The Heart of the Matter - Graham Greene [84]
‘Oh yes, it will. Now it will be.’
He swore carefully, ‘I shall never again want any home without you.’ The rain clouds had reached the moon and her face went out like a candle in a sudden draught of wind. He had the sense that he was embarking now on a longer journey than he had ever intended. A light suddenly shone on both of them as a door opened. He said sharply, ‘Mind the blackout,’ and thought: at least we were not standing together, but how, how did our faces look? Wilson’s voice said, ‘We thought a fight was going on. We heard a glass break.’
‘Mrs Rolt lost all her beer.’
‘For God’s sake call me Helen,’ she said drearily, ‘everybody else does, Major Scobie.’
‘Am I interrupting something?’
‘A scene of unbridled passion,’ Helen said. ‘It’s left me shaken. I want to go home.’
‘I’ll drive you down,’ Scobie said. ‘It’s getting late.’
‘I wouldn’t trust you, and anyway Dr Sykes is dying to talk to you about suicide. I won’t break up the party. Haven’t you got a car, Mr Wilson?’
‘Of course. I’d be delighted.’
‘You could always drive down and come straight back.’
‘I’m an early bird myself,’ Wilson said.
‘I’ll just go in then and say good night.’
When he saw her face again in the light, he thought: do I worry too much? Couldn’t this for her be just the end of an episode? He heard her saying to Mrs Fellowes, ‘The Argentine beef certainly was lovely.’
‘We’ve got Mr Wilson to thank for it’
The phrases went to and fro like shuttlecocks. Somebody laughed (it was Fellowes or Wilson) and said, ‘You’re right there,’ and Dr Sykes’ spectacles made a dot dash dot on the ceiling. He couldn’t watch the car move off without disturbing the black-out; he listened to the starter retching and retching, the racing of the engine, and then the slow decline to silence.
Dr Sykes said, ‘They should have kept Mrs Rolt in hospital a while longer.’
‘Why?’
‘Nerves. I could feel it when she shook hands.’
He waited another half an hour and then he drove home. As usual Ali was waiting for him, dozing uneasily on the kitchen step. He lit Scobie to the door with his torch. ‘Missus leave letter,’ he said, and took an envelope out of his shirt,
‘Why didn’t you leave it on my table?’
‘Massa in there.’
‘What massa?’ but by that time the door was open, and he saw Yusef stretched in a chair, asleep, breathing so gently that the hair lay motionless on his chest
‘I tell him go away,’ Ali said with contempt, ‘but he stay.’
‘That’s all right. Go to bed.’
He had a sense that life was closing in on him. Yusef had never been here since the night he came to inquire after Louise and to lay his trap for Tallit. Quietly, so as not to disturb the sleeping man and bring that problem on his heels, he opened the note from Helen. She must have written it immediately she got home. He read, My darling, this is serius. I can’t say this to you, so I’m putting it on paper. Only I’ll give it to Ali. You trust Ali. When I heard your wife was coming back...
Yusef opened his eyes and said, ‘Excuse me, Major Scobie, for intruding.’
‘Do you want a drink? Beer. Gin. My whisky’s finished.’
‘May I send you a case?’ Yusef began automatically and then laughed. ‘I always forget. I must not send you things.’
Scobie sat down at the table and laid the note open in front of him. Nothing could be so important as those next sentences. He said, ‘What do you want, Yusef?’ and read on. When I heard your wife was coming back, I was angry and bitter. It was stupid of me. Nothing is your fault.
‘Finish your reading, Major Scobie, I can wait.’
‘It isn’t really important,’ Scobie said, dragging his eyes from the large immature letters, the mistake in spelling. ‘Tell me what you want, Yusef,’ and back his eyes went to the letter. That’s why I’m writing. Because last night you made promises about not leaving me and I don’t want you ever to be bound to me with promises. My dear, all your promises...’