The Shadow and the Peak

by Richard Mason

  He gave it to her. She held it in her hands for a minute, looking at it; and then as if she had realized all at once what she was doing, she put it down quickly on the bed.

  “Don’t imagine you can make me sorry for what I’ve done,” she said.

  “Why on earth should you be sorry? You smashed up the room for a reason. You should only be sorry that you didn’t do more.”

  He went down on his haunches and started sorting out the papers. From the corner of his eye he saw her glance at the scribbling on the wall. When he looked up at her she turned her eyes away quickly. After a minute, crossing the room to dump the papers in the basket, he nodded casually to the wall and said:

  “By the way, your writing’s rotten. I wish you’d read that out to me.”

  “Why should I?”

  “You wrote it for my benefit, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t mind reading it, if you want,” she said, with something like bravado.

  “Go ahead, then.”

  She read the message, but left out the word at the bottom.

  “There you are,” she said. She sounded uncomfortable.

  “There’s something else underneath,” he said, squinting at the wall. She said nothing, so he went across to the wall and looked closely at the word and laughed and said, “Good Lord, what’s the matter? Don’t you know how to pronounce it?”

  She sat there dumbly.

  “Have a shot at it,” he said.

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll pronounce it for you, then,” he said, and pronounced it. As he did so she turned suddenly scarlet. He was quite surprised by her confusion—he had never seen her like that before. He laughed. “Bless my soul! That word’s as old as the hills.”

  Presently she said in a rather shaky voice, “Don’t you know why I was expelled from my last school?”

  “I thought it was because you were always getting into mischief.”

  “That wasn’t what made them do it. It was because I said that word.”

  “It’s funny the way some people don’t like it,” he said. “I suppose you know what it means?”

  “I think I do.” She didn’t sound sure.

  “You know what men and women do to have babies, don’t you?” She nodded, blushing again. “That’s all it is. That’s why it’s so odd; thousands of people have babies every day, and yet you’re not supposed to use it. But nobody’s going to bother you about it here. You can go on to my verandah and shout it at the top of your voice if you want. I’d much rather you did that than smash my propelling pencil.” He looked at his watch. “Now you’d better run along.” She didn’t move from the bed, so he said, “Go on, off with you. You’re getting in my way.”

  She went off; but less than five minutes later he heard steps on the verandah again. She reappeared in the doorway.

  “Now what?” Douglas said.

  “I want to help you clear up,” she said.

  “I don’t need any help. You’d better hurry up or you’ll miss your supper.”

  “I’m sorry I did it,” she said.

  “Think it over until tomorrow. You might have changed your mind again by then.”

  “I won’t. It was a filthy thing to do.”

  “I suppose you want to be punished now,” he said. “Well, go away and write an essay on intelligent expenditure of energy. But, anyhow, go away.”

  She remained in the doorway.

  “If anybody did this to me I’d never forgive them,” she said.

  “What do you mean by ‘forgive’?”

  “I’d never be friends with them again.”

  “We weren’t friends to start off with,” he said. “So what does it matter?”

  “You must hate me,” she said.

  He laughed and said, “I think you’re a confounded nuisance, and I’ve had quite enough of you for one day. Now run away and think up some new way of making trouble.” She stood motionless. “Go on, pop off.”

  She still didn’t move, and he had to start closing the door before she made a reluctant retreat.

  The next morning John came to see Douglas in the library. He looked worried.

  “Mr. Lockwood, I haven’t got leprosy, have I?”

  “Of course you haven’t. You’re not still upset about what Silvia said, are you?”

  “A lot of people knew about it. I heard them talking in the bathroom.”

  “Don’t take any notice,” Douglas said. “It’s a lot of rubbish.”

  John didn’t seem satisfied. He said with diffidence:

  “Do you remember when all my dormitory had a special medical examination? I wondered if that was anything to do with it.”

  “Yes, it was,” Douglas said. “Somebody had said there was leprosy about. We didn’t believe them, but we wanted to make sure. It was nonsense.”

  “You don’t think my family could have it, either, do you?”

  “They wouldn’t be wandering about in public if they had. Don’t let it worry you, John. The talk will all die down.”

  Douglas told Pawley about it, and Pawley spoke a piece to the children after lunch about the gossip being quite unfounded. He was not much of a speaker, and didn’t sound awfully convincing; but the children were not without tact, and if any of them still believed the gossip and avoided contact with John thereafter, they were careful not to let it appear too obvious.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was his day off on Wednesday, and he went down to Kingston intending to keep away from Judy’s flat. He hung round the shops all morning and then had lunch, and after lunch it occurred to him that if he didn’t call at the flat it would look as if he was behaving like a sulking child, so he decided to do so. Probably in the back of his mind he had known that he would all along.

  The door was opened by Louis. He was in his braces. He showed a very fine spirit of camaraderie, and put his arm round Douglas’s shoulder and called him “old chap” and invited him to have a drink and wait for Judy. Judy had started work again, but for the time being was only employed in the office. She was due at any minute, Louis went into the kitchen to fetch some ice, looking as if he had lived in the flat all his life. When he came back he pointed to the Lignum Vitae and said:

  “That’s Judy’s favourite tree, old chap. The Tree of Life.”

