The Last Time They Met_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [83]
—Where?
—Petley’s.
—Oh, the woman said, as if that settled it.
But had Linda actually eaten the lobster? He tried to remember. And how could either she or he have been so foolish as to have ordered lobster in the first place? Never eat shellfish that you didn’t know positively was fresh, they told you in the training sessions.
—Let me see to her, the woman said.
He waited on a camelbacked couch and watched bathers come and go in varying states of undress. One woman had tied a kanga at her breasts and was clearly naked underneath, the cloth barely covering her. An elderly gentleman in a pale blue seersucker suit sat beside him and said, by way of a pleasantry, Lovely day.
—Yes, it is, Thomas said, though he didn’t believe it. Many words might apply to the day — momentous; heart-breaking; wrenching — but lovely was not among them.
The man’s eyes watered some. He had high color and white hair, and Thomas thought the words Old gentleman. A peculiar smell of age, masked by cologne or hair tonic, seemed to emanate from deep inside his body. His cheeks, blotchy pink and red-veined, might have to be described as rosy. An elderly woman entered the lobby, and the old gentleman stood, waiting for her. She walked with slow steps, her back slightly stooped. Her white hair had been carefully combed and pinned, and she wore long ropes of pearls over a peach-colored silk blouse. She had the high waist of middle-age, but still there was a waist. Her mulberry pumps moved slowly forward in short steps.
She took the old gentleman’s arm, and Thomas noticed that he put his hand over hers. Together they walked out to the verandah. Were they widowed? Were they married?
Christ, he thought, turning.
Another man, nearer his own age, dark-haired and good-looking, took a step backward into the lobby from the verandah. He seemed to be trying to take a picture of the ocean. For a moment, he fiddled with his camera, pressing buttons and trying levers; but then the camera, with a life of its own, popped open, surprising him. The man extracted the film from the camera and tossed the now useless canister into the wastebasket.
The blond proprietress returned from the bathroom and went directly to her desk. She unlocked a cupboard.
—How is she? Thomas asked, standing.
—A bit peaky, the woman said. Thomas wondering if this might be an example of British understatement. She poured a brown liquid into a tiny paper cup.
—What’s that? Thomas asked.
—Oh, said the woman, turning. Best not to think about it.
Pure opium, Thomas thought, deciding to think about it.
—Is there a doctor we could call?
—No, I shouldn’t think so, the woman said. You’ll want to get her home, though. Not tonight, but first thing in the morning. We have a provisions lorry that goes into the village at six forty-five A.M. Get you there in time for the seven-thirty to Nairobi.
But she’s not going to Nairobi, Thomas thought.
—In any event, the woman continued, still holding the spoon in her hand, you’re in luck. (No, I’m not, Thomas thought.) A man and a woman who came separately have decided to share a room.
—Optimistic, Thomas said.
—Yes. Quite. But it leaves a room free.
—Thank you. Is it ready now?
—Take the key, the woman said over her shoulder as she walked to the rest room. It’s in the box there. Number twenty-seven. I’ll bring her in.
Implicit in the instructions: She wouldn’t want you to see her now.
______
The room was surprisingly simple and appealing. Done almost entirely in white. White walls, white bedding, white curtains, a khaki-colored sisal rug. A dressing table with an ivory skirt. The lack of color drew the eye through the windows to the ocean, to the turquoise and navy of the water. A good room to be sick in, he reflected. Easy on the eye. Though it was impossible not to think of how it might have been: a night in that room with Linda feeling well. Feeling happy.
He walked to the window and examined the view. Could they ever be happy? he wondered. All their meetings — assuming that