“Well,” Rona said at its end, “there it is... I don’t know why I ran away like that. But it is a definite quarrel. Because I ’phoned Scott just before lunchtime. He was out. I left a message. He didn’t answer it.”
“Perhaps he didn’t get the message,” Peggy said, but she looked worriedly at Jon. She switched on the light beside the couch as if to cheer up the room.
“I’ve had the feeling all day, and I can’t shake myself free from it,” Rona said, “that—that—”
“What, Rona?” Jon prompted gently.
“That we’ll never be married.” Rona turned her face away from the light. She began to cry. Her tears were as unexpected as her words. Jon and Peggy stared at each other.
Jon was saying, “Rona, people quarrel, people make up. Don’t take it so hard.” Why the hell hadn’t Scott telephoned her?
Peggy said, “Scott can’t possibly believe that rumour. If he does, then he isn’t worth marrying.” As she spoke, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she said with annoyance and hurried from the room.
Rona searched for her handkerchief and gave an attempt at a smile as Jon handed over his. Jon was thinking moodily of this evening. First there had been Bob Cash. Milton Leitner had brought him along to Jon for some frank advice: Bob had decided to join the Communist Party, and he was trying to persuade Milton to go along with him. Milton had been arguing all week-end with Bob, and then this evening he had managed to get him to come here for a discussion with Jon. Bob’s people lived two thousand miles away. It was up to Jon, Milton had argued, to try and put forward their point of view. And Jon, although he probably wouldn’t have agreed with Bob Cash’s father on many things, had done his best. All he had managed to do was to persuade Bob to think over his decision, to wait until summer, to hear other sides to this question. But even that half-defeat was a half-success. Jon had put forward his points of view, some of which Bob couldn’t answer. Bob had left, obviously going away to search for the answers. There would be more talks, more arguments, more answers to be found—a long, troublesome, and wearying job, yet someone had to do it.
So first, there had been Bob; and now there was Rona. No, first there had been Joseph Locastro. This afternoon Locastro had come to Jon and said he was leaving the University at the end of his junior year, he was taking a job, he was going to get married. Just like that. It had been more difficult to argue against Joe’s decision than it had been to marshal facts to persuade Bob. It wasn’t easy to show a young man that what he chose to do today was going to shape the whole pattern of his life. Life didn’t seem a matter of cause and effect when you were young. That took bitter learning. Joe—Bob—Rona. Love, politics, love. A pretty indigestible sandwich for one day, Jon thought wryly.
“What is keeping Peggy?” he asked, suddenly conscious that Peggy and the new visitor were talking in low voices in the hall. Rona, looking out of the window, watching the soot-rimmed bricks of the darkening houses opposite, hadn’t even realised that Peggy was delayed.
Then Peggy came in, her face flushed, her mouth trying to look cheerful, and she announced casually, as if all this were perfectly understandable, “Here’s Mr. Ettley to see us, Jon!” She turned on another lamp and began to draw the curtains, if only to avoid watching Rona meet Scott’s father.
William Ettley came forward to shake Rona’s hand, moving in his quick energetic way. His quiet eyes, watchful behind his glasses, looked at her both worriedly and affectionately. He shook hands with Jon, too. Then he selected the nearest chair and sat down. He crossed and then uncrossed his legs. He took out his cigarette case, opening it, shutting it, opening it.
“In a way,” he said, his deep pleasant voice re-establishing its usual decision, “I’m glad I found you here, Rona. For I came to talk about you and Scott. I’m worried about you both, frankly. Why are you breaking your engagement to Scott?”
Peggy, who had until this moment been thinking that Rona was taking everything much too seriously and just wait until she had a family to worry about and the monthly bills to be met, sat down on the couch and watched Mr. Ettley anxiously.
Jon, noticing Rona’s horrified silence, said quietly, “You are a jump ahead of anyone here, Mr. Ettley. Who says the engagement is broken?”
“Judging from what Scott told me this evening, I assumed it was. I met him at five, and we had dinner together. I’ve just left him. He had to be back at the office at eight o’clock. A pity. I wanted to get him and Rona together.” Mr. Ettley chose a cigarette at last. “I’ve got to return to Staunton tomorrow morning,” he explained.
