were you?" It seems revoltingly relevant.
--Anyway, there's no point in my talking to Anlta. You know my abysmal
record.
--You know mine.
--You're young. You can change. I was beyond the point of no return.
--So you returned, Ross sneered.
--You can change.
--I don't want to change.
There it was. Ross didn't want to change, and he had every right not
to change.
Fletcher, who had briefly experienced hope, confidence and purpose,
lost them again. Knowing Ross, he was no longer able to feel he had any
right to be in Ross's mind.
He was a man taking up space in a lifeboat while others drowned. He had
no right to be in the lifeboat. His own drowning was receding into the
past, yet he clung to a place in life, a place of refuge, that belonged
to someone else.
He shielded these thoughts from Ross, and Ross thought he was shielding
something else.
--You won't talk to Anita for me?
--Understand: it's pointless.
With characteristic, childish pique, Ross retorted
--Then I'm damned if I'll talk to you.
After that Ross sulked in a corner of his mind, leaving Fletcher to cope
as best he could with "A Day in the Life of Ian Ross." Fletcher had no
choice; Ross refused to answer. On the whole Fletcher coped better than
either of them expected, largely because he had nothing to lose.
When he encountered Eric Stirling, Eric said at once: "Well, what
happened?"
"Whatever happened or didn't happen, I wouldn't tell you."
The reply was rude enough to be by Ross, but it wasn't in Ross's image.
Eric was visibly startled.
The girl who was pregnant by Ross, Sandra, waylaid him and started on
a shrill complaint.
"Now wait a minute," said Fletcher. "It's not my fault that when a man
and a girl take a roll in the hay nothing can happen to the man and the
girl may have a baby. All I know is that the roll in the hay was as much
your idea as mine. If anything, more yours. So don't try to present me
with the bill."
"I might have known that's how you'd take it!"
"Yes," he agreed cordially. "You might have known. Are you trying to
tell me you didn't?"
She was silenced. It bothered him a little to be so brutal, but he honestly
believed it was a case of being cruel to be kind. The possibility that
Ross would marry Sandra did not exist. The possibility that he would take
any responsibility for her, after Fletcher ceased to be part of him,
was almost equally theoretical. The sooner the girl realized this, the
sooner she would begin to equip herself for her not uncommon situation.
When he met Anita he said simply: "I'm sorry."
"I'm not very interested." She tried to brush past him.
"I'm not Ian Ross. I'm John Fletcher."
The announcement, which he made briefly and bluntly in the hope of
catching her interest, fell exceedingly flat. "Good. Any change must be
for the better."
"I have to talk to you."
"But I don't have to talk to you."
"Please, Anita -- "
Although she had shown no surprise when he said he was Fletcher, this
seemed to surprise her. Probably it was the first time Ross had been
known to say "please."
"I have to go to this lecture," she said, less coldly.
"Afterward, then?"
"Maybe . . . "
That was enough. Fletcher stepped back, and that surprised her too.
Fletcher was confused. He was in control. Ross was not speaking to him.
Fletcher, too, was shielding his thoughts, his personal thoughts,
from Ross.
Yet he was not speaking or acting like either Ross or himself.
Having no lecture, he called on his French tutor. He should have done
so the day before, as Mr. Steen lost no time in pointing out.
"Sit down, Ross," said Steen. His manner made Anita's seem friendly. "I've
read your essay. I've read it several times. The French is
--Anyway, there's no point in my talking to Anlta. You know my abysmal
record.
--You know mine.
--You're young. You can change. I was beyond the point of no return.
--So you returned, Ross sneered.
--You can change.
--I don't want to change.
There it was. Ross didn't want to change, and he had every right not
to change.
Fletcher, who had briefly experienced hope, confidence and purpose,
lost them again. Knowing Ross, he was no longer able to feel he had any
right to be in Ross's mind.
He was a man taking up space in a lifeboat while others drowned. He had
no right to be in the lifeboat. His own drowning was receding into the
past, yet he clung to a place in life, a place of refuge, that belonged
to someone else.
He shielded these thoughts from Ross, and Ross thought he was shielding
something else.
--You won't talk to Anita for me?
--Understand: it's pointless.
With characteristic, childish pique, Ross retorted
--Then I'm damned if I'll talk to you.
After that Ross sulked in a corner of his mind, leaving Fletcher to cope
as best he could with "A Day in the Life of Ian Ross." Fletcher had no
choice; Ross refused to answer. On the whole Fletcher coped better than
either of them expected, largely because he had nothing to lose.
When he encountered Eric Stirling, Eric said at once: "Well, what
happened?"
"Whatever happened or didn't happen, I wouldn't tell you."
The reply was rude enough to be by Ross, but it wasn't in Ross's image.
Eric was visibly startled.
The girl who was pregnant by Ross, Sandra, waylaid him and started on
a shrill complaint.
"Now wait a minute," said Fletcher. "It's not my fault that when a man
and a girl take a roll in the hay nothing can happen to the man and the
girl may have a baby. All I know is that the roll in the hay was as much
your idea as mine. If anything, more yours. So don't try to present me
with the bill."
"I might have known that's how you'd take it!"
"Yes," he agreed cordially. "You might have known. Are you trying to
tell me you didn't?"
She was silenced. It bothered him a little to be so brutal, but he honestly
believed it was a case of being cruel to be kind. The possibility that
Ross would marry Sandra did not exist. The possibility that he would take
any responsibility for her, after Fletcher ceased to be part of him,
was almost equally theoretical. The sooner the girl realized this, the
sooner she would begin to equip herself for her not uncommon situation.
When he met Anita he said simply: "I'm sorry."
"I'm not very interested." She tried to brush past him.
"I'm not Ian Ross. I'm John Fletcher."
The announcement, which he made briefly and bluntly in the hope of
catching her interest, fell exceedingly flat. "Good. Any change must be
for the better."
"I have to talk to you."
"But I don't have to talk to you."
"Please, Anita -- "
Although she had shown no surprise when he said he was Fletcher, this
seemed to surprise her. Probably it was the first time Ross had been
known to say "please."
"I have to go to this lecture," she said, less coldly.
"Afterward, then?"
"Maybe . . . "
That was enough. Fletcher stepped back, and that surprised her too.
Fletcher was confused. He was in control. Ross was not speaking to him.
Fletcher, too, was shielding his thoughts, his personal thoughts,
from Ross.
Yet he was not speaking or acting like either Ross or himself.
Having no lecture, he called on his French tutor. He should have done
so the day before, as Mr. Steen lost no time in pointing out.
"Sit down, Ross," said Steen. His manner made Anita's seem friendly. "I've
read your essay. I've read it several times. The French is
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