The Rose Garden Page 12

  I would never have done that, Charles thought, smiling a grim, happy little smile. I would never have come back. As long as he stayed away, we couldn’t be sure what had become of him, no matter what reports we heard. But now! It’s an object lesson, he thought, and, suddenly anxious for talk, for the delicious rehashing of last night’s scene, he bounded to his feet, dashed into his shower, and emerged, clean and shiny, to select from his wardrobe a pair of brown Bermuda shorts, beautifully cut, and a beige wool shirt. He buttoned the cuffs of the shirt, knotted a beige-and-brown silk scarf carefully around his neck, put on a pair of knee-length beige socks and brown sandals, and, opening a door in the side wall of his room, stepped onto an outdoor staircase that curved to bring him, as he hopped lightly from the bottom step onto the grass, in face with the river.

  There was Leona, coming out of the kitchen door and talking animatedly to Bridie. Her Bermuda shorts were of red linen, and her navy-blue wool shirt was open at the throat and rolled to her elbows. She paused to strap on her wristwatch, and then, seeing Charles, she smiled brilliantly and hurried to take his arm.

  Leona’s lawn was as wide as her house, and its green velvet expanse was unbroken except for two statues—one of a white marble woman, which stood far to the right and about a third of the way down, and another, much nearer the river and on the left, of a gray stone clown who raised his sad grin to the heavens. On each side, the lawn was bounded by a high, dense wall of old trees, old hedge, old thicket, all sorts of old greenery—uncared-for now and growing wild but still putting forth fresh leaves and new shoots—that shielded Leona’s domain from the view of the neighboring houses, although their white stone walls, glittering in the sunlight like her own, sometimes showed a flash of brightness through a break in the foliage. The house on the right belonged to Lewis and Dolly Maitland, Leona’s closest friends—except, of course, for Charles, who, in addition to being her dearest companion, was her lion, her literary light, and also, although she did not say this, her claim to distinction in the community.

  Leona was tall and slim, with a halo of cloudy black hair that swept becomingly around a face crowded with unformed features. Surely, one thought, the nose would grow larger, or the mouth would settle, or a bone would show itself on one cheek, at least. Even the eyes seemed to have been left unfinished. Brown, they should have been a shade lighter or a shade darker. “My mysterious Leona,” Charles called her. “Mysterious, dreaming, romantic Leona.”

  Walking arm in arm to the river, they did not speak, Leona because she was always careful to discover Charles’s mood before conversation, and Charles because he didn’t want to get to the subject closest to his heart before he was comfortably settled in a chair.

  From the house, two pairs of eyes watched them. Through the kitchen window, the beady Irish eyes of Bridie followed their movements with malevolent attention, and from the window of the second-floor bedroom he shared with Leona, George Harkey, who had just got out of bed, watched his wife and Charles Runyon with a muffled brown gaze in which curiosity and resentment struggled for supremacy with a very bad hangover.

  Charles walked rather stiffly, perhaps because he missed the comforting concealment of a jacket, and from the back his small, shapely figure wagged more than a little. Leona’s shorts gave to her slow and sinuous prance a very curious effect, as though with every step she was on the verge of sitting down hard, but she continued fairly upright, flirting her cigarette, until they reached the lawn’s edge. There, where the ground fell steeply to the river, Leona’s latest improvement was now, after months of talk and effort, ready to be enjoyed. Just below the level of the lawn but well above water level she had built a wooden deck, six feet wide and running the whole width of the lawn, with a low railing around it. This was not a jetty, for Leona disliked sailing. This was purely a deck. It was painted a very pale blue, and furnished for lounging, with red canvas sling chairs and tables of black wrought iron. It was a delightful spot, private, uncluttered, Leona’s realization of the perfect boat, on which she could ride the restless waters of the river while remaining safely anchored not merely to the land but to her own lawn.

  “The deck is really charming,” Charles said, lowering himself into a chair, but his tone was perfunctory.

  “Wasn’t it clever of me to have it built so low, so that it doesn’t interfere with the view from the house at all. Even from the upstairs windows you simply can’t see it, unless you know it’s here.”