He looked in turn at the three faces watching him, his eyes resting finally on Rona’s. Then he said to her, “You didn’t break the engagement?”
Rona shook her head. “No.” She glanced down at the ring on her left hand. She said bitterly, “But I shall, if Scott wants me to.”
“He doesn’t!” Mr. Ettley said quickly. “He’s in a terrible state about this whole thing.”
“What did Scott tell you?” Jon asked.
“Well—merely that Rona and he had gone apartment hunting, yesterday, and then there had been a quarrel, and then Rona left him.” Mr. Ettley took a long time to light his cigarette.
“I think he must have told you more than that, Mr. Ettley.”
“Yes. Sideways. He’s very unhappy, he can’t talk much about it. But...” Mr. Ettley looked at Rona. “There seems to be a very bad misunderstanding. I’m glad, now, that I did come up here tonight.”
“Why didn’t Scott get in touch with Rona today, and clear this all up by himself?” Jon wanted to know.
“He did try to get in touch. She wouldn’t talk to him on the ’phone.”
“I wouldn’t what?” Rona asked.
Peggy said quickly, “Scott is mistaken about that. If Rona’s ’phone was busy, why did he assume she wouldn’t talk to him? Really, Mr. Ettley, I do think Scott is acting like a spoiled—”
“Well, we can clear up these misunderstandings quite easily,” Jon interrupted, giving Peggy a warning smile as he silenced her. “Why don’t you call Scott at the office, Mr. Ettley? Tell him you’ve seen Rona, and that she’s as miserable as he is. He had better get in touch with her as soon as possible.”
“No,” Rona burst out, “no, I don’t want it that way. Scott can call me by himself, without being prompted by anyone. I telephoned him today and left a message. Now it’s his turn.” Then her voice quieted and she said, “I think Scott doesn’t want to marry me, that’s all. And he sent you here, Mr. Ettley, because he thought that this would be the easiest way to break it to me.”
“He didn’t send me, Rona,” Ettley said unhappily. “This is my own idea. He doesn’t know about it.”
“But he knew you just wouldn’t go back to your hotel and forget about it all. He knew you wouldn’t leave New York without trying to do something about it.”
No one said anything at all to that.
“Rona,” Ettley said at last, “Scott’s very upset about all this. He’s in such a state that I know—I’m sure he wants to marry you.”
Peggy said irritably, “Then what’s been preventing him?”
“He thinks Rona is still in love with Paul Haydn. He told me about that,” Mr. Ettley said unhappily.
“But Paul Haydn wasn’t here at Christmas time, and we all expected Rona and Scott would be married then,” Peggy said. She looked at her husband and then at Ettley, almost attackingly. “Didn’t we?” she asked angrily.
“Oh...” Rona began. Then she rose and left the room. Peggy followed.
“What are you thinking?” Ettley asked Jon Tyson.
“I’m thinking what I would do if I were in Scott’s place,” Jon said slowly. “And, to tell you the truth, Mr. Ettley, I don’t see myself behaving the way he is.”
“There’s more to all this than we are told,” Ettley said. “Scott won’t speak frankly about it, trying to protect Rona, no doubt. But, you know, if she’s in love with him, you’d think money wo
uldn’t hold her back. After all, most young men begin with little. And most girls accept that. It’s a kind of—challenge to them. The way your wife manages this home of yours, for instance.”
“Has Scott been telling you that Rona thought money was important?”
Ettley didn’t like Jon’s tone of voice. “I know he worries about that a good deal,” he said stiffly. “He’s now worried, too, because Haydn’s job is a good one, paying twice as much as Scott’s, perhaps more. You know of course that yesterday Scott and Rona had a pretty miserable day apartment hunting. Scott insists that they can’t afford more than—”
“Look, Mr. Ettley,” Jon said, “I’m sure of one thing. Scott’s been giving you the wrong angle—altogether.”
