Stories of John Cheever (1979 Pulitzer Prize), The - John Cheever [120]
"Drive them away, Victor," Mrs. Brownlee said.
Victor left the table and crossed the terrace and went down to the garden and told the party to go.
"I happen to be a very good friend of Mrs. Brownlee's," one of the men said.
"That doesn't matter," Victor said. "You'll have to get out."
"Who says so?"
"I say so.
"Who are you?"
Victor didn't answer. He broke up their fire and stamped out the embers. He was outnumbered and outweighed, and he knew that if it came to a fight, he would probably get hurt, but the smoke from the extinguished fire drove the party out of the temple and gave Victor an advantage. He stood on a flight of steps above them and looked at his watch. "I'll give you five minutes to get over the wall and out," he said.
"But I'm a friend of Mrs. Brownlee's!"
"If you're a friend of Mrs. Brownlee's," Victor said, "come in the front way. I give you five minutes." They started down the path toward the wall, and Victor waited until one of the girls—they were all pretty—had been hoisted over it. Then he went back to the table and finished his dinner while Mrs. Brownlee talked on and on about Little Hester.
The next day was Saturday, but Victor spent most of it in Pittsburgh, looking for work. He didn't get out to Salisbury Hall until about four, and he was hot and dirty. When he stepped into the Great Hall, he saw that the doors onto the terrace were open and the florist's men were unloading a truck full of tubbed orange trees. A maid came up to him excitedly. "Nils is sick and can't drive!" she exclaimed. "Mrs. Brownlee wants you to go down to the station and meet Miss Hester. You'd better hurry. She's coming on the four-fifteen. She doesn't want you to take your car. She wants you to take the Rolls-Royce. She says you have permission to take the Rolls-Royce."
The four-fifteen had come and gone by the time Victor arrived at the station. Hester Brownlee was standing in the waiting room, surrounded by her luggage. She was a middle-aged woman who had persevered with her looks, and might at a distance have seemed pretty. "How do you do, Miss Brownlee?" Victor said. "I'm Victor Mackenzie. I'm—"
"Yes, I know," she said. "I've heard all about you from Prescott." She looked past his shoulder. "You're late."
"I'm sorry," Victor said, "but your mother..."
"These are my bags," she said. She walked out to the Rolls-Royce and got into the back seat.
Victor lighted a cigarette and smoked it halfway down. Then he carried her bags out to the car and started home to Salisbury Hall along a back road.
"You're going the wrong way," Miss Brownlee called. "Don't you even know the way?"
"I'm not going the usual way," Victor said patiently, "but a few years ago they built a factory down the road, and the traffic is heavy around closing time. It's quicker this way. But I expect that you'll find a good many changes in the neighborhood. How long has it been, Miss Brownlee, since you've seen Salisbury Hall?" There was no answer to his question, and, thinking that she might not have heard him, he asked again, "How long has it been, Miss Brownlee, since you've seen Salisbury Hall?"
They made the rest of the trip in silence. When they got to the house, Victor unloaded her bags and stood them by the door. Miss Brownlee counted them aloud. Then she opened her purse and handed Victor a quarter. "Why, thank you!" Victor said. "Thank you very much!" He went down into the garden to walk off his anger. He decided not to tell Theresa about this meeting. Finally, he went upstairs. Theresa was at work on one of the needlepoint stools. The room they used for a parlor was cluttered with half-repaired needlepoint. She embraced Victor tenderly, as she always did when they had been separated for a day. Victor had dressed when a maid knocked on the door. "Mrs. Brownlee wants to see you, both of you," she said. "She's in