  She would have gone on, for the house—the frame and expression of her personality—interested her endlessly, but Charles, with a brisk nod, stopped her. He lit a cigarette, threw away the match, snuggled back in his chair, and looked her straight in the eye. “Well, Leona,” he said, “and what do you think of our friend Tarnac now? Quite a revealing evening we had last night, eh?”

  They had already discussed the evening at length, and at double length, before they went to bed, but realizing that Charles wanted every detail of it recalled, and herself eager to savor it all again, Leona said, “Oh, Charles, isn’t it appalling to see a man so shattered? And in such a short space of time. Why, you know, Charles, I walked into Dolly’s living room last night and I simply didn’t know him. I actually didn’t recognize him. He was standing over by the fireplace with Lewis, and I looked at him, and I looked at Lewis, and I said, ‘Where’s Edward?’ ”

  “I know, darling, we all heard you.”

  “And then, of course, I was so overcome when I saw who it was that I simply lost my head.”

  “I’m afraid you were very cruel, Leona.”

  “I didn’t mean to be cruel. You know I’m never intentionally cruel. Besides, what you said was much, much worse, and you didn’t even have my excuse of being flustered. No, you were perfectly cold-blooded. You waited till we were all settled with our drinks, and everything was all smooth and lovely, and then—Oh, Charles, it was perfectly killing. I’ll never forget how funny you looked, peering around the room until Dolly was driven to ask you what was wrong, and you said, ‘I’m looking for Edward’s pretty girl. Isn’t she coming down?’ ”

  She paused to laugh at the recollection, and Charles neighed softly.

  “And then Edward said, ‘What pretty girl?’ and you said, ‘Why, surely you’re not up here alone, Edward. Why, Edward Tarnac without a pretty girl is only half the picture.’ ”

  “That stung,” Charles said with satisfaction.

  “You know, Charles, I was quite worried for you. If you’d said that to him five years ago he’d have thrown his drink at you.”

  “But that was five years ago, wasn’t it? And instead of throwing his drink he swallowed it, didn’t he? Oh, he’s learned what’s what, these last few years. He’s learned his lesson, all right. And then, of course, your poor George had to put his foot in it.”

  “Oh, poor George is such a fool, Charles. Not a glimmer of social sense. Instead of letting it drop then, he had to pipe up, ‘And why shouldn’t he come up alone if he wants to?’ And naturally that set you off again.”

  “Well, really, what could I do? George has such a sagging effect on conversation, don’t you think? And of course, being a newcomer, he couldn’t be expected to know how things were. Obviously I had to tell him what we all know—that Edward’s appearance in solitary, as it were, showed how greatly he had changed.”

  “And Lewis enjoying it all hugely. Edward always made Lewis look rather dim. Not now, though. Edward’s face is so ruined-looking, somehow.”

  “Positively raddled. Of course, Edward always looked much younger than his age. You know that, Leona. He kept those boyish looks of his a very long time.”

  “Oh, that was another thing, Charles. Did you have to keep on calling him Boy? Really, I was squirming.”

  “Don’t be a hypocrite, Leona. You know you loved it all. And he had it coming to him. Of course, when you consider how he was brought up, the youngest son, an adoring mother, a trust fund from that uncle of his—”

  “Do you know, Charle
s, I don’t believe he has a penny of that money left.”

  “Well, what would you expect? You remember how he threw money around. That boat, and those silly little racing cars, and that procession of vacant-faced girls, and that endless, exhausting masculinity, constantly being paraded before us—just a show, of course. The psychiatrists know about that. But so wearisome. And terribly bad manners, if you remember.”

  “Yes, Charles, you have a few scores to settle with him, haven’t you, dear?” She stopped, afraid that she had gone too far. Charles would not tolerate familiarity. But he answered her calmly.

  “Certainly not. His kind of schoolboy humor never affected me, except to bore me. I do know it used to be impossible to have any good conversation when he was around. Those insufferable interruptions, and—Do you remember his abominable habit of saying ‘Now the question direct’?”

  “‘Cutting through the grease,’ he used to call it.”

