The Lover
It was ten-thirty on a wet morning in January. The telephone boxes were empty on the Piccadilly Circus subway, empty save for one at the right-hand corner by the entrance to Shaftesbury Avenue.
A woman stood there, her lips pressed close to the mouthpiece, the pennies clutched in her hand. She moved impatiently and flung a glance over her shoulder, and rattled the receiver.
“But I’ve repeated the number three times already. I tell you I want Gerrard 10550—Gerrard 10550.”
She bit her lip and tapped her foot nervously on the floor.
“Of course there is somebody there. Will you please ring them again.”
He turned over in bed and reached for a cigarette. He yawned, stretched himself, and fumbled for his dressing-gown. Then he flung aside the bedclothes and strolled over towards his dressing-table.
He ran the comb through his hair and peered at the dark shadows beneath his eyes. His hand wandered towards the bottle of Bromo Seltza. When the telephone rang he frowned, and, making no attempt to answer it, wandered into the bathroom. The steaming water foamed from the taps; his dressing-gown slipped to the floor.
He lay back in his bath, a large sponge pressed to his chest, and watched his pale limbs beneath the water, flabby and mushroom-coloured. The smoke from his cigarette curled towards the ceiling. Still the telephone continued to ring on the little table beside the bed.
“Yes, Gerrard 10550. Can you clear the line again? There must be some mistake.”
The woman’s voice was very weary now, flat, with an added note of supplication. She raised her eyes and read once more the rules for Public Telephone service.
He wrapped himself in a large warm towel and lit another cigarette. The rain splashed against the window. What an infernal row the telephone was making! He padded with bare feet into the bedroom.
“Hullo, what is it? Speak up; I can’t hear a word.”
The woman tilted her hat on the back of her head; her bag fell from her hand and crashed on the floor, spilling her change.
“At last! Oh, heavens, what a morning! Do you know I’ve been waiting here nearly half an hour? Were you asleep?”
“I suppose I was. What a time to ring, anyway! What d’you want?”
“What do you imagine? Don’t you realise I have crept out of the house in this pouring, filthy rain, dressed anyhow, caring for nothing, husband and children waiting at home—only to speak to you. And then because I’ve wakened you up from sleep you snap at me in this beastly way. …”
“Listen,” he said quickly, “if you want to make a scene, go and make it to somebody else and not to me. I mean to say—life’s too short. …”
“Oh! you don’t understand what I am going through because of you! I’m miserable, miserable. I haven’t seen you for five days, and you don’t apparently care.”
“My dear, it’s ridiculous to work yourself into such a state. You know perfectly well I’m terribly busy. I’ve not had a single moment.”
“Where were you last night?”
“I worked until late, if you must know, and then went to bed.”
“How do I know that you’re speaking the truth?” Her voice was hard, suspicious. She could imagine the shrug of his shoulders.
“Oh, hell! If you’re in that sort of mood, goodbye.”
“No, no! I didn’t mean it! Don’t go! I am a fool.” She clung to the receiver as though she was with him.
“Well, damn it! You make things so difficult. What do you think I did?” There was a pause.
The woman fumbled for her handkerchief; she felt her mouth drag at the corner.
“What—what are you doing today?” she began desperately.
“Literally haven’t a moment today,” answered the voice briskly. “I’m up to my eyes in work. I’ve got to finish a story for an American paper.”
“Couldn’t I—couldn’t I come and sit with you?”
“No. I can’t work with anyone round; you must know that by now.”
“What about this evening, or a second for lunch today? I’ve kept it absolutely free, thinking we should be together. I’m going off my head these long, empty days; this endless rain, this never seeing you for one single moment.”
“I’m afraid it’s impossible.”
How far the voice sounded, how distant! If only she could be with him now!
“If you only knew how much I love you!” she said.
He moved restlessly and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.
“Listen. What’s the use of all this? I’ve got to do some work.”
