Graham Greene, whose long life (1904-1991) nearly spanned the twentieth century, was one of its greatest novelists. Educated at Berkhamsted School and Balliol College, Oxford, he started his career 13 страница

"I don't blame him," I said. "He has something to celebrate. His son's out of danger. I heard today at the Continental. I like happy endings too."

After I had smoked two pipes I lay back with my neck on the leather pillow and rested my hand in Phuong's lap. "Are you happy?"

"Of course," she said carelessly. I hadn't deserved a more considered answer.

"It's like it used to be," I lied, "a year ago."

"Yes."

"You haven't bought a scarf for a long time. Why don't you go shopping tomorrow?"

"It is a feast day."

"Oh yes, of course. I forgot."

"You have not opened your telegram," Phuong said.

"No, I'd forgotten that too. I don't want to think about work tonight. And it's too late to file anything now. Tell me more about the film."

"Well, her lover tried to rescue her from prison. He smuggled in boy's clothes and a man's cap like the one the gaoler wore, but just as she was passing the gate all her hair fell down and they called out 'Une aristocrate, une aristocrate'. I think that was a mistake in the story. They ought to have let her escape. Then they would both have made a lot of money with his song and they would have gone abroad to America—or England, " she added with what she thought was cunning.

"I'd better read the telegram," I said. "I hope to God I don't have to go north tomorrow. I want to be quiet with you."

She loosed the envelope from among the pots of cream and gave it to me. I opened it and read: "Have thought over your letter again stop am acting irrationally as you hoped stop have told my lawyer start divorce proceedings grounds desertion stop God bless you affectionately Helen."

"Do you have to go?"

"No," I said, "I don't have to go. I'll read it to you. Here's your happy ending."

She jumped from the bed. "But it is wonderful. I must go and tell my sister. She will be so pleased. I will say to her, 'Do you know who I am? I am the second Mrs Fowlair."'

Opposite me in the bookcase The Rôle of the West stood out like a cabinet portrait—of a young man with a crew-cut and a black dog at his heels. He could harm no one any more. I said to Phuong, "Do you miss him much?"

"Who?"

"Pyle." Strange how even now, even to her, it was impossible to use his first name.

"Can I go, please? My sister will be so excited."

"You spoke his name once in your sleep."

"I never remember my dreams."

"There was so much you could have done together. He was young."

"You are not old."

"The skyscrapers. The Empire State Building."

She said with a small hesitation, "I want to see the Cheddar Gorge."

"It isn't the Grand Canyon." I pulled her down on to the bed. "I'm sorry, Phuong."

"What are you sorry for? It is a wonderful telegram. My sister..."

"Yes, go and tell your sister. Kiss me first." Her excited mouth skated over my face, and she was gone.

I thought of the first day and Pyle sitting beside me at the Continental, with his eye on the soda-fountain across the way. Everything had gone right with me since he had died, but how I wished there existed someone to whom I could say that I was sorry.

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