The Self-Enchanted (13 page)

“Why, Sally,” she said, coming forward. “Come home and have tea. The car’s outside.” Nora paused. “You look tired. Tea would do you good.”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Did that crazy husband of yours warn you not to? Don’t be silly. I don’t bite.” Nora reached out and squeezed her hand. “Now just wait a minute while I try to get some sense out of this cretin who’s waiting on me, and I’ll be with you.” She went back and spoke rapidly to the salesgirl, and then came across to Sally. “You must excuse me,” she said. “I suppose I was rude to her. But I don’t see why when you pay thirty dollars for a pair of gloves they have to come unstitched as soon as you wear them. Not that it’s her fault, poor dear. She probably doesn’t make that much in a week. Which, of course, only makes it that much the more shocking.”

Sally found it unexpectedly easy to talk to Nora, if only because Nora did all the talking. It had been so long since she had been able to talk to anyone without Christopher
there to watch her, that she allowed herself to be soothed by the ride in the car.

When they got to Nora’s the apartment was empty and the fire was lit. Nora went off to talk to the Filipino, and Sally huddled by the fire, whose warmth was grateful to her. When Nora came back Sally smiled at her.

“You must think I behaved badly the other night.”

“We all get upset at times. It’s nothing to worry about.”

The boy came in carrying a tray and set it down on a table by the fire. He cleared away the table, and one of the things he moved was a photograph of Curt. Sally was
surprised.
She did not remember it there the night before. But then, she had not noticed much of anything the night before.

“This place must seem poky after what I’ve heard of Christopher’s hideaway,” said Nora. “How do you manage for servants?”

“I don’t know. Christopher arranges everything.”

“1 suppose he would, wouldn’t he?” Nora looked at her mildly. “They aren’t much bother, though I have trouble with this boy. I like Filipinos. They hate you, but they do their work.”

Sally was looking at Curt’s portrait, removed to a side table.

“Curt is a great favourite of mine,” said Nora. “I think Christopher treated him badly.”

Sally said nothing.

“You’re very young,” said Nora. “But I don’t think you’re particularly stupid. How did you come to marry him, or is that a rude question?”

“I’m afraid he took me by surprise,” said Sally,
wondering
what to say and wanting very much to talk.

“It’s the way he takes a good many people. But I hope you’ll use your head and make a go of it. Christopher is very good at dazzling people. Curt made a bad mistake, I think, working for him. I’m glad the boy had the guts to get out from under while he still could.” She poured tea and passed Sally a cup. “You’re not happy, are you? I hope you don’t mind my saying so.” She peered out from under her bangs, her tight face looking almost anxious.

Sally thought it was better not to answer that, either. The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour.

“Do you like my clock?” asked Nora. “I paid a
scandalous
amount for it.”

“Yes. But I didn’t realize it was so late,” said Sally. She felt nervous, and knew she must show it,
for Nora looked at her closely.

“He did tell you not to see me, didn’t he?” she asked.

Sally nodded.

“Don’t look so scared. How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“At your age I’d buried my first husband and was looking for a second. The world doesn’t end at twenty-three.” Nora hesitated. “Never mind. You look like a sensible girl, and if you ever do need someone, I’m always here.” Leaning over, she kissed Sally on the forehead. “I like you,” she said. “Now run along. I have to rest before dinner.”

*

She realized that she liked Nora, and it had been a relief to talk to another woman. There were so many things she could never tell a man, that perhaps she could not tell Nora either, but the hope was there.

When she got back to the suite she found Christopher standing in the middle of the sitting-room.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, before she even got her hat off.

“I’ve been shopping.”

“That’s a lie.”

“It is not. If you must know,” she said slowly, looking at herself in a mirror as she took her hat off, “I bumped into Nora. I had tea with her.”

He came over to her, and knowing he was going to touch her, she flinched. But he changed his mind. “What’s the use,” he said. “But if you have any respect for my judgment at all, I wish you wouldn’t see her. What can you know of these people? You’ve lived in the mountains all your life.”

“I like her.”