  “She told me,” Douglas said.

  “I expect she did.” He grinned amiably. “You know I’m glad she’s found a friend like you here. She’s been telling me all you’ve done. I’m damned grateful to you.” He was so sincere about it that his eyes watered. He was squatting on the sofa with his legs crossed, looking like a little Jewish tailor. He said as if he was imparting some esoteric knowledge, “She’s a damned nice girl, you know. I’m exceptionally fond of her.” His eyes watered more freely. “I say, I’m afraid my English isn’t up to much. I hope you understand me?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “I’ve tried to get hold of it colloquially. I’ve asked Judy to correct me more, but she doesn’t bother. Would you mind pulling me up if I make a mistake?”

  “You make so few,” Douglas said.

  “Really? That’s awfully nice of you to say so.” He began to cough painfully. “Excuse me—that’s my bad chest. I expect Judy’s told you, hasn’t she?”

  “She’s talked a lot about you.”

  “You probably heard what happened in Mexico. I was damned distressed about it—I felt I was responsible, in a way. I only wish she’d got in touch with me before doing anything so drastic.”

  “It hardly seemed wise under the circumstances,” Douglas said.

  “No I see what you mean. My wife has certainly made things awfully difficult for us. She’s not at all a sympathetic type. Luckily she thinks that Judy’s back in England now.” His smile took for granted that Douglas also thought this lucky. “I s
ay, can I fill up your glass?”

  Presently Judy returned. Louis went out into the hall when he heard her. She burst into high-spirited and affectionate greetings, and then there was silence. They were presumably embracing. Douglas wondered what they looked like when they embraced: Louis was so much shorter than Judy. Then Louis said:

  “That chap’s here—Douglas.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She came through into the living-room, looking rather embarrassed. She was also looking very fresh and slim in her plain white uniform dress. He hadn’t seen her in a dress like that since the crash.

  “I never expected you, Douglas,” she said. She was smiling tentatively, uncertain of his mood.

  “I needn’t ask how you are.”

  He managed to sound quite cheerful, and her embarrassment quickly passed and her happiness took possession of her again. She found it difficult to keep her eyes off Louis, and every glance she gave him was a tender caress. When she went into the bedroom to change, Louis said generously:

  “Go and talk to her if you want, old chap. I expect you’ve a lot to say to one another.”

  “It’ll wait.”

  “As you like. But I don’t mind, you know.”

  Douglas was persuaded into joining them for dinner, and they went to an hotel just out of town. After dinner Louis suggested going to the Colony Club.

  “I don’t know about the Colony . . .” Judy said doubtfully. She was thinking of Douglas’s feelings. She was afraid he might feel sentimental about the Colony.

  “Why not?” Douglas said. “It’s as good as anywhere, isn’t it?”

  They found a good table at the Colony, and Louis ordered a bottle of whisky. Douglas drank most of it, watching them dancing. Louis danced in an exaggerated way like an acrobatic monkey; he had a very white grin, and his oily black hair shone under the spotlights. Douglas knew he ought to have had the guts and the good sense not to come. But perhaps he was getting some sort of kick out of it. He had always loved prodding sores . . .

  He danced with Judy himself, and that was like adding salt to the sores as well.

  “You haven’t forgiven me, Douglas?” she said.

  “Of course I have.”

  “You are a fool,” she said. “You are, honestly—you’re a fool to be so nice.”

  “I know what I’d feel like if I got back to my bungalow and found Caroline. Or would have done. I don’t know that I should now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Now I’d rather get back and find you.”

  “You’d hate me to keep on saying I’m sorry, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes—just keep on looking happy.”

  “I can’t help looking happy,” she said. ‘”I know it’s dreadfully tactless, but I honestly can’t.”

  They danced in silence for a while, and then he said: “Can’t you make Louis stay?”

  “Oh no, he’s going.” She smiled. “ I’m not thinking about it.”

  “You’re not thinking about taking sleeping tablets again?”

  “I swear I’m not.”

  “Will you let me know when he’s going, so that I can stop you? You’re not awfully good at dropping post-cards—you could phone if it’s easier.”

  “I shan’t take any sleeping tablets,” she said. “Not again.”

  “I’d like to hear from you, all the same.”

  “All right,” she said. “But honestly, darling, you oughtn’t to be such a fool. You oughtn’t to be so nice to women—they don’t appreciate it. Look what Louis did to me, and look how I’m behaving. You’re too nice.”

  “I’m just progressive,” he said.

  “Yes, that’s the trouble; you’re just too damned nice.” The music stopped and they went back to the table. Louis stood up.

  “Jolly handsome couple you make,” he said. “I’ve enjoyed watching you.” His grin was as white as a toothpaste advertisement.

  They sat down, and presently a man came over from a neighbouring table. It was the Jamaican whom Judy had nearly married. He asked Douglas if he’d mind if he danced with her. Douglas said he had better ask Louis. Louis said not at all, old chap, and so they went off and danced. Louis said to Douglas:

  “Can’t be much fun being a schoolmaster. Poor pay, isn’t it? I could probably do something for you, once I’ve set up my business. You’re a decent chap, you know.”

