I had a lot of leisure to think. I thought about that a lot, what would I have done if I could have made a donation, and I decided I wouldn’t have. I’d have been afraid.”
His eyes seemed filled with adoration. Embarrassed, awkward, but unable to stop looking at him, she tried to leave the subject, to deflect things.
“What about work? You couldn’t have worked while all this was going on. How have you lived?” Again she had perhaps gone too far. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask.…”
“You can ask me anything.”
The words fell calmly. His total openness was almost frightening. The sense of intimacy made her shiver a little, for although they had been there less than half an hour it was as if she had known him for a long, long time.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said again, weak now with attempting she hardly knew what. “I have no right to pry like this.”
“
You
can ask me anything. After all, I’m yours, aren’t I?”
“What do you mean?” she said.
“Nothing to make you look so—so fearful. Don’t you know that when you save a man’s life he belongs to you? Like a servant. In thetrue sense of that word, I mean. Someone who will devotedly serve you.” Her hands were on the table surface and he put his over them. The hands he had reached out to take hers and had withdrawn from shyness or some sense of decorum, he now placed over her hands and let them rest there with increasing pressure. The touch was extraordinarily comforting.
“My brother kept me,” he said. “I have a job now. It’s only part-time and it’s not much. I work for him, my brother. It’s not the kind of thing I had in mind. I’d been to a great university, I had high hopes of my future, but still—it’s work, I was glad of anything once I knew I was going to live.”
She waited for him to say what he did, what the work was, but he didn’t say. The bill came. As he was taking it from the waitress’s hand, Mary said, “No, let me.”
This time he laughed. The girl was standing there listening, but he didn’t seem to mind. “You’re remembering I said I hadn’t a phone. I only meant I hadn’t a phone of my own. I’ve been sharing a flat with my brother since I got ill. I had to, I couldn’t manage on my own.”
Her hands felt cold now he had taken his away. She was aware that with the coming of evening it was no longer warm. She stood up. “I’ll walk you to Park Village, shall I?” he asked. “Oh, don’t look like that. I’m quite well. You’ve made me well, remember? I can walk long distances, Mary.”
It was the first time he had used her name and she was unprepared for the rush of pleasure it brought her. They passed into the Broad Walk and made their way northward. The bearded man she had encountered earlier was once more on one of the seats, once more reading. She prepared to smile at him and say hello, but he kept his eyes on the page. Leo began to talk of the curious coincidence of their living so near to each other. He called her Mary again and managed to give the name a prettier sound than anyone else had.
She looked back once but the man on the seat had gone.
7
T here had not even been a period of wondering where they all were, of apprehensiveness, doubt, the tickle of speculation, fear growing from unexplained absence and the silent phone. He knew, or thought he knew. They were in Woodbridge, at his mother-in-law’s. It was school holidays, the October half-term, and Sally had driven herself, Elizabeth, and Daniel up into Suffolk to see her mother, who had been ill. They were to stay overnight.
Afterward, in a kind of mad obsession with figures, dates, sums, he had tried to calculate how often she had made that journey in the previous fifteen years, how often she and he and all of them had made it. Two hundred times? More? Looking back over the years, consulting his diary, he eventually came to the precise figure of two hundred and twenty-three times, anything to distract his mind,
His eyes seemed filled with adoration. Embarrassed, awkward, but unable to stop looking at him, she tried to leave the subject, to deflect things.
“What about work? You couldn’t have worked while all this was going on. How have you lived?” Again she had perhaps gone too far. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask.…”
“You can ask me anything.”
The words fell calmly. His total openness was almost frightening. The sense of intimacy made her shiver a little, for although they had been there less than half an hour it was as if she had known him for a long, long time.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said again, weak now with attempting she hardly knew what. “I have no right to pry like this.”
“
You
can ask me anything. After all, I’m yours, aren’t I?”
“What do you mean?” she said.
“Nothing to make you look so—so fearful. Don’t you know that when you save a man’s life he belongs to you? Like a servant. In thetrue sense of that word, I mean. Someone who will devotedly serve you.” Her hands were on the table surface and he put his over them. The hands he had reached out to take hers and had withdrawn from shyness or some sense of decorum, he now placed over her hands and let them rest there with increasing pressure. The touch was extraordinarily comforting.
“My brother kept me,” he said. “I have a job now. It’s only part-time and it’s not much. I work for him, my brother. It’s not the kind of thing I had in mind. I’d been to a great university, I had high hopes of my future, but still—it’s work, I was glad of anything once I knew I was going to live.”
She waited for him to say what he did, what the work was, but he didn’t say. The bill came. As he was taking it from the waitress’s hand, Mary said, “No, let me.”
This time he laughed. The girl was standing there listening, but he didn’t seem to mind. “You’re remembering I said I hadn’t a phone. I only meant I hadn’t a phone of my own. I’ve been sharing a flat with my brother since I got ill. I had to, I couldn’t manage on my own.”
Her hands felt cold now he had taken his away. She was aware that with the coming of evening it was no longer warm. She stood up. “I’ll walk you to Park Village, shall I?” he asked. “Oh, don’t look like that. I’m quite well. You’ve made me well, remember? I can walk long distances, Mary.”
It was the first time he had used her name and she was unprepared for the rush of pleasure it brought her. They passed into the Broad Walk and made their way northward. The bearded man she had encountered earlier was once more on one of the seats, once more reading. She prepared to smile at him and say hello, but he kept his eyes on the page. Leo began to talk of the curious coincidence of their living so near to each other. He called her Mary again and managed to give the name a prettier sound than anyone else had.
She looked back once but the man on the seat had gone.
7
T here had not even been a period of wondering where they all were, of apprehensiveness, doubt, the tickle of speculation, fear growing from unexplained absence and the silent phone. He knew, or thought he knew. They were in Woodbridge, at his mother-in-law’s. It was school holidays, the October half-term, and Sally had driven herself, Elizabeth, and Daniel up into Suffolk to see her mother, who had been ill. They were to stay overnight.
Afterward, in a kind of mad obsession with figures, dates, sums, he had tried to calculate how often she had made that journey in the previous fifteen years, how often she and he and all of them had made it. Two hundred times? More? Looking back over the years, consulting his diary, he eventually came to the precise figure of two hundred and twenty-three times, anything to distract his mind,
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