“She’s out,” he responded gruffly.
“Is this Miss Litchfield’s husband?” came the squeal of Eva’s agent’s
secretary.
His laughter making his response almost gay, he agreed to this.
“Can you take a message for Miss Litchfield?”
He said that he could be trusted with a message.
“Will you tell Miss Litchfield, please, that it’s all right about the
Hollywood contract?”
“I’ll tell her as soon as she comes in.” With great care he replaced
the instrument on its stand, and again leaned back in his chair and
stared at the ceiling. He said quietly: “You heard? That’s what she
means to do.”
And again we exchanged a look in which we encompassed--and judged, and
pardoned, respectively--all things about Eva. The silence became hard
to bear. He got up and began a restless prowling around the room. When
he spoke, finally, he seemed not aware of it; he was talking to Eva.
“Go to Hollywood by all means. And bear in mind that you go with my
consent.” He bit down savagely on his pipe stem, and no answering glow
appeared in the bowl. He took it from his mouth, looked at it with
interest, and remarked: “It isn’t filled!” He was painstaking in the
refilling of the pipe. He said: “Both of us need a period of rest from
each other.” He might almost be hearing her voice coming back at him,
for he replied: “You said you wanted peace--repose. That was what you
said, wasn’t it?”
I ventured something futile. And he looked at me and said “Huh?”
But he gave a short laugh. “Dinah, you and I need a drink.” He went
downstairs. When he came back with the replenished shaker, he said
“We’re getting nowhere.” I knew that again he spoke to Eva.
The rasp of her key in the lock brought him around to face the door.
She stood arrested, looking in at Nicholas. She seemed to have been
halted in some violent rush, so that even her heavy fur coat swept back
like classic drapery. I knew that she was uncertain: her eyes showed a
curious light flicker. And then, as she gazed at her husband, her face
became compassionate. She was oblivious of my presence.
He said harshly: “What is this thing that you’re putting over without
consulting me?”
She said: “I’m sorry, Nick. But it had to be this way. I must----” She
stopped; and by her refusal to say it she left him to infer what he
pleased of the thing she had been about to say. The lovely look passed
like a mist, dissolved in her return to her absorption in herself.
I slipped past her unnoticed, and hurried downstairs where my coat
had been left. I closed the front door softly; I had no wish to be
recalled.
[Illustration]