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Authors: David Stacton
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as he sat down beside her. “Mrs. Nesbitt was my worst enemy,” she said. “She owned the house you’re living in now.”
“You can talk to me, can’t you?” he asked after a while.
She nodded. “I can to-day.” She looked at him calmly. “Why did you come here?” What she was really thinking was that open collars flattered him. She could see the corded muscle in his throat twitch and rise.
“I don’t know. I had to come somewhere, and I guess the mountains fascinated me.”
She sighed. “You can’t imagine what it’s like to live here,” she said. “Living up there would be different. But down in the valley, no.”
“What would you like to do?”
“I’ve told you that once. You thought I was silly.”
“Tell me again.”
“I’d like to be somebody.”
He played with some pine needles. “Perhaps you are.”
She looked at him with serious eyes. “I used to play another game when I was a child,” she said. “I used to play a game of point, and when I pointed a thing was or it wasn’t. I pointed people away, like Mrs. Nesbitt.”
He was not listening to her. He scarcely seemed to know that she was there at all. And yet he was not ignoring her. He was just thinking. “I was born poor,” he said. “It can be done. You can do anything, if you know how. And you don’t even have to know how. You just have to make people believe that you do.”
“But how is it done?” she wailed. “How is it done?”
“You’re too honest. You have to learn to lie. Even to yourself.”
“Aren’t you honest?”
He laughed. “Of course I’m not. Do you know anybody who is?”
She looked up at him, standing slightly apart from her on the edge of the ledge. “I shall hate it when you go,” she said.
He looked uncomfortable. “I’m going to live there, you know.”
“Oh, yes,up there. But you won’t bother with anybody then. You won’t even have anybody in your house.”
He seemed touched. “I’ll take you up to-morrow, if you like. But it isn’t a woman’s sort of house.” He stood up straighter and stretched to the winds. “Let’s go back.”
She was disappointed. “I hate to go back. I hate to go down,” she said. He nodded, seeming to know what she meant. She was sober and sad and said nothing for a while, concentrating on leading the way back. Looking at the view one last time, he followed her. At the bottom she halted. “Will you really let me see your house?”
He hesitated. “Yes, if you wish.”
“You don’t want me to, do you?”
This upset him. “To-morrow I’ll do it,” he told her. “At ten.”
She turned and walked rapidly across the fields and into the farmhouse. But that evening, after dinner, she went out and stood for a long time, looking up at the cliff, even though from below she could not see his house on top of it.
When she got up the next morning she was alone, for her father had gone, and she was grateful for that. She dressed with care, in her best dress, the white one with blue stripes. It felt delicious against her skin. Then she waited.
He was late. It was ten-fifteen. She heard the phone ring twice, a call for the Nesbitt Place, and carefully picked up the receiver to listen. But it was only two Italians arguing.
It was not until one of them said, “Okay, damn you, but I know it’s one of her tricks, and this is the last time”, that she realized that she was listening to Christopher. “I’ll fly down,” he said, “I’ll be there this afternoon.” He slammed the receiver at his end, and all along the line Sally heard other small clicks, as other eavesdroppers put up their receivers. Shamefacedly she did the same. Bewildered, she felt the silk of her dress and slowly sat down on a chair. Through the kitchen window she saw the blank surface of the cliff, two hundred yards away through the trees. Then she went upstairs to change her dress, for she had forgotten that he lived in other worlds she could not touch.
Perhaps he had
“You can talk to me, can’t you?” he asked after a while.
She nodded. “I can to-day.” She looked at him calmly. “Why did you come here?” What she was really thinking was that open collars flattered him. She could see the corded muscle in his throat twitch and rise.
“I don’t know. I had to come somewhere, and I guess the mountains fascinated me.”
She sighed. “You can’t imagine what it’s like to live here,” she said. “Living up there would be different. But down in the valley, no.”
“What would you like to do?”
“I’ve told you that once. You thought I was silly.”
“Tell me again.”
“I’d like to be somebody.”
He played with some pine needles. “Perhaps you are.”
She looked at him with serious eyes. “I used to play another game when I was a child,” she said. “I used to play a game of point, and when I pointed a thing was or it wasn’t. I pointed people away, like Mrs. Nesbitt.”
He was not listening to her. He scarcely seemed to know that she was there at all. And yet he was not ignoring her. He was just thinking. “I was born poor,” he said. “It can be done. You can do anything, if you know how. And you don’t even have to know how. You just have to make people believe that you do.”
“But how is it done?” she wailed. “How is it done?”
“You’re too honest. You have to learn to lie. Even to yourself.”
“Aren’t you honest?”
He laughed. “Of course I’m not. Do you know anybody who is?”
She looked up at him, standing slightly apart from her on the edge of the ledge. “I shall hate it when you go,” she said.
He looked uncomfortable. “I’m going to live there, you know.”
“Oh, yes,up there. But you won’t bother with anybody then. You won’t even have anybody in your house.”
He seemed touched. “I’ll take you up to-morrow, if you like. But it isn’t a woman’s sort of house.” He stood up straighter and stretched to the winds. “Let’s go back.”
She was disappointed. “I hate to go back. I hate to go down,” she said. He nodded, seeming to know what she meant. She was sober and sad and said nothing for a while, concentrating on leading the way back. Looking at the view one last time, he followed her. At the bottom she halted. “Will you really let me see your house?”
He hesitated. “Yes, if you wish.”
“You don’t want me to, do you?”
This upset him. “To-morrow I’ll do it,” he told her. “At ten.”
She turned and walked rapidly across the fields and into the farmhouse. But that evening, after dinner, she went out and stood for a long time, looking up at the cliff, even though from below she could not see his house on top of it.
When she got up the next morning she was alone, for her father had gone, and she was grateful for that. She dressed with care, in her best dress, the white one with blue stripes. It felt delicious against her skin. Then she waited.
He was late. It was ten-fifteen. She heard the phone ring twice, a call for the Nesbitt Place, and carefully picked up the receiver to listen. But it was only two Italians arguing.
It was not until one of them said, “Okay, damn you, but I know it’s one of her tricks, and this is the last time”, that she realized that she was listening to Christopher. “I’ll fly down,” he said, “I’ll be there this afternoon.” He slammed the receiver at his end, and all along the line Sally heard other small clicks, as other eavesdroppers put up their receivers. Shamefacedly she did the same. Bewildered, she felt the silk of her dress and slowly sat down on a chair. Through the kitchen window she saw the blank surface of the cliff, two hundred yards away through the trees. Then she went upstairs to change her dress, for she had forgotten that he lived in other worlds she could not touch.
Perhaps he had
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