“Then we aren’t going to see each other at all today? I might just as well go away, go abroad, go right away from you. You don’t care if you never see me again; you hate the sight of me; you. …”
The senseless words poured from her mouth.
He closed his eyes wearily and yawned.
“Why go into all that now? You know how I hate scenes—discussions. Why are you complaining? After all, we’ve had a good time; it’s been good fun; we haven’t hurt anybody. What’s the point of all this tangle of nerves?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be tiresome, only it’s never seeing you, never hearing you. Swear you aren’t angry—promise you aren’t angry. You see, I’ve been so unhappy. I’m loathsome, selfish—and you have your work. But if perhaps—loving you as I do—you. …”
“Well, look. I’ll ring some time later in the week. Goodbye.”
She jabbed furiously at the receiver.
“Wait—wait! What are you doing tomorrow at half-past three?”
But there was no reply.
She straightened her hat and wandered uncertainly away.
He rang the bell for the hotel exchange. “I say, if anyone rings again, say I’m working and can’t be disturbed.”
He stood before the window and watched the rain. What an effort it was, this continual being … If one told the truth for one moment there was the devil to pay. Women were a cope—a decided cope. Still, difficult to live without them—one way and another.
He glanced at the letter that had arrived with his breakfast.
“… And I’m so anxious for you to meet him, because he really is the most important publisher today. Naturally, a genius like you will find your feet anyway, but it does help to get in with the right people. Anyway, lunch at one as usual at the same place. No one will recognise me there. Isn’t convention vile? I would like to shout about us from the housetops, and then we have to sneak to our meetings as though we were ashamed of the most marvellous thing in the world.
“Darling, when I think of last night I …”
Good lord! there were three—no, four pages of this. What a woman!
He placed the letter carefully in his notecase. One never knew … All the same, she must not shout things from the housetops. Sort of damn silly thing a woman would do. Still, she did not yet telephone him every hour of the day like the last one. She was very lovely—and very useful.
He wound up the gramophone that she had given him. He supposed he would be able to use her car again today. Impossible to walk a step in this rain. She had suggested giving him a car of his own.
Yes, she really was rather wonderful. He lounged in the chair while the record whispered in his ear:
“And that’s why Chinks do it—Japs do it.”
“Oh, but you look marvellous!” he told her; “marvellous! Shall we take this little table in the corner?—and then there will be no chance of anyone seeing us. Isn’t that a new hat? But, of course, I adore it; I adore everything you wear.”
She felt for his hand under the table and sighed.
“You know, sweetheart, when you talk to me like this I feel like chucking up everything and just going away with you. After all, what does scandal matter? We love each other. I don’t care about losing my money; we could live in a garret, in a-tent.”
He forced a laugh. “Aren’t you wonderful!”
Surely she would never dream of losing her head to such an appalling extent! Women had no sense of proportion at all.
“Just think, you and I starving in a garret,” she went on dreamily.
“Yes, but it would be the action of a cad,” he said quickly. “I should never forgive myself. How could I be so brutal to drag you away from all your comforts and luxury! It would be criminal.”
He struck his fist upon the table. He almost believed it himself.
“No,” he continued gently, “we must try and content ourselves with things as they are. One day—oh, one day …”
He looked into her eyes. He could say this so many times, and it invariably rang true.
“You know,” he said, as he glanced down the menu and chose mixed grill at 1s. 9d.—she might expect him to pay—“you know, I don’t believe any two lovers have ever understood one another as we do. I can’t explain; it’s something that comes from the depths of one—a sympathy, a mutual form of self-expression …”
“I feel it, too,” she answered breathlessly. “I’m sure people have said this before, but they’ve never meant it.”
“Never meant it,” he agreed gravely.
“Whereas with us everything is completely natural; neither of us has to pretend,” she told him.