  “Exactly. Exactly. A thoroughly uncivilized mind, if you call it a mind. A man who will express himself in such terms is capable of any gaucherie. No sensitivity, no character, no breeding, and of course, now that all that juvenile charm has been drowned in liquor, you can see what he is. It’s pitiful, of course.” He sat up and glanced, with impatience, toward the green wall of foliage that concealed the Maitlands’ house. “Aren’t Lewis and Dolly coming over,” he asked, “and our beaming friend Edward, for lunch? Aren’t they late? It must be after noon.”

  Leona laughed melodiously. “Charles, Charles,” she said in affectionate reproval. “Are you so eager to sharpen your teeth on poor Edward again? They’ll be here soon. Lewis is probably mixing his famous whiskey sours. He said he’d bring a jug over. He and Edward will probably need them.”

  “Dolly, too,” Charles said, settling himself comfortably again. “I fancy she got quite a shock when she saw our returned hero last night. She used to have quite a thing about him, you remember.”

  “She’s trying to forget it now,” Leona said.

  “Trying to forget what?” Dolly cried, jumping gaily down onto the deck. She was a short, bouncy girl with brown hair, which she had braided into pigtails. “This thing is divine, Leona. I’m going to lie down flat.” She lay down flat on her back, sighing luxuriously in the sun’s heat. “The others will be right along,” she said. “Lewis is bringing the whiskey sours, or will bring them, after he’s had a few himself.”

  “Where is Edward staying in town? He wouldn’t tell me last night,” Charles asked.

  “That’s just it,” Dolly said. “He won’t say where he’s staying. He says he’s looking for an apartment.” She stopped a moment, then turned to them with a conspiratorial grimace. “Listen,” she said. “Don’t tell Lewis I told you, but he tried to borrow money last night. A hundred dollars.”

  “Did Lewis give it to him?” Charles asked sharply.

  “Not he. You know Lewis. Lewis never lends money, to anyone.”

  “Well, Tarnac is down and out, then,” Charles said.

  “Oh dear. I hope he’s not going to start borrowing all around,” Leona said. “But I was quite cool with him last night. I doubt if he’d have the nerve to ask me.”

  “I hope he asks me,” Charles said. “I’ll give him short shrift. But then I was cool, too, to say the least.”

  “That’s another strange thing,” Dolly said. “You know, ordinarily he’d have struck out at you last night. You know how belligerent he used to be. But I got the feeling that everything you and Leona said to him just passed over his head. He didn’t seem to care. It was Lewis he was looking to. I suppose he always knew you two disliked him, but apparently he thought of Lewis as a friend.”

  Charles nodded. “Everyone saw how Lewis felt about Edward—except Edward himself, of course. That blessed obtuseness of his saved him from a lot in those days.”

  “He tried to settle down to a heart-to-heart talk after you people left,” Dolly said, “but he got to the borrowing part too soon, and Lewis cut him off short.”

  “Oh, why doesn’t he get on the bus and go back to New York!” Leona cried impatiently. “He’s ruining the whole weekend.”

  “Nonsense, my dear,” Charles said. “Far from ruining the weekend, he’s adding a certain excitement to it. Besides, he’ll undoubtedly stick around now in the hope of retrieving himself. Not that he has a chance. He must see that he made a mistake in coming here. He should never have come, that’s all.”

  “Oh, don’t think he doesn’t know that now!” Dolly cried. “You know how he was last night—almost apologetic. Today he’s just morose. I don’t think he’s said two words all morning. Don’t worry, though, Leona. I don’t think he’ll make any scenes. He’s hardly in a position to, after all. And of course he doesn’t want Lewis to tell about his attempt to borrow money.”

  “It’s what we were talking about earlier, Leona,” Charles said. “What used to pass as—uh, conversational dexterity in our friend would now be sheer bravado. He can no longer meet us on our own ground. He has to pretend not to notice. He’s no longer an equal, after all.”

  “Really, Charles!” Dolly cried. “Aren’t you carrying this a little too far? He’s broke, of course, and obviously he’s been on a long bender, but I think it’s nonsense to talk about him not being an equal, and so on. I mean, I think that’s silly.”

  Leona sat up straight. “Dolly,” she said, with a nervous glance at Charles, “please remember to whom you are speaking.”

  Charles, whose face had grown small, dark, and closed, was silent for a moment, while Dolly, confused, cast about for words of apology.

