The Sheltering Sky - Bowles, Paul [21]
“Have you had tea?” said Lyle.
“Yes, only it was coffee.”
“Aha!” He edged nearer to a valise, toyed with the straps. “You have some nice labels on your bags.” He lifted the leather tag with Port’s name and address on it. “Now I see your name. Mr. Porter Moresby.” He crossed the room. “You must forgive me if I snoop. Luggage always fascinates me. May I sit down? Now, look, Mr. Moresby. That is you, isn’t it? I’ve been talking at some length with Mother and she agrees with me that it would be much pleasanter for you and Mrs. Moresby-I suppose that’s the lady you were with last night-” he paused.
“Yes,” said Port.
“—if you both came along with us to Boussif. It’s only five hours by car, and the train ride takes ages; something like eleven hours, if I remember. And eleven hours of utter hell. Since the war the trains are completely impossible, you know. We think-“
Port interrupted him. “No, no. We couldn’t put you out to that extent. No, no.”
“Yes, yes,” said Lyle archly.
“Besides, we’re three, you know.”
“Ah, yes, of course, said Lyle in a vague voice. “Your friend couldn’t come along on the train, I suppose?”
“I don’t think he’d be very happy with the arrangement. Anyway, we couldn’t very well go off and leave him.”
“I see. That’s a shame. We can scarcely take him along, with all the luggage there’d be, you know.” He rose, looked at Port with his head on one side like a bird listening for a worm, and said: “Come along with us; do. You can manage it, I know.” He went to the door, opened it, and leaned through toward Port, standing on tiptoe. “I’ll tell you what. You come by and let me know in an hour. Fifty-three. And I do hope your decision is favorable.” Smiling, and letting his gaze wander once more around the room, he shut the door.
Kit literally had not slept at all during the night; at daybreak she had dozed off, but her sleep was troubled. She was not in a receptive mood when Port rapped loudly on the communicating door and opened it immediately afterward. Straightway she sat up, holding the sheet high around her neck with her hand, and staring wildly. She relaxed and fell back.
“What is it?”
“I’ve got to talk to you.”
“I’m so sleepy.”
“We have the invitation to drive to Boussif.”
Again she bobbed up, this time rubbing her eyes. He sat on the bed and kissed her shoulder absently. She drew back and looked at him. “From the monsters? Have you accepted?”
He wanted to say “Yes,” because that would have avoided a long discussion; the matter would have been settled for her as well as for him.
“Not yet.”
“Oh, you’ll have to refuse.”
“Why? It’ll be much more comfortable. And quicker. And certainly safer.”
“Are you trying to terrify me so I won’t budge out of the hotel?” She looked toward the window. “Why is it so dark out still? What time is it?”
“It’s cloudy today for some strange reason.”
She was silent; the haunted look came into her eyes.
“They won’t take Tunner,” said Port.
“Are you stark, raving mad?” she cried. “I wouldn’t dream of going without him. Not for a second!”
“Why not?” said Port, nettled. “He could get there all right on the train. I don’t know why we should lose a good ride just because he happens to be along. We don’t have to stick with him every damned minute, do we?”
“You don’t have to; no.”
“You mean you do?”
“I mean I wouldn’t consider leaving Tunner here and going off in a car with those two. She’s an hysterical old hag, and the boy-! He’s a real criminal degenerate if I ever saw one. He gives me the creeps.”
“Oh, come on!” scoffed Port. “You dare use the word hysterical. My God! I wish you could see yourself this minute.”
“You do exactly what you like,” said Kit, lying back. “I’ll go on the train with Tunner.”
Port’s eyes narrowed. “Well, by God, you can go on the train with him, then. And I hope there’s a wreck!” He went into his room and dressed.
Kit rapped on the door. “Entrez,” said Tunner with his American accent. “Well, well, this is a surprise! What’s up? To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“Oh, nothing in particular,” she said, surveying