  “Oh, yes, awfully.”

  “I’m hoping to go down to the Argentine soon. I’ve been wasting my time in Mexico. Everybody in Mexico is either lazy or crooked—a chap hasn’t a chance of turning an honest penny. But my plans are all worked out for South America. They’re go-ahead down there. There’s room for expansion. I’m going to set up a little import–export firm. It would help to have a decent chap like you with me. I could fix you up with a first-rate job.”

  “I’m quite happy at the school,” Douglas said.

  “Don’t think I’m offering to do you a favour. You’d be doing me a favour if you joined.”

  “I’m going to stick to teaching for the time being.”

  “That’s all right, then.” He grinned. He was very conscientious about showing that he didn’t take offence. “I was just letting you know I’d be glad to do something for you. I knew you were decent the first time we met. You had a weak spot for Judy, and that was enough for me. Some chaps in my place might have taken it the wrong way—but I take you for what you are, a damn decent fellow.”

  Douglas said, “Look here, Louis. Are you in love with Judy?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Then why don’t you hang on to her?”

  Louis made a gesture of helplessness. A large gold ring flashed on his finger.

  “There’s nothing I’d like better—but I’m not a free agent. My wife would never divorce me.”

  “To hell with divorce,” Douglas said. “Why don’t you just go off with Judy?”

  “You think I ought to?”

  “I damn well do.”

  He liked being told this, but he shook his head regretfully. “I couldn’t do it. I’m not established yet. Of course it’ll be different when my business is running properly.”

  “Judy wouldn’t mind roughing it. She’s done it with you before.”

  “No,” he said. “I might have asked her to do it if I was in decent health. But I’m an old crock, you know. I was in a sanatorium in Switzerland all through the war. I ought to be there now, but I’d rather enjoy a short life than spin it out in hospital. I might crack up at any time. It wouldn’t be fair on Judy to have her with me. It simply wouldn’t be fair to ask her.” The pathos was positively dripping off him.

  “It’s what Judy wants,” Douglas said. “Whether you’re at your last gasp or not.”

  Louis shook his head.

  “I like her too much. And then there’s another thing.” He turned his eyes towards Douglas. They were watering so much that he must have been almost blind. “I’m a Jew.”

  “What’s that to do with it? I haven’t noticed it bothering Judy.”

  He shook his head lugubriously. “No, it wouldn’t. She’s too fine a person. But I know what it means to other people. I like her too much to ask her to share the burden.”

  “It didn’t stop you coming to have a nice holiday with her in Jamaica.”

  “That’s different,” Louis said, shaking his head. “You don’t understand, old chap—quite different.”

  Douglas said, “Personally, Louis, I think Judy’s a marvellous girl, and I think you’re a bloody fool.”

  Louis was wonderful at not taking offence. That even seemed to cheer him up. He said bravely:

  “I won’t let that alter my opinion of you. I still think you’re a damn decent fellow, Douglas. Damn decent.”

  “Everybody appears to think that ton
ight,” Douglas said. “Oughtn’t I to feel happy?”

  They left the Colony Club at eleven. The waiter brought the bill and gave it to Louis. Louis looked embarrassed, so Douglas took out his wallet.

  Judy exclaimed, “No, Douglas, you’re absolutely not to. Not tonight.” She opened her bag quickly and handed some notes to Louis, but Douglas had already paid.

  “Make him take the money, Louis,” Judy said.

  Louis tried half-heartedly as they went out, and Douglas refused, so Louis held on to the notes and said:

  “That’s damned good of you. I’m a bit stuck for money here—there’s been a misunderstanding at the bank. But don’t forget about the job in the Argentine. I’d be glad to do you a good turn.”

  Douglas drove them back to the flat. He wouldn’t go in for a drink. He waited until he saw their lights come on, and then he started back for the school. There was no moon, and it was a very dark night. He couldn’t see the mountains even in silhouette; but there was a small forest fire burning on one of the hilltops, and it looked like an aircraft that had burst into flames in the sky, and had stopped in its flight but forgotten to drop.

  He was passing John’s tree-house a few evenings later when he heard voices from within. He called out, and John’s black little face appeared at the trap-door. John lowered the rope, and he climbed up. There were two girls sitting inside. One of them was Silvia, and the other was Norah, the girl on whom Silvia had once inflicted quite painful injuries. They had brought tea in a tin from the Great House and were having a party. Silvia was the first to offer Douglas her mug.

  Silvia’s recent change of heart had been obvious to everyone. Even Duffield had grudgingly admitted, “I don’t know what you’ve done to her, but she’s been going round looking like a ruddy little angel.” He went on to say that he mistrusted this appearance, since devils could only be driven out with sticks. Douglas was not without mistrust himself. He doubted if the friendship of the other children went very deep either; but they had all been afraid of Silvia and were glad to call a truce. It was interesting that John and Norah, whom she had most offended, were the first to do so.