The Heat of the Day by Elizabeth Bowen Page A

time, where she was concerned--his laugh. "You wonder a bit," he said, "at my spotting you? As one's not, as a rule, introduced at a show like this, one puts two and two together.--_My__ name, by the way, is Harrison.--Frankly, there's no one else here who very well could be you--I having, as one might say, so oft heard your praises sung!" She exclaimed--to herself, aloud, overlooking him--"If I'd ever known he remembered me, still was fond of me, liked to talk about me! I could have so often so easily gone to see him--or else sent him Roderick, if he'd wanted that!" "Yes," agreed Harrison smugly, "rather a pity, really. One so often thinks of a thing too late." Tears filled her eyes; from that moment she hated him. He went on: "Now, when I saw old Frankie in London the other day--" "_You__ saw him? This time--since he came over?" "Mm-mm. Why not?" "You ran into him?" "Far from it--we'd got a date. That was when he came to mention he was due down here, this place, next day, to look up the poor old girl. We left it I was to give him a ring again first thing next morning when he'd got back to London. When I did ring, the fat was in the fire. The hotel had just been notified he'd popped off. And more, his lawyers had taken over, and on their instructions they'd locked his room up; which was the devil, he having some stuff of mine. Of course I went round, but the management were not playing. So I then thought, well, the remaining thing one can do is to stand by the poor old boy through the final round. Next, of course, the question arose--but _where__? To cut short a longish story, I put two and two together. Knowing there'd been a run on London burying-space, and that one would think twice these days about shipping a stiff to Ireland, I considered here a good bet, which it proved. I may say, I went to the trouble of checking up. "You certainly went to a good deal of trouble." "Then again, why not, after all?" said he. "An old friend." She just was beginning to wonder why the reply did not, somehow, either rebuke or convince her, when Colonel Pole approached with a glass of port. Colonel Pole, with whom her refugee glance had found its mark, had for some time now been wishing to cross the gulf dividing this lady from the rest of the party; now that his wife Maud had fallen into conversation with Mrs. Tringsby, he seized the opportunity of doing so. With a courteous determined movement of the shoulder he drove a wedge between Stella and Harrison: the latter immediately turned away. Colonel Pole said he supposed she did not remember him? "Of course I remember you!" Stella said. "Do you still breed those lovely Samoyede puppies?" "Hitler has put the lid on that, for the time being. You would not care for some port?... I'm afraid you're right." Colonel Pole shook his head. "Frankie himself," he said, "would have done us very much better. Making allowance for everything, I cannot feel this solicitor fellow has done his best--at the same time, he strikes me as taking a bit too much on himself. Bit of a bee in his bonnet about these Tringsbys--makes one fancy he must have put money into their place? And he does not seem clear who is here today and who isn't--for instance, your son is _not__ with us, I understand?" "No. He--he couldn't get leave in time." "Very gallant of you, coming down on your own like this." Colonel Pole, looking cautiously after Harrison, added: "Or is that a friend of yours?" "No." "I somehow thought not," he exclaimed--the more warmly because Maud had taken the other view. "I should not be surprised to hear that you've no idea who he is--any more, that's to say, than the rest of us have?" "He says his name is Harrison." "_That__ does not tell one much." She agreed. Colonel Pole went on: "He's not been annoying you?" "Not exactly." "He did not happen to say what he thinks he is doing here?" "He knew Cousin Francis in Ireland." "Ireland? Things may not be what they were in that unfortunate country, but you won't get