The Heart of the Matter - Graham Greene [15]
‘I thought you were happy tonight’
‘I was - but think of being happy because a U.A.C. clerk was nice to me. Ticki, why won’t they like me?’
‘Don’t be silly, darling. It’s just the heat: it makes you fancy things. They all like you.’
‘Only Wilson,’ she repeated with despair and shame and began to sob again.
‘Wilson’s all right.’
‘They won’t have him at the club. He gate-crashed with the dentist They’ll be laughing about him and me. Oh Ticki, Ticki, please let me go away and begin again.’
‘Of course, darling,’ he said, ‘of course,’ staring out through the net and through the window to the quiet flat infested sea. ‘Where to?’
‘I could go to South Africa and wait until you have leave. Ticki, you’ll be retiring soon. I’ll get a home ready for you, Ticki.’
He flinched a little away from her, and then hurriedly in case she had noticed, lifted her damp hand and kissed the palm. ‘It will cost a lot, darling.’ The thought of retirement set his nerves twitching and straining: he always prayed that death would come first He had prepared his life insurance in that hope: it was payable only on death. He thought of a home, a permanent home: the gay artistic curtains, the bookshelves full of Louise’s books, a pretty tiled bathroom, no office anywhere - a home for two until death, no change any more before eternity settled in.
‘Ticki, I can’t bear it any longer here.’
‘I’ll have to figure it out, darling.’
‘Ethel Maybury’s in South Africa, and the Collinses. We’ve got friends in South Africa.’
‘Prices are high.’
‘You could drop some of your silly old life insurances, Ticki. And, Ticki, you could economize here without me. You could have your meals at the mess and do without the cook.’
‘He doesn’t cost much.’
‘Every little helps, Ticki.’
‘I’d miss you,’ he said.
‘No, Ticki, you wouldn’t,’ she said, and surprised him by the range of her sad spasmodic understanding. ‘After all,’ she said, ‘there’s nobody to save for.’
He said gently, ‘I’ll try and work something out You know if it’s possible I’d do anything for you - anything.’
‘This isn’t just two in the morning comfort, Ticki, is it? You will do something?’
‘Yes, dear. I’ll manage somehow.’ He was surprised how quickly she went to sleep: she was like a tired carrier who has slipped his load. She was asleep before he had finished his sentence, clutching one of his fingers like a child, breathing as easily. The load lay beside him now, and he prepared to lift it.
Chapter Two
AT eight in the morning on his way to the jetty Scobie called at the bank. The manager’s office was shaded and cool: a glass of iced water stood on top of a safe. ‘Good morning, Robinson.’
Robinson was tall and hollow-chested and bitter because he hadn’t been posted to Nigeria. He said, ‘When will this filthy weather break? The rains are late.’
‘They’ve started in the Protectorate.’
‘In Nigeria,’ Robinson said, ‘one always knew where one was. What can I do for you, Scobie?’
‘Do you mind if I sit down?’
‘Of course. I never sit down before ten myself. Standing up keeps the digestion in order.’ He rambled restlessly across his office on legs like stilts: he took a sip of the iced water with distaste as though it were medicine. On his desk Scobie saw a book called Diseases of the Urinary Tract open at a coloured illustration. ‘What can I do for you?’ Robinson repeated.
‘Give me two hundred and fifty pounds,’ Scobie said with a nervous attempt at jocularity.
‘You people always think a bank’s made of money,’ Robinson mechanically jested. ‘How much do you really want?’
‘Three fifty.’
‘What’s your balance at the moment?’
‘I think about thirty pounds. It’s the end of the month.’
‘We’d better check up on that.’ He called a clerk and while they waited Robinson paced the little room - six paces to the wall and round again. ‘There and back a hundred and seventy-six times,’ he said, ‘makes a mile. I try and put in three miles before lunch. It keeps one healthy. In Nigeria I used to walk a mile and a half to breakfast at the club, and then a mile and a half