“He’s always been honest with me,” Ettley said, rising, stubbing out his half-finished cigarette. “He’s a determined boy, and at times a pig-headed one. I grant you that. But he’s always been completely honest. I’m proud to say he’s never told me a lie in his life.”
“Knowing Rona as you do, why do you let yourself be persuaded that she’s the only one to blame?”
“I don’t think she’s the only one to blame, Professor Tyson. I think this whole mess could be straightened out by a little frank talk on both sides. But there is one thing that is certain: I may not know Rona so well, after all. And I do know my own son. I don’t enjoy seeing him being made as unhappy as he is.”
“I wouldn’t say Rona has been very happy, recently,” Jon said bitterly. “You only have to look at her to see she isn’t the same girl she was six months ago.”
There was silence for a few moments. Then William Ettley nodded. “I see that tonight,” he admitted. “You know, I think I’d like to have a talk with her. Is she staying here for the evening, or may I take her home?” He smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid my temper is short, these days.”
“My fault,” Jon said. “I began it.”
William Ettley said, “Family loyalties are strange things. They sneak up on you when you don’t even suspect they are anywhere near you.”
“Yes,” Jon said. “I’ll go and see if Rona’s ready to leave.”
William Ettley paced around the little room. Family loyalties, he was thinking, family affairs... Once you start worrying about than, you even forget newspaper headlines. Strange there, how my temper flared up when Jon Tyson questioned Scott’s honesty. I’ve often criticised Scott myself, he thought. I’ve criticised the way he always arranged things to suit himself. That, I admit, has always been his weakness; that was why, to be frank, he didn’t like the army. I thought he might have learned something there, but he came out rebelling against everything he had seen and felt. If he had been promoted, perhaps it would have been different. But what am I saying? Scott can submit to discipline—to his own discipline. Even as a boy, he amazed me sometimes by his determination in following his own decisions, however unpleasant they turned out to be. He can wear a hair shirt if he feels he has made it himself. He can wear it, even enjoy wearing it. But let anyone else try to...
At that moment, Rona came back into the room and Ettley’s train of thought was cut short. She was wearing her hat and jacket, she was pulling on her gloves. She said, “I’d like it very much if we could ride downtown together.”
And William Ettley, watching her face, seeing no sign there of recrimination, no petulance round her mouth, no sullen temper in her eyes, wondered if Scott knew just what he was in danger of losing. Then he smiled, and took Rona’s arm. He realised, at that moment, that he believed more in Rona than he had let Jon Tyson think. Or himself, either. When he said good night to Jon and Peggy, there was an added warmth in his voice and his handshake.
Peggy stood in the hall, looking at the closed door for a few moments. “It all depends on Scott and on Rona,” she said sadly. “All the good will in the world won’t have any results unless they really mean what they say.”
Jon was at the telephone. “I’m going to ’phone that son of a bitch,” he said savagely, glancing at his watch. “He’ll be in the office by this time, damn him to—”
“Jon!” Peggy said, pointing to the children’s room. “Okay, okay,” Jon said, lowering his voice.
“Remember you’re a professor, now, honey,” Peggy said with a smile. But she hoped Jon would speak bluntly to Scott. Someone had to, someone who didn’t care if he hurt Scott. That was the trouble. Rona and William Ettley were always trying to soften any blows for Scott. That was the trouble. But that was what she did to Jon, and what Jon did for her. If you loved someone, that was what you did instinctively. So, where did that leave Scott Ettley? Was he in love, or only half in love? Was that all he ever could be, half in love with a girl and the other half kept for himself?
Peggy cleared away the dinner dishes. By the time she had washed them, Jon came back from the ’phone. “No,” she said, “I’ll dry. You’d better start working on those exam papers, Jon.” She glanced worriedly at the kitchen clock. It was five minutes past nine. “Well, what did Scott say?”
“He wasn’t there. He isn’t in the office tonight. I hung on to that ’phone until I made quite sure of that. He wasn’t expected, either.”
“Jon!”
“Yes. Exactly.” Jon’s voice was grim. Never told a lie in his life, William Ettley had said.
“Perhaps he’s at his apartment?”
