‘Have you got one of your awful little moods again?’ she asked.
He did not reply, got up, and went to the bed. He leaned down.
‘Mrs Gandell?’
‘Mrs Gandell is listening, Jones,’ she said, and smiled up at him.
‘I want you to do something for me,’ Jones said.
‘I’m waiting,’ she said.
‘Im not thinking about what’s on top of your mind, Mrs Gandell, but what’s underneath it,’ and his hands pressed on her shoulders.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Are you going to sell this place?’
‘I am not going to sell this place.’
‘You said that once before. Remember?’
‘I’m saying it again. Now.’
She grabbed his hand, gave a pull. ‘Come along Jones,’ she said.
He pulled himself clear. ‘Wait,’ he said, and returned to the chest of drawers, from which he took out a large book bound in brown leather. He closed the drawer. Mrs Gandell sat up, leaned on an elbow.
‘What is all this, Jones?’
He lowered the book to within an inch of her head.
‘See this?’
‘What is it, Jones?’
‘Read it.’
‘Bible,’ she read.
‘That’s right, Mrs Gandell,’ and she felt the flat of the book on her head. ‘I didn’t realise you could read so well,’ he said, acidly. ‘I want you to put your hand on this book, and I want you to swear on it.’
‘Swear on a bible?’
‘Swear on it that you won’t sell Cartref over my head.’
He lowered the book in front of her. ‘Now,’ he said.
‘Really, Jones,’ and she pushed both him and book away. ‘Really. Don’t you believe me?’ She laughed, and Jones didn’t.
‘Don’t laugh,’ he said.
‘Swear? On this?’
‘On that,’ he said, took her hand, and placed it on the book. ‘Swear, Mrs Gandell, swear. One has to be so careful with people, always.’ And her hand was flat upon the book. ‘I swear,’ she said.
‘Again.’
‘I swear.’
‘I swear that I will not sell this hotel. Go on. Say it.’
‘I will not sell Cartref, and I swear on it,’ Mrs Gandell said.
‘Thank you, thank you, Mrs Gandell,’ and he bent down and kissed her. He returned the book to the drawer, then went to the grate and put a match to the fire, after which he drew the curtains. ‘There’s real cosy for you,’ he said, spreading his arms wide. He stood over her again. ‘Have you ever been lost, Mrs Gandell?’
‘We could both get lost now,’ she said.
‘I’ll never leave you now, Mrs Gandell,’ he said. ‘Never.’
He began to undress, and she switched out the light.
12
Hands pushed into his coat sleeves, Thomas crouched in the sand. He was on his knees, watching, waiting. From the rear he looked absurd, from the front, earnest and hopeful, sad and bewildered. Again he saw a bird flying his way, but it was only Miss Vaughan walking straight towards him, and then he saw her.
‘It’s her,’ he said, out of a dry mouth. ‘It’s Miss Vaughan,’ and his head vanished behind a tuft of grass. ‘I’ll speak to her.’ And he watched her come nearer and nearer. Seeing her more clearly, he was struck by her movements. She seemed to swing towards him, seemed at times to float her way along. She would suddenly stop, then bound forward. Thomas flattened himself in the sand. She walked past him, then stopped again. He saw her sit down, open her bag, and take out a packet of sandwiches. He watched her open it, begin to eat.
‘Lunch? Lunch? I don’t understand.’