“That’s what is really so marvellous,” he said. “Have some iced water, darling; the wine here is terrible. No, what I was saying is that no two people have ever loved the same way as we have. It’s so much more than just, you know. Sometimes I feel I could be completely happy if I didn’t touch you, if. …” He saw the cloud come over her face, so he changed his phrase with great presence of mind. “If only one didn’t have a bodily existence it would be comparatively simple; you and I would never go through our agonies of separation. As it is I suffer tortures when we are apart.”
“I know; that’s why we ought to go away,” she broke in.
“No, no—you must not. I will not muck your life.” He spoke firmly, and stuck his fork into his mixed grill. “After all, we are happy in our fashion, aren’t we? We see each other every day; we love each other; and there is no danger. No one will find out.”
“Yes, it’s perfect—but somehow—and since just a few days ago—I want to do so much for you. I want to slave for you; I want to be with you always!”
He had an uneasy pain in the pit of his stomach. Must she still harp on the subject? Was this affair going to be the same as the last one, all over again?
“God! If only I had some money of my own,” he said gloomily. He stuck out his jaw and frowned.
“Money! What does money matter?” she said impatiently. “I hate money! I’d like to give it all away, and for you and I to go away on some old dirty ship.”
He smiled weakly without enthusiasm.
“One day soon we will,” she said.
His spirits sank rapidly.
“Of course there’s no kick in being rich,” he remarked carelessly, “but there’s no doubt it does mean something in this callous world. One gets tired of striving and fighting, and sometimes one thinks, Why write? Why go on? To what end? It’s agony being poor.”
“But, darling, you know that you need never want for anything now you have me. All I have is yours, anything you care to ask for.”
He wondered if she had forgotten about the car she had promised him.
“I can’t go on taking things from you,” he muttered. “You don’t know how it hurts, how terrible it makes me feel.”
“Now you’re silly, you forget we are ‘us,’ and not two other people. Loving each other as we do these things become so simple and so natural. I mean, if our positions were reversed you’d do the same for me. Besides, I adore helping you.”
“Do you? If only I wasn’t so confoundedly proud.”
“Oh! But you’re a genius—no one expects you to understand money. You’re above the sordid material things of life.”
“Um—I suppose I am.” He frowned and drummed with his fingers on the table.
Poor lamb, she thought, how artistic he is, how temperamental.
“You will let me help you, won’t you?” she pleaded.
He shrugged his shoulders and pushed away his plate.
“If you must,” he said sullenly.
He decided that the time had come for a change of mood. “Let’s forget money, work, everything but that we are together,” he said smiling. “After all, there is nothing else in the world, is there?”
“Nothing,” she agreed.
“If only these people were not here and we were quite alone—like yesterday. D’you remember last night?”
“Remember—what do you think?”
Once more she felt for his hand under the table.
“Tell me, that woman you told me about, do you ever see her now?”
“Good Lord, no; besides, there was nothing in it, nothing at all. She was never anything more than a friend. She’s gone abroad, I believe, with her children.”
He bent to light a cigarette. Then he closed his eyes and waved aside the smoke.
“I want to kiss you for twenty-four hours without stopping.”
She revelled in the old, worn words.
“Shall we go?” she murmured.
There was a slight awkwardness with the bill. She insisted on paying and he protested. Then, as he looked away, the distasteful moment passed.
To make up for this he hailed a taxi, aggressively rattling the change in his pocket. “But, of course, I’m going to see you home,” he said reproachfully as she held out her hand. The taxi bumped amidst the traffic, and their kisses though ardent, were unsuccessful.
“If we could be like this always,” he lied.
She smiled in ecstasy and fumbled for her powder puff.
He leant back with his feet on the opposite seat and prodded the floor with his stick.
“By the way,” he began, “about that car you mentioned, I’ve been thinking it over …”
Th party had been dull, tedious, and after all the man had never turned up. Only his daughter, a young unsophisticated girl, red elbows in evening dress. Not unattractive in profile, but too young, much too young. Still, he had made the most of his time. After all, her father was an important man. It never did to let opportunities like this occur merely to pass them by.
He spoke to her early in the evening, and towards the end he was still by her side.
