Читать книгу The Man Who Loved Lions - Ethel Lina White - Страница 12

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THE shock of the encounter was so heavy that it left Ann stunned and incredulous. She felt she was in a nightmare where the dreamer has only to dread something to make it happen. If she had not traced a debased likeness to John in her fellow-passenger, this impostor would not have crashed his way to the reunion.

Her confusion was increased by the fact that she could not account for his presence. The last time she had seen him, he was half-asleep in the bus, rolling on towards Yellow-forge. She was positive that no one had followed her through the gates of Ganges. Yet the litter of cigarette ash upon the table was proof that he had been smoking in the tower-room for some time before her own arrival.

He typified the unwelcome change which the Manchester man had warned her to expect. Since she had begun her journey everything had been different. She had met with new features, each of which held a certain degree of horror; the black-out, the roar of a lion, a drunken mumble of protest—all these led up to this crowning disappointment.

It was in vain that she tried to thrill at the knowledge that she was actually inside the tower-room—the scene of her happiest memories. Only by closing her eyes could she see it again in the leaping firelight which lit up youthful faces and accentuated the mystery of the shadowed background...Now it was stripped of glamour as the crude light glared down on it, exposing its bare discomfort and revealing the inflamed face of the fair stranger.

Instead of answering his question she unzipped her bag and drew out a dog-eared grubby card which she laid on the table.

"There's some mistake," she said coldly. "You are a stranger to me. I've come here for a reunion. Here's proof of my identity."

Instead of showing signs of confusion, a slow smile spread over the impostor's face. After fumbling in his wallet, he slapped down a similar card over hers, like a child playing "Snap."

"This is wizard," he said. "Someone's remembered the jolly old reunion. But who the hell are you?"

She gazed steadily into his dull eyes.

"You couldn't remember me," she told him, "because you are not a member of our secret society. You don't know our names and you never knew them. So it can mean nothing to you if I tell you I am 'Ann.'"

"Ann?" he repeated stupidly. "Ann was the silent kid who never giggled or flirted. No, you're not Ann. You're trying to put a fast one over me because I'm tight. But I've seen you somewhere before...Give me time. Something's going to click here."

He touched his head and then snapped his fingers.

"I know. You're the girl in the train. You tried to get off with me. Sorry I couldn't follow it up, my dear. Another engagement. This...But you've no business here. I know you are not Ann."

"And I know you've stolen John's card. What have you done to him?"

The man ignored the charge as he stared at her with puzzled eyes.

"Actually I believe it is Ann," he said after a pause. "I'm beginning to recognise bits and pieces. It's Ann grown into a beautiful lady like the advertisement...What soap is it? I forget...But it's our Ann. Come to my heart."

Before she could protest, he crushed her in his arms and began to dance but after a few staggering revolutions, he released her and dropped into a chair.

"Sorry," he apologised, "can't keep an even keel. Room's too small...Ann, I've always wanted to meet you again, to ask you something. It's been biting me all these years...Remember our last night when I kissed you in the bus. Instead of biffing me, like you used to, you let me. It was like kissing cold fish...Now that was out of character—and I've often wondered why."

Ann dared not trust her voice to speak. In that memory John had given her positive proof of his identity.

She remembered how she had hoped that Stephen would sit beside her in the bus, on their homeward way, but John was first to slip into the vacant seat. Her disappointment was so keen that she was dead to sensation and had been scarcely conscious of the kiss.

As she remained silent, John picked up his card and began to re-read it.

"Insulting tripe," he said. "Typical of Richard. Remember his stable jobs? Joke is, they've got elephants now. Actually they have everything. The old man's potty on his zoo. Gives the animals a home from home, on the model of a happy Christian family; mister, missus and Tertium Quid."

"I wonder Richard isn't here," remarked Ann dully. "Perhaps he's forgotten."

"He had forgotten all right and so had Isabella. I was the faithful hound who remembered. Touching, but I loved those old days. But when I reminded Richard of the reunion he was quite keen. Hopes to gloat over our failures. Remember this register?"

He fumbled under his evening paper which was thrown upon the table and produced a double sheet of stiff paper. It was yellow with age and bore seven signatures.

"It's the roll call he made us sign our last evening," explained John. "His idea is we all sign on again. Evidence of attendance at his reunion, in black and white...Now watch me sign on the dotted line. Darling, which of them is the dotted line? Just guide my hand to the starting-post."

While he was scrawling with an unsteady hand, Ann looked over his shoulder at the list of names. At the sight of one signature, she forgot her first disappointment and was glad of John's presence. She realised that he might be able to give her news about Stephen; but because she dreaded his ridicule, she made an oblique approach.

"Have you kept in touch with any of the Sullied Souls, John?"

"All of them," he replied.

"Oh. Have they changed much?"

"Only in spots. Richard and Isabella are the same—only more so."

"I'm glad Isabella is still beautiful. Did she have a career?"

"Someone else's. She married and scoops in the dough. Victoria is a doctor. Got a practice up north. She had an Old Age Pension, looking after Big Ben's old uncle—but he died on her...Poor devil. Fancy having to die, looking at that."

Ann's heart beat faster. She was getting nearer to Stephen's name. Only one other Sullied Soul blocked the way.

"James?" she inquired.

"He's a prosperous bloke. Lectures and coaches in biology, plus sidelines."

"And Stephen?"

"Who's he? Never heard of the chap."