A Pocketful of Rye by A. J. Cronin Page B

been fond of you and I have every reason to believe that you …’
    â€˜Yes, at first sight, on Levenford Station, I had the misfortune to fall for you, head over heels. And I couldn’t shake it off. It was you broke up my attachment to Frank. I might have had him if I had tried. I didn’t try. You were always on my mind. I wanted you. I was sure you would come back when you graduated. Well, you did. And then …’
    â€˜You were engaged to Davigan.’
    â€˜Never. That was just a phase of weakness. I would never have married him,’ she paused to achieve a more deadly effect, ‘if you hadn’t sneaked off like a rat at six that morning before I was awake.’
    So it was out, as I had feared. She had hit the nail on the head. There was a long and for me an uneasy silence. I pulled myself together, cleared my throat. I meant to speak soulfully and in the circumstances the throb in my voice came almost naturally.
    â€˜Cathy,’ I said, trying to make it ring true, ‘I hope we’re not going to desecrate what was, at least for me, the most wonderfully memorable experience of my life. When we said goodbye after that ghastly celebration for Frank’s ordination you must have sensed how much I needed you and how much, thinking of your attachment to Davigan, I was fighting it. As you know, I set out for my train but had, simply had, to turn back to you. I won’t embarrass you, now, by dwelling on the warmth with which you welcomed me. A night we could never, never forget. But when morning came, what a position I was in. On the one hand your engagement to Davigan, on the other my commitment as ship’s surgeon. I had signed ship’s articles, I must report to the Tasman or be posted as a deserter. I simply had to go. The least hurtful way was to slip out without disturbing you. I thought of you continually during my enforced absence. But when I got back … you were married to Davigan.’
    Incredulity had almost supplanted the bitterness in her expression. She gave me a short laugh.
    â€˜My God, Carroll, I wouldn’t have believed it possible! That you could hand me that line. You’re more of a twister than ever. I’ll swear you even succeed in deceiving yourself. Yes, I married Davigan.’
    â€˜Then why blame me? He made you a good Catholic husband.’
    â€˜You’ve said it, Carroll. He was the best Catholic husband the Pope ever invented.’
    â€˜Meaning what?’
    She took a cigarette from the pack in the pocket of her blouse and lit it.
    â€˜Since we’re letting our hair down let’s not spare our blushes. You’ve got to hear it sooner or later.’ She drew on her cigarette, eyes looking back in time. ‘You know what I’m like, how I’m made. At least you ought to.’
    â€˜Yes, indeed I’ll never forget how exciting …’
    â€˜Cut it, Carroll. You gave me the first taste of honey. And it was the last. Daniel Davigan! That man! Well, because he’d been part of the town joke for the sixteen births in his own family he was compelled by a single monstrous obsession … to prevent me becoming pregnant. Not by means that would help me or meet my needs, but within the permitted canon law.’
    â€˜But, surely, there was little Dan.’
    â€˜The fact that he came early made everything worse. Nothing ever took place at the natural times when you wanted it. Only at the mid term when I was flat out. Timing it by the calendar! Have you counted the days? I wonder if it’s safe? Then the quick get rid of it, followed immediately by the “get up and make your water, squeeze hard, that’s not a douche, it’s permitted and it’ll help”. God, what a sacrifice of all fundamental decencies and dignity, and the wants of a woman’s unsatisfied nature. Love according to the Catechism! Am I shocking your delicate feelings, Carroll, you’re such a sweet man?