“Do you know, I swear I am not flattering you, but the moment I saw you I said to myself ‘There is someone who will understand.’ It was something about your eyes, I think.”
The girl gazed at him, flushing.
“Oh! but nobody has ever talked to me like this before. You see, being my father’s daughter they expect me to echo his remarks, and they don’t seem to imagine for an instant that I have a mind of my own.”
He laughed scornfully.
“Absurd! After five minutes with you one realises—so much more than the ordinary thing.”
“I admit I was disappointed not to meet your father this evening,” he went on, “but you have made up for it—more than made up for it.”
“Of course, you simply must meet him,” she exclaimed, “I’m quite sure you would get on famously together.”
“You dear thing, that’s very sweet and adorable of you. But listen—tell me more about yourself.”
She held on to her evening bag with hot, sticky fingers. “Oh! there’s nothing, nothing.”
“Nonsense—anyway, I feel we are going to be friends, real friends.” He held out his cigarette case and smiled. “You don’t smoke? How refreshing. One gets so tired of these women with their eternal cigarettes.”
The girl’s eyes wandered towards the figure of her hostess, surrounded by a little group of men and women.
“She’s lovely. Do you know her well?”
“Oh! one comes across her from time to time,” he answered carelessly. “But luxury has never appealed to me, I like simple things, books, being alone, or with somebody who understands.”
“So do I.” They smiled at each other.
“I can talk to you about anything,” he said softly, “not only books, but things that matter. It’s marvellous to be able to discuss sex with a girl of your age, and not feel self-conscious, not be aware. You’re so lovely too, which makes it all the more rare and astounding. You’ve been told so hundreds of times.”
“No—never—”
“But that is absolutely remarkable.” He moved closer to her, pressing her knee.
Then his hostess moved from her group towards them. He rose to his feet and made an excuse to the girl.
“For the last hour I’ve been driven nearly mad,” he whispered rapidly. “I haven’t seen you for a moment alone. Always surrounded by that infernal crowd. And I’ve been sitting here, chatting to this little schoolgirl, watching you. Gosh—you look wonderful—wonderful.”
“My poor darling—and I imagined you were enjoying yourself.”
“As if I ever think of anything but you for a single moment,” he said.
She put her finger on her lips. “Hush—someone may hear. Be reasonable and remember tomorrow.”
He started, feigning astonishment. “Tomorrow? I don’t think I can manage tomorrow.”
“But you said at lunch … ?”
“Yes, I know, only when I got back I remembered there was an article that must be written.”
“Naturally your work comes first. But in the evening?”
“Yes, of course, in the evening.”
“Good night, my beloved.”
“Good night.”
He wandered down into the hall and saw the girl step into her car. He ran bareheaded down to the pavement. He arranged the rug carefully over her knees.
“I can’t tell you what it’s done to me—meeting you,” he said. “I’m going back to work. I shall think of you.”
“How—how wonderful,” breathed the girl.
He glanced up at the house behind him, and then bent forward intimately and took her hand.
“Listen—are you doing anything tomorrow between five and seven?”
It was midnight when he let himself into his room at the hotel. After all, he had not wasted his time. He flung off his clothes and slipped into his dressing-gown. Then he prepared the room for work. Five cushions on the sofa, and on a stool beside it the gramophone and a case full of records. A box of cigarettes, matches, whisky, and a soda siphon on the floor within reach.
He lay down upon the sofa, settled the cushions behind his head, started a record, and balanced a sheet of foolscap against his knee.
The room filled with smoke and the gramophone played, but the sheet of foolscap remained white and untouched.
Suddenly the telephone rang sharply, screamingly, in his ear. With a grunt of annoyance he stretched out his hand.
A woman’s voice came across the wire, whispering, pleading.
“Is that Gerrard 10550? Is that you? Oh! forgive me, but you made me so miserable on the phone this morning. I’ll try and be patient about not seeing you—but tell me, do you love me as much now as you did in September … ?”