he’s a violinist, but I haven’t heard him play. I bumped into him in the corridor yesterday. He gave me a sinister look.’

‘What does
crépuscule
mean, darling?’

‘Twilight, I think. There’s a dictionary somewhere. This queer man is Spanish, I believe, but he spoke English all right - he said “I’m very sorry” without an accent.’

‘Fancy,’ I yawned.

‘Oh! Wanda, the duet girl, asked me to go back with her tomorrow evening and stay for some supper, and practise together. Is that all right?’

‘Sure, sweetheart.’

‘I won’t be late, anyway. I believe, though, they’re giving some party at the end of the week, she and her brother; they’ve asked me to it. It might be fun.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s not as if we go out much,’ she said.

I turned over two or three pages of the book. There was a lot of description that did not matter.

‘Oh! rather, you’ll enjoy it,’ I said, reaching for a cigarette, not listening much.

She bit off a piece of cotton with her teeth and I went on reading the book.

 

The novel was finished, I read it and re-read it, and copied out pages that were scratched and dirty, and then laid all the pages on top of one another, and slipped a large india-rubber band round the whole of it. It looked grand. I put it carefully away beside my play.

I remember standing up and stretching myself, and then going over and leaning against the mantelpiece. My heart was beating, and my hands were trembling for no reason. There had never been anything like the thrill of writing the last word, of drawing a line at the bottom, of blotting the page. The breaking up of tension, the culmination of excitement, the supreme effort of that final word.

‘That’s that,’ I said aloud to myself, ‘that’s that.’ I was excited. I was happy. I wanted to walk swiftly somewhere with the wind in my face.

‘Anyway, I’ve done it,’ I thought; ‘whatever happens, I’ve done it.’

I felt as though I were tall, way up above everyone else. It would not matter what they said to me. I would go on alone in my own way. There was my father standing in a group of men, and one of them said to him: ‘It is really your son who has written this?’ and he, looking from one to the other, rousing himself from his lethargy, a little confused: ‘Yes, I believe so - Yes, it is Richard.’

Then I would come walking into the room and stand before him. Pictures leaping and thrusting themselves into my mind. I stood before the mantelpiece, lost in my dreams, and the door opened, and it was Hesta.

‘Hullo,’ she said, ‘I’m back early, aren’t I? What’s wrong with you? Is the book being a nuisance?’

I tried to be casual, I tried to hide my smile. ‘It’s finished,’ I said.

‘Darling - how clever of you.’ She came across to me and kissed me, and then wandered into the next room. I thought it would be different from this. I was aware of a little blank sensation. I followed her into the bedroom.

‘What’s the rush?’ I said.

‘Wanda and the rest are coming to pick me up,’ she said; ‘we’re dining and going to a concert. Out of the way, sweet; I want to get at my other dress.’

I stood aside while she fumbled with her things.

‘You didn’t tell me you were going out?’ I said.

‘H’m, darling, I did. I told you this morning. You must have forgotten.’

I wandered about while she changed.

‘You’re very thick with these people,’ I said.

‘Well, they’re amusing, I can’t help liking them. Where’s my belt? Oh! darling, have you seen my belt?’

‘There it is, on the floor.’

‘I never can find a thing in this room.’

‘Will you be late?’ I said.

‘I don’t know. It all depends. Don’t wait up for me.’

‘I shan’t sleep till you get back.’

‘Oh yes, of course you will. You’ll be tired with your book.’

‘How many of you are there?’ I said.

‘Wanda and her brother, and a divine couple of Hungarians and Julio.’

‘Who?’

‘Oh! you know, Dick, the violinist man; I’ve often told you about him.’

‘I don’t remember,’ I said.

‘Yes, darling, I have.You don’t listen. Look out, you’re treading on my other shoe.’

‘Is he in love with you?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said.

‘Is he?’

‘Of course not. Do I look all right? Do you like this hat?’

‘Why do you never wear bérets now?’ I said.

‘I’m sick of them. I don’t feel like them any more. Say you like the hat,’ she said.

‘I don’t know. I suppose it’s all right. It looks queer, right off your face.’

‘It’s the fashion,’ she said.

‘You never used to worry about fashion. Why do you have to put all that red on your lips? That’s new for you.’

‘You are personal, all of a sudden. I like red lips, they suit me,’ she said.

‘Who says so?’

‘Oh! Wanda and people.’

‘Do you have to go by them?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Darling, how trying you are!’

‘It’s not like you, it’s like any other girl one sees. Red lips, hat off your face. You had a thing of your own. Why spoil it?’

‘You don’t understand, Dick, you’ve got so used to me dressed anyhow. You don’t appreciate me like this.’

‘I don’t know.’ I kicked my heels on the floor. There was a taxi blowing a hooter repeatedly in the street below.

‘There they are,’ said Hesta, ‘I must dash.’

‘What a filthy row,’ I said; ‘where are you going in the taxi?’

‘We’re dining in Paris, some new place Wanda knows. Good-bye, darling, have some dinner, and look after yourself.’

