I know very little
about such things. There are some who claim to, and if you wished
to consult—“
“At the moment, no.”
“Well, I don’t blame you—get settled down first, not a bad idea.
All the same, though, if ever you want—“
“That’s very kind of you, but I’d rather you tell me something about my father.”
“I was coming to that. I’m afraid he’s quite ill.”
They walked on a little way in silence; then Sanderstead continued:
“I’m sure the first thing you wished to do on coming back to us in this—er—remarkable way was to see him, and for that reason I’m grateful to you for deferring the matter at my request.”
Charles did not think there was any particular cause for gratitude.
He said: “Tell me frankly how things are.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. In a man of his age, and suffering from his complaint, complete recovery can’t exactly be counted on—but we can all hope for some partial improvement that will enable him to—to—face a situation which will undoubtedly give him a great deal of pleasure once the initial shock has been— er—overcome.”
Charles was beginning to feel irritated. “You don’t have to break things gently with ME, Sanderstead. What you’re hinting at, I take it, is that my father shouldn’t learn of my existence till he’s a good deal better than he is at present.”
“Well—er—perhaps—“
“To save you the trouble of arguing the point, I may as well tell you I entirely agree and I’m willing to wait as long as you think fit.”
“I don’t know how to express my appreciation—“
“You don’t have to. Naturally I’d like to see my father, but if you say he’s not well enough, that settles it. After all this time I daresay we can both wait a bit longer.”
They did not talk much after that. Charles was aware he had rumpled the doctor’s feelings by not living up to the conventional pattern of a dutiful son; but he began to feel increasingly that he could not live up to any conventional pattern, still less could he be “himself,” whatever that was; all he could do was to cover his inner numbness with a façade of slightly cynical objectivity. It was the only attitude that didn’t seem a complete misfit.
A further problem arose later in the morning, but Sheldon broached it, and somehow he found it easier to talk to HIM.
“Dr. Sanderstead tells me you’ve agreed to his suggestion that for
the time being—“
“Yes, I agreed.”
“I’m afraid that opens up another matter, sir. Now that the servants know—which of course is inevitable—I don’t see how we can prevent the story from leaking out.”
“I don’t suppose you can, nor do I see why you should. I’m not breaking any local by-laws by being alive, am I?”
“It isn’t that, Mr. Charles, but your father sometimes asks to see a paper, and I’m afraid that once the story gets around it’ll attract quite a considerable amount of attention.”
“Headlines, you mean?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I wouldn’t like that for my own sake, let alone my father’s.”
“It would doubtless be very unpleasant. A young man from the Daily Post was on the telephone just now.”
“ALREADY? Well, if they think they’re going to make a national hero of me, they’re damn well mistaken. I won’t see ANYBODY.”
“I’m afraid that might not help, sir. It’s their job to get the news and they usually manage it somehow or other.”
“Well, what do you suggest?”
“I was thinking that if somebody were to explain the matter personally on the telephone, giving the facts and using Mr.
Rainier’s state of health as ground for the request—“
“You mean get in touch with all the editors?”
“No, not the editors, sir—the owners. You see, Mr. Rainier has a
large newspaper interest himself, and that makes for a certain—“
“Owns a paper, does he? I never knew that.”
“It was acquired
about such things. There are some who claim to, and if you wished
to consult—“
“At the moment, no.”
“Well, I don’t blame you—get settled down first, not a bad idea.
All the same, though, if ever you want—“
“That’s very kind of you, but I’d rather you tell me something about my father.”
“I was coming to that. I’m afraid he’s quite ill.”
They walked on a little way in silence; then Sanderstead continued:
“I’m sure the first thing you wished to do on coming back to us in this—er—remarkable way was to see him, and for that reason I’m grateful to you for deferring the matter at my request.”
Charles did not think there was any particular cause for gratitude.
He said: “Tell me frankly how things are.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. In a man of his age, and suffering from his complaint, complete recovery can’t exactly be counted on—but we can all hope for some partial improvement that will enable him to—to—face a situation which will undoubtedly give him a great deal of pleasure once the initial shock has been— er—overcome.”
Charles was beginning to feel irritated. “You don’t have to break things gently with ME, Sanderstead. What you’re hinting at, I take it, is that my father shouldn’t learn of my existence till he’s a good deal better than he is at present.”
“Well—er—perhaps—“
“To save you the trouble of arguing the point, I may as well tell you I entirely agree and I’m willing to wait as long as you think fit.”
“I don’t know how to express my appreciation—“
“You don’t have to. Naturally I’d like to see my father, but if you say he’s not well enough, that settles it. After all this time I daresay we can both wait a bit longer.”
They did not talk much after that. Charles was aware he had rumpled the doctor’s feelings by not living up to the conventional pattern of a dutiful son; but he began to feel increasingly that he could not live up to any conventional pattern, still less could he be “himself,” whatever that was; all he could do was to cover his inner numbness with a façade of slightly cynical objectivity. It was the only attitude that didn’t seem a complete misfit.
A further problem arose later in the morning, but Sheldon broached it, and somehow he found it easier to talk to HIM.
“Dr. Sanderstead tells me you’ve agreed to his suggestion that for
the time being—“
“Yes, I agreed.”
“I’m afraid that opens up another matter, sir. Now that the servants know—which of course is inevitable—I don’t see how we can prevent the story from leaking out.”
“I don’t suppose you can, nor do I see why you should. I’m not breaking any local by-laws by being alive, am I?”
“It isn’t that, Mr. Charles, but your father sometimes asks to see a paper, and I’m afraid that once the story gets around it’ll attract quite a considerable amount of attention.”
“Headlines, you mean?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I wouldn’t like that for my own sake, let alone my father’s.”
“It would doubtless be very unpleasant. A young man from the Daily Post was on the telephone just now.”
“ALREADY? Well, if they think they’re going to make a national hero of me, they’re damn well mistaken. I won’t see ANYBODY.”
“I’m afraid that might not help, sir. It’s their job to get the news and they usually manage it somehow or other.”
“Well, what do you suggest?”
“I was thinking that if somebody were to explain the matter personally on the telephone, giving the facts and using Mr.
Rainier’s state of health as ground for the request—“
“You mean get in touch with all the editors?”
“No, not the editors, sir—the owners. You see, Mr. Rainier has a
large newspaper interest himself, and that makes for a certain—“
“Owns a paper, does he? I never knew that.”
“It was acquired
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