don’t think that on the Hill,” she said finally. “They’re having the time of their lives up there.”
“And that bothers you?”
“No, I envy them. They’re not filling in time and wondering what’s next. You’ve got that right. They’ve no idea how boring it is for the rest of us while they beaver away.” Then she brightened. “Still, they’re happy. Daniel’s happy.”
“So you’re jealous of the project?”
“Bloody stupid, isn’t it? No, I’m glad for him—it’s what he was meant to do. They’re making history. Oppie keeps saying so, anyway. You can’t ask more than that. I just wish I knew what I was meant to do.” She stubbed out the cigarette with some of her old fierceness.
“So what do you do, while you’re waiting for the call?”
She looked at him, then laughed. “I’ll have to watch you. You catch me out, making a fool of myself, and I don’t mind. Why is that, do you think?”
“Maybe I don’t scare easily.”
“Oh, scare. That’s what it is, then. I’ve always wondered. I thought it was my charm that sent them all packing. But not you.”
“No, I’ll stick around.”
“I give you that. After last night I thought I’d seen the last of you.”
“Don’t apologize again. We’ve done that.”
“So we have. What’s next, then?”
“I wish you weren’t married.”
“We’ve done that too. Look, I’d better go. Let’s get the bill.”
“Now I’m scaring you. I’m sorry. I was just being cute. Don’t run off—here, look, I’ll stay on my side of the table.”
“I still have to go.”
“I thought you were going to show me Santa Fe.”
She laughed. “You’ve seen it.” She stopped and looked at him, as if trying to make up her mind about something. “I tell you what, though. If you really want to see something—the country, I mean—I was just on my way to a friend’s ranch. Out past Tesuque. You could come along. Would that interest you?”
“Yes.” He paused. “If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?”
“No.”
“Would it interest you?”
“Honestly? Well, if memory serves, darling, you boys in G-2 are rolling in coupons and I’m always running out. It was your car I had in mind. Honestly.”
They drove north on the Tesuque road, past old adobes settled in cottonwood groves, shady and cool, but when the outskirts of town were behind them, the landscape opened up again, miles of country stretching off to the Jemez Mountains on their left. He stared straight ahead, concentrating on the road, but he could feel her next to him, one leg pulled up away from him on the seat as she blew smoke out the window. She was leaning back, her sunglasses on against the glare of the day. He couldn’t tell whether she had her eyes open, but he imagined them closed, so he could take her in with quick side glances without her knowing. He could smell her skin.
“I thought you weren’t allowed to fraternize with the locals,” he said.
“Oh, Hannah’s different. The project used her ranch before they built all the housing. They had us stashed all over the place in the early days. Before the fences went up.”
“So she was your landlady?”
Emma laughed. “Well, a landlady. I never thought of her in that way. You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.”
“A local character?”
“Hm, but not local. She lives in Los Angeles. Something or other in the movies—sets. Here she’s an artist. Quite a good one too, actually. Daniel and I kipped in her studio—the others were in the main house. So I spent my first few weeks here surrounded by corn.”
“Corn? The vegetable?”
She laughed again. “Yes, maize. Giant ears of it on these whacking great canvases. She calls it her corn series. Says she spent two years living in corn. I can well imagine. Anyway, so did we, at least for a few weeks. In some ways, it was my favorite time here. I think that’s when I really fell in love with the place. All this space. She lent us
“And that bothers you?”
“No, I envy them. They’re not filling in time and wondering what’s next. You’ve got that right. They’ve no idea how boring it is for the rest of us while they beaver away.” Then she brightened. “Still, they’re happy. Daniel’s happy.”
“So you’re jealous of the project?”
“Bloody stupid, isn’t it? No, I’m glad for him—it’s what he was meant to do. They’re making history. Oppie keeps saying so, anyway. You can’t ask more than that. I just wish I knew what I was meant to do.” She stubbed out the cigarette with some of her old fierceness.
“So what do you do, while you’re waiting for the call?”
She looked at him, then laughed. “I’ll have to watch you. You catch me out, making a fool of myself, and I don’t mind. Why is that, do you think?”
“Maybe I don’t scare easily.”
“Oh, scare. That’s what it is, then. I’ve always wondered. I thought it was my charm that sent them all packing. But not you.”
“No, I’ll stick around.”
“I give you that. After last night I thought I’d seen the last of you.”
“Don’t apologize again. We’ve done that.”
“So we have. What’s next, then?”
“I wish you weren’t married.”
“We’ve done that too. Look, I’d better go. Let’s get the bill.”
“Now I’m scaring you. I’m sorry. I was just being cute. Don’t run off—here, look, I’ll stay on my side of the table.”
“I still have to go.”
“I thought you were going to show me Santa Fe.”
She laughed. “You’ve seen it.” She stopped and looked at him, as if trying to make up her mind about something. “I tell you what, though. If you really want to see something—the country, I mean—I was just on my way to a friend’s ranch. Out past Tesuque. You could come along. Would that interest you?”
“Yes.” He paused. “If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?”
“No.”
“Would it interest you?”
“Honestly? Well, if memory serves, darling, you boys in G-2 are rolling in coupons and I’m always running out. It was your car I had in mind. Honestly.”
They drove north on the Tesuque road, past old adobes settled in cottonwood groves, shady and cool, but when the outskirts of town were behind them, the landscape opened up again, miles of country stretching off to the Jemez Mountains on their left. He stared straight ahead, concentrating on the road, but he could feel her next to him, one leg pulled up away from him on the seat as she blew smoke out the window. She was leaning back, her sunglasses on against the glare of the day. He couldn’t tell whether she had her eyes open, but he imagined them closed, so he could take her in with quick side glances without her knowing. He could smell her skin.
“I thought you weren’t allowed to fraternize with the locals,” he said.
“Oh, Hannah’s different. The project used her ranch before they built all the housing. They had us stashed all over the place in the early days. Before the fences went up.”
“So she was your landlady?”
Emma laughed. “Well, a landlady. I never thought of her in that way. You’ll see what I mean when you meet her.”
“A local character?”
“Hm, but not local. She lives in Los Angeles. Something or other in the movies—sets. Here she’s an artist. Quite a good one too, actually. Daniel and I kipped in her studio—the others were in the main house. So I spent my first few weeks here surrounded by corn.”
“Corn? The vegetable?”
She laughed again. “Yes, maize. Giant ears of it on these whacking great canvases. She calls it her corn series. Says she spent two years living in corn. I can well imagine. Anyway, so did we, at least for a few weeks. In some ways, it was my favorite time here. I think that’s when I really fell in love with the place. All this space. She lent us
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