I stood by the window and watched her get into the taxi. Some fool of a man was in the street, his hat in his hand, and he was smoking a cigarette through a long holder. He took hold of Hesta by her arm and laughed down in her face. Bloody cheek. They climbed in the taxi and it drove away. I wandered back into the other room, bored, irritable, kicking at the floor. I did not see why she had to go out with those fools. I wanted her to be with me, happy, and talking about things. It was damn selfish of her. She had spoilt all the excitement now of having finished my book. It was a week now to Christmas. I thought I would wait until after the New Year and then go over to London and see about finding a publisher to read my book, and perhaps give his opinion on the play at the same time. I was not sure yet how I should go about this business. I might send the MS. to house after house, and it would be returned to me because it had not been properly read. Even if I had a personal interview with the head of the firm, I could not be certain he would go through the book himself. These publishers must be constantly bothered with unknown writers, making claims upon their time.

Yet I wanted to win through on my own merits; I hated the idea of trading on my father’s name, of getting my things read just because I was his son. It was all very difficult, I resolved not to decide anything before I arrived in London.

I asked Hesta what we were going to do about Christmas. Now that I had finished the book and was no longer working we could surely celebrate in some way.

‘What do you think, darling?’ I said.

‘I don’t know, whatever you suggest,’ she said. She was sitting on the floor in the sitting-room, putting some pink stuff on her nails.

‘That looks queer for you,’ I told her.

She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. ‘Hands are very important,’ she said.

‘You oughtn’t to have long nails when you play the piano,’ I said.

‘My piano-playing doesn’t mean much these days,’ she said.

‘Aren’t you really keen any more?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t think about it much. What were you saying?’

‘Oh! about Christmas. Where shall we go, darling?’

‘Go?’

‘Yes. Barbizon or the sea? It’s all the same to me.’

‘Do we have to go away, Dick?’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Well - Paris is fun in itself. I can’t see there’s much point in shivering at the sea somewhere, or mooning about in Barbizon.’

‘Oh!’

‘What do you think?’ she said.

‘Darling, I thought you loved Barbizon.’

‘So I do, in the summer. Not now. How long did you want to go for, anyway?’

‘As long as we liked. Spend Christmas and the New Year.’

‘I see.’

‘You don’t seem keen, darling,’ I said.

‘Well, darling, I don’t know. Of course I had planned one or two amusing things. Wanda is giving a party on New Year’s Eve, and we had thought of motoring somewhere Boxing Day. They suggested you should come too.’

‘Very kind of them.’

‘Don’t be sniffy, sweet. They’re terribly good fun, and they’d love you to come.’

‘I don’t care about it.’

‘Yes, you would, you’d adore it once you got to know them properly. It would be such fun, all of us together.You’d like Wanda, she’s very attractive.’

‘I’ve seen her, I don’t rave. All that hair curling down her neck.’

‘Most people think she’s beautiful.’

‘They can have her, then.’

‘Oh! darling, you’ve got on your screwed-up grumpy face. I have to kiss you when you look like that.’

I had to take my handkerchief and wipe my face after kissing her now. She would leave great marks of red from her lips.

‘Hesta.’

‘What is it?’

‘Put your arms round me.’

‘Suddenly like this?’

‘Yes.’

‘This doesn’t happen very often,’ she said.

‘I want it to happen now.’

She laughed, digging her nails in me, biting the corner of my ear.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Why?’

‘Be like you used to be, still, just holding me. I hate this new stunt of yours.’

‘I can’t help it - I have to do things,’ she said.

‘You ought to let me do them.’

‘Why not both of us?’

We laughed, and I lifted her up from the floor.

‘You’re a wicked woman, darling.’

‘Don’t you like it?’ she said.

‘No.’

‘It’s your fault, all the same.’

‘It’s not.’

‘Yes, it is. You started me.’

‘Oh! darling . . .’

She was very small and light to hold. I kissed her closed eyes.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ I said.

She opened one eye.

‘Let’s go in the other room and see,’ she said.

I gave way about staying in Paris for Christmas. Perhaps she was right, and it would have been dreary at Barbizon.

We went over the other side and had a swell lunch on Christmas Day, and we ate and drank too much. So we had to come back and sleep all the afternoon.

On Boxing Day there was the expedition with these friends of hers to Chantilly. The fellow called Julio had a car, and drove it himself. I think he fancied himself at the wheel. I did not take to him much. Hesta sat in front with him, and I at the back with Wanda and another Hungarian girl. The girl’s husband and Wanda’s brother crouched on the floor. It was absurdly overcrowded, I thought we would have an accident. It came to me suddenly that if this had been eighteen months back, I should have been sitting on the hood and shouting, thinking it the grandest fun, longing for a puncture just for the thrill of danger, and here I was now, sober as a judge, between the two women, watching Hesta’s back ahead of me, bored, wondering about my book, thinking all these people were fools and making too much row.

We had lunch at Chantilly, but the château was not open. The fellow called Julio smoked through his amber cigarette-holder and talked a lot of muck about music. The women lapped it up, even Hesta, her chin on her hands, staring at him across the table. I felt hot for them all. I wandered away and had a chat with the old lady who ran the hotel. There was a kid, her grandchild, playing in the courtyard. He was very friendly, and pulled at my hand to show me something. I loved to hear a kid talk French, it sounded so clever. I chucked a ball to him, and he stumbled after it rather unsteadily on fat legs.