Читать книгу This Above All - Eric Knight - Страница 12
CHAPTER X
ОглавлениеThe moment he heard her voice he was flooded by a feeling of unreality—as if he had been carried in a strong current to strange places and alien doings and now, suddenly, wondered how he came to be in that place and doing those things.
“Yes, it’s me,” he said into the telephone.
Her voice sounded high and too frankly full of gladness.
“I got it, darling. It’s all right.”
In his mood, his mind dwelt on the word “darling.” It bound him too closely. He felt uncomfortable in its possessiveness.
“Aren’t you pleased?”
He brought his mind back to the conversation.
“Of course.”
“You don’t sound like it.”
“Forgive me. It’s just—where I’m talking.”
“Yes, there’s a fearful row. I can hear it here.”
“It’s shove-ha’penny. They argue all night over it.”
“Can you hear me all right?”
“Yes, I can hear.”
“I’ve got ten days, starting at reveille tomorrow. Say you’re glad! I had an awful time wangling it.”
“I’m glad.”
“Then—where shall we meet?”
He was empty of feeling.
“At the station,” he said. “The side going West.”
“But I’m supposed to be on the East side. My transportation’s made out for London. I didn’t know where ...”
“It doesn’t matter. No one will care what side ...”
“But they might. Please let me—be silly.”
“Now, if you feel that way ...”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll be on the West side. There’s a train—wait till I look. There’s one—just after ten. We’ll get in the same compartment. If I don’t speak to you till we’re in—you’ll know it’s all right.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. So many of the girls ...”
“What do you care what they think?”
“It isn’t what they think. It’s what I feel. Don’t ask me about it. Be gentle with me, please.”
“Of course. You’ll be in uniform, will you?”
“Certainly.”
“I see. Couldn’t you bring some other clothes?”
“I could scrape something together.”
“All right.”
“I don’t guarantee that they’ll be very West End.”
He wanted it to end.
“You like talking on the telephone, don’t you?”
“I like talking to you.”
The words, detached from her presence, seemed too arch. She was still talking.
“It’s easier to talk this way, darling.”
“I know—but I’m in a pub.”
“You poor dear. And I’m in a beautiful glass and wood cubicle with the temperature a hundred in the shade and the air a record of every perfume ever used in this camp. I’ll ring off. See you about ten tomorrow then. Please say you’re excited.”
He lashed himself mentally.
“I am, Prudence. Really I am.”
“Truly?”
“Of course I am.”
“You’re not really,” she said, quietly. “But we’ll pretend you are. Good-by.”
“Good-by,” he mumbled.
As he spoke he heard the telephone click emptily. Then the noise of jumbled voices and the heavy smell of ale and long-dead tobacco smoke struck him keenly.
More than anything else he wanted to run away—to leave this place as he had left Leaford—to start into the night and go, aimlessly, in any direction, anywhere. To go—somewhere else.