“I tried that, too. No answer.”
Peggy found a dry dish towel. “Stop worrying, darling. Get those old tests graded. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” And let’s say nothing more about this, her voice suggested.
Jon went through to the living-room and turned on the lamp at the desk. When Peggy came to join him, she brought a length of green material, her sewing-box, and an envelope of paper patterns. She didn’t speak, but concentrated on spreading the cloth over the rug and pinning the pieces of pattern in place. Jon watched her as she sat back on her heels, studying her jigsaw puzzle. “If I juggled it a bit,” she was saying to herself, “I might have enough for a dress for Barbara too.”
Jon rose, walked over to where she knelt, bent down and kissed her.
“Thanks, darling,” Peggy said, smiling up at him. “But what for?”
“I just felt like it. I’m a lucky guy.”
She rose and hugged him. “And that’s for you. Oh, Jon, I’m a lucky girl.”
Then they both went back to their work.
14
Just before nine o’clock, even as his father and Rona were saying good night to the Tysons, Scott Ettley left his apartment. He was inconspicuously dressed, and he didn’t take a taxi. Instead, he walked toward Fifty-ninth Street and Madison at an unhurried pace, and the route he followed was haphazard, as if he were out for an evening stroll and found much to interest him in the shop windows which he passed.
He reached the busy intersection, its sidewalks still crowded, its garish lights warming the faces that passed under them. It was five minutes before the half hour. He went into a large drugstore for a pack of cigarettes, and then glanced through its rack of fiction near the door. He found nothing to buy there seemingly, for at half-past nine he returned a cheap edition novel to its proper place, and then went out into Madison Avenue. Nicholas Orpen was buying a newspaper from the corner stand at Fifty-ninth Street. He looked at Scott for a moment, didn’t recognise him, pocketed his change, and started walking toward Fifth Avenue. Scott lighted a cigarette and followed him.
He might pretend to smile at Orpen’s precautions but he enjoyed them. They emphasised his sense of excitement, his feeling of immense responsibility. And he knew he had been right in his decision. This, he told himself, is something bigger than anything else I know; this is bigger than Rona or I. We aren’t important, not compared with this. And it is all the more important with each sacrifice made for it. I have come so far, I must go on. Or everything I have done is meaningless, and everything I have believed is blankness. His face still had the same look of unhappiness that it had worn all of this d
ay, but now there was a certain look of grim satisfaction round his lips. Nothing that was good was ever achieved easily. Power, as Orpen had so often told him, was for those who had earned it. Those who would not make the sacrifice would gain nothing in the end.
By the time he had followed Orpen by bus to Columbus Circle, by subway to upper Broadway and Seventy-second Street, by foot to Eighty-sixth Street and Amsterdam Avenue, Scott Ettley was beginning to lose some of his enthusiasm for Orpen’s precautions. No one was following them; no one was interested. Orpen liked playing conspirator. Or was he hoping to impress Scott with the importance of tonight’s meeting? Ettley couldn’t guess. But he was relieved when Orpen at last spoke to him as they waited together in the darkness for a cross-town bus.
“Well?” Orpen said. “Made your mind up?”
“I’m here.”
“You use your head...” Orpen said with a smile.
Scott Ettley looked at him.
“...in following a man,” Orpen added. “You learn quickly.”
Yes, Ettley thought, Orpen had always been a good teacher: discipline first, complete obedience, and then praise. Scott Ettley’s feeling of animosity disappeared. He admitted, grudgingly, that Orpen had given him a little lesson in caution and security that he was always going to remember. Then he wondered what had aroused this sense of criticism toward Orpen. And he was uneasy. Orpen’s sardonic smile made him all the uneasier. Orpen had felt that animosity, that grudging submission. And Orpen seemed to know the reason why it was there. Then even that proof of Orpen’s infallibility aroused Scott’s annoyance again. Determinedly, almost bitterly, he forced himself to stop brooding about Orpen, to think only of the meeting, to try and recapture that sense of excitement and responsibility that had silenced his unhappiness as he had followed Orpen from Madison Avenue and Fifty-ninth Street.
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