“Of course you do. It makes no difference to you that she hates me. That she would do anything to ruin me.”

“Why does she want to ruin you?”

“That’s my own affair.”

She clenched her teeth, feeling her nerves snap. “Oh, stop it,” she screamed. “I can’t bear any more. I can’t stand any more.” He looked at her, his eyes concealed, and went into his own room, slamming his door behind him.

*

She went to bed early that night, and unexpectedly woke up in the middle of the night. She slipped from the edge of the bed and went to the window.

It was foggy outside, and the street lamps glowed through the fog with a peculiarly warmthless yellow radiance. The streets were wet and deserted. She went
back to bed and tried to sleep. A helpless torpor seemed to weigh down her whole body. She heard a noise, soft, subdued, and sat up in bed. She saw the handle turn and the door open.

He was naked, and in the dim light from the window she could see that his body was pouring with sweat. She drew the covers around her, frightened.

“I won’t bother you,” he said. His voice was twisted up. “But I’ve got to see you.”

She reached over towards the night table.

“Don’t turn on the light.”

She could not bear to face him in the darkness and switched it on anyway. She scarcely recognized him. He was bent over double, and his body, the tan faded, was wet with perspiration. Even his hair was matted with sweat, and he seemed to walk unsteadily. “If you’ve got anything to say, you can say it in the light,” she said.

He stumbled across the room and sank into a chair. His body was trembling and his face contorted. She felt as though she was looking at someone she had always been afraid to see.

“Don’t look at me, then,” he begged.

She sat up in bed, drawing the covers around her. He seemed to dissolve in front of her, and lay helpless in the chair, exhausted, the sweat standing out on his forehead in glittering yellow beads. “You’ve got to help me,” he said. “I’ve never asked anyone to help me before.”

“Do you want a doctor?”

“I’m not sick!”

“You certainly look it.” She was frightened, and
wondered
if she could get to the door, or if he would stop her. A sort of helplessness swept over her.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he pleaded. She started to get out of bed, alarmed now.

“Don’t leave me,” he shouted.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are.” He flung himself from the chair, plunging towards the bed. He crouched above her,
panting
, and with his left arm he swept the lamp down to the floor and shattered it. “I told you not to turn on the light,” he said. “I’ve got to stay here.”

She wriggled, trying to get free, but she could not. She had not realized, even during those nights at the house, how massive he was, and the smell of him almost
suffocated
her. It was not the smell of a healthy man. She was horribly afraid of what he would do to her. Summoning what strength she had, she drew up her feet and kicked him so hard that he fell away from her. He had fallen across her feet, and lay there thrashing with pain.

She leaped out of bed, banging across the room for the light. She reached frantically for the switch and pulled it. The room was flooded with light. He was lying on the bed, twisted up over himself, and he was unconscious. He breathed as though he were struggling for air. Slipping out of her nightdress, she threw on the first clothes she could find, and fled to the hall. She did not wait for the elevator, but raced down the stairs and across the
midnight
lobby.

She walked round and round the square in front of the hotel, knowing that she must find somebody. The square on top of Nob Hill was the heart of the aristocratic city, as Union Square was the heart of the city
of the middle class. On top of Nob Hill even the climate was different. It was cooler, quieter, and more remote. And like the
aristocracy in our day, it always seemed to be waiting for something new to happen in the past. In front of her was the dark brown Flood Mansion, now a club. Beyond that rose the tower of the unfinished cathedral. And in private houses and hotels the rich of the city lay sleeping, as though no prince would ever come to wake them up. She did not think of them. She thought of the pitiably small handful of people in her own past. She even thought of Curt, but she did not know where Curt was. Then,
almost
automatically, she turned down the street and into the court of Nora’s apartment house.

In the dim light the fountain was still playing. She felt a fool. Nora would very properly turn her out. Perhaps Christopher was right about her, after all. But she had to go somewhere, so she went up in the lift and rang the bell. At last the door was opened a crack by the Filipino. “I’ve got to see Mrs. Blake.”

“She’s in bed.”