  “Don’t apologize, Dolly,” he said at last. “I may seem silly to you, and of course, you must say what you think. We won’t discuss it.”

  “Yes, of course, Charles,” Dolly said, on the verge of tears. “I only thought—”

  “Don’t think, dear,” Charles said. “It does not become you.”

  “I can’t tell you,” Dolly said desperately, directing herself at Leona, who was still stiff with outrage, “how glad I was to get away from the house this morning. Susie woke up at six sharp, and screamed continuously from six-thirty until after eight. I nearly lost my mind.”

  “Oh, yes, Susie. How old is she now?” Leona asked coldly.

  “Four,” Dolly said disconsolately. “That was her fourth birthday the other day, Leona. When I had the party.”

  “I detest children,” Charles said. “They’re so short.”

  “Here come Lewis and Edward with the whiskey sours!” Leona cried. “And not a minute too soon, either. We have the glasses all ready here, Lewis. Edward, what do you think of my new sun deck?”

  “Great,” Edward said with no enthusiasm. “Just great, Leona.” He pulled a chair from the group around the table, turned it to face the river, and sat down apart from the company.

  “Come now, Edward!” Leona cried, with a smile for the others. “I have to almost twist my neck off if I want to see you. Why don’t you come in with the rest of us?”

  “I’m all right, thanks,” Edward said. He was wearing gray slacks and last night’s shirt without a tie.

  Edward and Lewis were both tall, both blond, and both strongly built. They both had the same kind of regular, clean-cut, blue-eyed good looks. Lewis’s face, bland in his youth, had grown blander. The restlessness that had always characterized Edward had worn his face, and the self-confidence had gone, taking the shine with it. Also, he was suffering from a bad hangover, and looked, generally, perhaps more unhappy than he felt. Lewis at once started to pour the whiskey sours.

  “I hear you’re looking for an apartment, Edward,” Charles said smoothly. “Perhaps I could help you. I hear of things—friends in the theater going to Hollywood and Rome and such places. What have you in mind? I mean, what price have you in mind?”

  Edward gulped the first drink and handed his glass back to Lewis for a refill. “I’m not going to hurry about the apartment,” he said. “I want to look around a bit, find wha
t I really want. I’m all right for the time being. And since I know what your next question is going to be, I’ll save you the trouble of asking. I’m staying at the Tenley, on Washington Square. Now you know.”

  “The Tenley!” Dolly cried. “Oh, poor Edward, but that’s a terrible old fleabag. Oh, I’m sorry, Edward, I didn’t mean anything.”

  “It’s all right, Dolly,” Edward said. “It’s a fleabag. You’re absolutely right.”

  “I thought they’d torn the Tenley down years ago,” Charles murmured. “It was one of the hangouts of my rather rowdy youth.”

  Lewis kicked impatiently at the table leg. “Not to change the subject, but isn’t Bridie bringing the lunch down here? Edward and I were a little ahead on those whiskey sours.”

  “Which reminds me that I need a drink,” Edward said, passing his glass over his shoulder.

  “Oh, she’s bringing a basket down any minute now,” Leona said. “She’s rattled, as all the maids are today. They can think of nothing but the ball.”

  “The ball!” Charles shrieked. “Great heavens, Leona, do you know that I completely forgot the ball. And I thought of nothing else all week. I even brought my embroidered French waistcoat along. I should look superb in the waltzes. I’m going to cut quite a figure, Leona.”

  “I’m sure you are, darling,” Leona said, “and the girls will go wild over you, as usual. They adore waltzing with you, Charles.” She turned to Edward. “I suppose you know the maids are having their ball this weekend?” she inquired, smiling. “Tonight’s the big night. Or did you remember?”

  “I remember the ball,” Edward said. “I thought it was always on Saint Patrick’s Day.”

  “It used to be,” Dolly said, “but they had too much competition from New York, so they changed it.”

  “Charles puts us all in the shade,” Lewis said, and gazed at them with the air of fascinated and respectful amusement that Charles always inspired in him.

  “You did rather well yourself, Lewis,” Charles said, pleased. “Last year, some of the policemen were quite jealous.”