The Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh - Evelyn Waugh [7]
Gladys gives a slight sob.
“YOU DON’T MIND TOO DREADFULLY—DO YOU, ADAM?”
Adam does mind—very much indeed. He has eaten enough to be thoroughly sentimental.
The Restaurant de la Tour de Force is nearly empty. The political barrister has gone his unregenerate way; the waiters stand about restlessly.
Imogen pays the bill and they rise to go.
“Adam, you must come to Euston and see me off. We can’t part just like this—for always, can we? Hodges is meeting me there with the luggage.”
They get into a taxi.
Imogen puts her hand in his and they sit like this for a few minutes without speaking.
Then Adam leans towards her and they kiss.
Close up: Adam and Imogen kissing. There is a tear (which finds a ready response in Ada and Gladys, who sob uncontrollably) in Adam’s eye; Imogen’s lips luxuriously disposed by the pressure.
“Like the Bronzino Venus.”
“IMOGEN, YOU NEVER REALLY CARED, DID YOU? IF YOU HAD YOU WOULDN’T GO AWAY LIKE THIS. IMOGEN, DID YOU EVER CARE—REALLY?”
“HAVEN’T I GIVEN PROOF THAT I DID. Adam dear, why will you always ask such tiresome questions. Don’t you see how impossible it all is? We’ve only about five minutes before we reach Euston.”
They kiss again.
Adam says, “Damn Lady R.”
They reach Euston.
Hodges is waiting for them. She has seen about the luggage; she has seen about tickets; she has even bought magazines; there is nothing to be done.
Adam stands beside Imogen waiting for the train to start; she looks at a weekly paper.
“Do look at this picture of Sybil. Isn’t it odd? I wonder when she had it taken.”
The train is about to start. She gets into the carriage and holds out her hand.
“Good-bye, darling. You will come to mother’s dance in June, won’t you? I shall be miserable if you don’t. Perhaps we shall meet before then. Good-bye.”
The train moves out of the station.
Close up. Imogen in the carriage studying the odd photograph of Sybil.
Adam on the platform watching the train disappear.
Fade out.
“Well, Ada, what d’you think of it?”
“Fine.”
“It is curious the way that they can never make their heroes and heroines talk like ladies and gentlemen—particularly in moments of emotion.”
A QUARTER OF AN HOUR LATER.
Adam is still at Euston, gazing aimlessly at a bookstall. The various prospects before him appear on the screen.
Maltby’s. The anthracite stove, the model, the amorous student—(“the Vamp”), the mathematical student, his own drawing.
Dinner at home. His father, his mother, Parsons, his sister with her stupid, pimply face and her dull jealousy of all Imogen said and did and wore.
Dinner at Pont Street, head to head with Lady Rosemary.
Dinner by himself at some very cheap restaurant in Soho. And always at the end of it, Solitude and the thought of Imogen.
Close up: Adam registering despair gradually turning to resolution.
Adam on a bus going to Hanover Gate.
He walks to his home.
Parsons. Parsons opens the door. Mrs. Doure is out; Miss Jane is out; no, Adam does not want any tea.
Adam’s room. It is a rather charming one, high at the top of the house, looking over the trees. At full moon the animals in the Zoological Gardens can be heard from there. Adam comes in and locks the door.
Gladys is there already.
“Suicide, Ada.”
“Yes, but she’ll come in time to stop ’im. See if she don’t.”
“Don’t you be too sure. This is a queer picture, this is.”
He goes to his desk and takes a small blue bottle from one of the pigeon holes.
“What did I tell yer? Poison.”
“The ease with which persons in films contrive to provide themselves with the instruments of death . . .”
He puts it down, and taking out a sheet of paper writes.
“Last message to ’er. Gives ’er time to come and save ’im. You see.”
“AVE IMPERATRIX IMMORTALIS,
MORITURUS TE SALUTANT.”
Exquisitely written.
He folds it, puts it in an envelope and addresses it.
Then he pauses, uncertain.
A vision appears:
The door of Adam’s room. Mrs. Doure, changed for dinner, comes up to it and knocks; she knocks repeatedly, and in dismay