“I know that. But I’ve got to see her, do you
understand
? Tell her it’s Sally Carson.” The boy looked at her stupidly. “Sally Barocco,” she said. She heard a
disturbance
behind the door, and Nora’s voice calling out to the servant. And then Nora stood there sleepy and cross and with a robe flung around her shoulders. She looked at Sally and her expression changed.

“What on earth is it?” she asked, and put her arm around her.

“I had to get away. I had to go somewhere.”

“Of course, dear,” said Nora, and cocked her head at the Filipino. He went away, and Nora took Sally to her bedroom. The boy came back with a bottle of brandy, and getting her to lie on the bed, Nora gave her a sip of
cognac. “Don’t tell me about it now,” she said. “Just rest.”

“I want to talk.”

Nora considered. “Very well.”

Somehow Sally got her story out. Nora heard her through and then got up and paced nervously about the room. The sound of her silk robe slithered after her. Finally she made up her mind.

“You’ll stay here, of course. For a few days, anyway,” she said. “You certainly can’t go back to that madman in your present condition. And he’ll scarcely come after you here, if that’s worrying you.”

Sally tried to smile.

Nora smiled back. “I’m afraid I’m not used to this sort of thing. If you’re all right now, I’ll go to bed. Stay in bed in the morning, and I’ll see you at lunch.” Nora
hesitated
at the door. “Everything will be all right,” she said. “But you must rest.” She looked at Sally thoughtfully and went away, closing the door softly.

Sally fell into a deep sleep. When she woke up the boy brought her her breakfast on a tray, and she was then left alone. She was pleased enough, for she did not feel strong enough to get up.

Nora’s room was surprisingly simple, more like a
work-room
than anything else, if it had not been for a huge baroque mirror hanging on the wall opposite the bed. Looking in it, she was reminded of how strange she had looked to herself when the sister at the hospital had brought her a mirror.

At one o’clock she took a shower and got dressed. She found Nora in a room she had not seen before, a small one facing out over the citv, fitted up as a breakfast room.
Nora looked disturbed. She had her elbows on the table, with her hands clasped in front of her.

“Are you going to have lunch with me?” she asked. “All I eat is a light salad, so you’ll have to have that.”

Sally sat down and was silent while the boy served. So was Nora, who bit her lip as she watched the boy. “Christopher phoned,” she said, once he was gone. “I told him you were here. I also told him he wouldn’t be allowed inside the door.”

Sally glanced up. “I guess I should tell you some things,” said Nora. “I suppose Christopher has told you that the two of us are not precisely friends. It’s quite true. 1 think I’ll even tell you why. Has he ever told you much about himself?”

“No.”

“I shouldn’t imagine so. Of course he’s been a gambler and a smuggler and all that. That’s his own affair. My father made his money smuggling cheap coolie labour into the State, for that matter. You can find that sort of thing anywhere. And I suppose Christopher passes for
respectable
now. You see, I’m being honest with you. As for you, I like you. I came from a small town myself. My first marriage wasn’t exactly a blessing.” She sighed. “I hate him because he raped my daughter.”

Sally sat bolt upright.

“Does that shock you? I’m fond of my daughter. It shocked me. But not for the reasons you think. He wanted to marry her. He wasn’t Barocco then. He was just a rising young dago with a shady reputation. My daughter was wild when she was younger. She drank a lot, and she liked men. I don’t know where she met him, but he’s always been able to fascinate people. He fascinated her.
Why not? It was a good marriage for him. It would have given him some legitimate backing. I refused to allow it. Clara was furious, but there wasn’t any marriage. So he raped her. He told me so in this room, for it was his idea of revenge. Of course I could have had him arrested, she was under age, but what good would that have done? He stood there and laughed at me, and I vowed then I’d ruin him. I’ll do it yet.”

She stopped and looked at Sally shrewdly. “He’s not insane. But he’ll stop at nothing. And now I gather life is catching up with him. Oh, I like to watch him. I like to see him every now and then. I enjoy it. But I like you. Why did you marry him, by the way?”

“I don’t know. I was lonely.”