sweating in the folds of his neck.
“She knows,” Lili said again.
When Bea left them there among the teacups, and went up to her room (good riddance too to the trough in the bed and the hose in the bath) to fetch her luggage, it was understood — though no one voiced it aloud — that Julian’s lot was in Bea’s hands. What the brother and sister had feared to disclose, Lili had laid open: the boy had a wife. His father took seriously the care of a wife; his own, even when ill, he had placed in the lap of luxury. Then it was at least thinkable, for the sake of the boy’s having a wife, that the money would follow: it all depended on Bea. She should not have come, no — but since she had, and knew what she knew, it might be all to the good. Thus did Lili instruct the brother and sister.
In the plane, Bea put down her book — the cabin lights had dimmed — and played it out. It was probable, it was likely. The boy’s naïveté, the pointless years away, how he dallied, how he looked for amusement, how easily he was beguiled . . . Doubtless Lili had taken his measure: he had no means of making a living, and no evident ambition either. But his father was rich. A boy with a wife was a man, and a man with a wife could not be left to drown. Accustomed in her cubicle to opening gates that were inclined to be shut, Lili had turneda key. The key was Bea. It was probable, it was likely. It accorded with Marvin’s predictable suspicions: inexorable Marvin, who had logic on his side. It was in his nature, he had founded a business, he comprehended greed, he was steeped in the knowledge of bad faith.
Probable? Likely? But Bea did not believe it.
18
W HEN SHE WAS gone, they lingered awhile. The emptied bottles lolled on their sides. Lili’s uneaten potato lay cold and congealed on her plate like a guillotined head. Where Julian had dribbled gravy, an oily patch went on spreading through the cloth. Lifting her chin over the debris, Iris said, “You think dad will make her crazy? She’s crazy already. When I was in New York — this tiny apartment she’s got — she offered me her own bed —”
“That’s because she’d stuck a pea under the mattress,” Julian said.
“— and just before that, I thought she wanted to kill me. There was this enormous thing, with brass feet,
claws
, you’d expect to see a piano like that on a stage, and all I did was touch it, just one note really, it was strange seeing it there, it took up nearly the whole room —”
“Wasn’t she married once? To some sort of musician?”
“— one finger, I put one finger on it, and she froze up and looked
ferocious
, I mean almost violent, with crazy eyes. As if I’d ruin it, or it could fall apart, or if you hit a wrong key lightning would come out of it. As if the thing was holy. — And then right after, as nicely as could be, she said I should take her bed.”
“The better to strangle you in the middle of the night,” Julian said. “So did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Take her bed.”
“I did, why not? Instead of that ratty davenport. With those silly claws practically under your nose.”
Lili said, “In that house you made perhaps a sin.”
“Because I let her sleep on her own ratty thing? What I really wanted was a decent hotel, but still, dad’s sister, do the family honors, it was only for overnight and I was getting her to help —”
“Iris at her saintliest,” Julian said.
But Lili said, “A sin to touch a holy thing, is it not?”
19
I N THE TERMINAL , waiting to board, Bea was attempting to finish the letter to Marvin, discarding one wary blunder after another. Either she was telling too much, or — this was certain — she was telling too little. The exertion strained her wrist; the flimsy hotel stationery went skittering over the flanks of her valise — a makeshift and unsteady surface — and she worried that her fountain pen might run dry. She surrendered finally to the old abandoned
“She knows,” Lili said again.
When Bea left them there among the teacups, and went up to her room (good riddance too to the trough in the bed and the hose in the bath) to fetch her luggage, it was understood — though no one voiced it aloud — that Julian’s lot was in Bea’s hands. What the brother and sister had feared to disclose, Lili had laid open: the boy had a wife. His father took seriously the care of a wife; his own, even when ill, he had placed in the lap of luxury. Then it was at least thinkable, for the sake of the boy’s having a wife, that the money would follow: it all depended on Bea. She should not have come, no — but since she had, and knew what she knew, it might be all to the good. Thus did Lili instruct the brother and sister.
In the plane, Bea put down her book — the cabin lights had dimmed — and played it out. It was probable, it was likely. The boy’s naïveté, the pointless years away, how he dallied, how he looked for amusement, how easily he was beguiled . . . Doubtless Lili had taken his measure: he had no means of making a living, and no evident ambition either. But his father was rich. A boy with a wife was a man, and a man with a wife could not be left to drown. Accustomed in her cubicle to opening gates that were inclined to be shut, Lili had turneda key. The key was Bea. It was probable, it was likely. It accorded with Marvin’s predictable suspicions: inexorable Marvin, who had logic on his side. It was in his nature, he had founded a business, he comprehended greed, he was steeped in the knowledge of bad faith.
Probable? Likely? But Bea did not believe it.
18
W HEN SHE WAS gone, they lingered awhile. The emptied bottles lolled on their sides. Lili’s uneaten potato lay cold and congealed on her plate like a guillotined head. Where Julian had dribbled gravy, an oily patch went on spreading through the cloth. Lifting her chin over the debris, Iris said, “You think dad will make her crazy? She’s crazy already. When I was in New York — this tiny apartment she’s got — she offered me her own bed —”
“That’s because she’d stuck a pea under the mattress,” Julian said.
“— and just before that, I thought she wanted to kill me. There was this enormous thing, with brass feet,
claws
, you’d expect to see a piano like that on a stage, and all I did was touch it, just one note really, it was strange seeing it there, it took up nearly the whole room —”
“Wasn’t she married once? To some sort of musician?”
“— one finger, I put one finger on it, and she froze up and looked
ferocious
, I mean almost violent, with crazy eyes. As if I’d ruin it, or it could fall apart, or if you hit a wrong key lightning would come out of it. As if the thing was holy. — And then right after, as nicely as could be, she said I should take her bed.”
“The better to strangle you in the middle of the night,” Julian said. “So did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Take her bed.”
“I did, why not? Instead of that ratty davenport. With those silly claws practically under your nose.”
Lili said, “In that house you made perhaps a sin.”
“Because I let her sleep on her own ratty thing? What I really wanted was a decent hotel, but still, dad’s sister, do the family honors, it was only for overnight and I was getting her to help —”
“Iris at her saintliest,” Julian said.
But Lili said, “A sin to touch a holy thing, is it not?”
19
I N THE TERMINAL , waiting to board, Bea was attempting to finish the letter to Marvin, discarding one wary blunder after another. Either she was telling too much, or — this was certain — she was telling too little. The exertion strained her wrist; the flimsy hotel stationery went skittering over the flanks of her valise — a makeshift and unsteady surface — and she worried that her fountain pen might run dry. She surrendered finally to the old abandoned
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