“Will you work hard on the story?”
“That’s what I’m doing. I can’t work any harder.”
“I didn’t mean to hurry it.”
“I won’t,” he said. “If you’re getting bored here you two go on ahead and I’ll find you there.”
“I don’t want to do that,” Marita said.
“Don’t be silly,” Catherine said. “He’s just being noble.”
“No. You can go.
“It wouldn’t be any fun without you,” Catherine said. “You know that. We two in Spain wouldn’t be fun.”
“He’s working, Catherine,” Marita said.
“He could work in Spain,” Catherine said. “Plenty of Spanish writers must have worked in Spain. I’ll bet I could write well in Spain if I was a writer.”
“I can write in Spain,” David said. “When do you want to go?”
“Damn you, Catherine,” Marita said. “He’s in the middle of a story.”
“He’s been writing for over six weeks,” Catherine said. “Why can’t we go to Madrid?”
“I said we could,” David said.
“Don’t you dare do that,” the girl said to Catherine. “Don’t you dare to try to do that. Haven’t you any conscience at all?”
“You’re a fine one to talk about conscience,” Catherine said.
“I have a conscience about some things.”
“That’s fine. I’m happy to know it. Now will you try to be polite and not interfere when someone is trying to work out what’s best for everyone?”
“I’m going to swim,” David said.
The girl got up and followed him and outside the cove while they treaded water she said, “She’s crazy.
“So don’t blame her.”
“But what are you going to do?”
“Finish the story and start another.”
“So what do you and I do?”
“What we can.
Chapter Eighteen
HE FINISHED THE STORY in four days. He had in it all the pressure that had built while he was writing it and the modest part of him was afraid that it could not possibly be as good as he believed it to be. The cold, hard part knew it was better.
“How was it today?” the girl asked him.
“I finished.” “Can I read it?” “If you want
“You wouldn’t mind truly?”
“It’s in those two cahiers in the top of the suitcase.” He handed her the key and then sat at the bar and drank a whiskey and Perrier and read the morning paper. She came back and sat on a stool a little way down from him and read the story.
When she finished it she started to read it over again and he made himself a second whiskey and soda and watched her read. When she finished it the second time he said, “Do you like it?”
“It’s not a thing you like or not like,” she said. “It’s your father isn’t it?”
“Sure.”
“Was this when you stopped loving him?”
“No. I always loved him. This was when I got to know him.”
“It’s a terrible story and it’s wonderful.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he said.
“I’ll put it back now,” she said. “I like going in the room when the door is locked.”
“We have that,” David said.
When they came back from the beach they found Catherine in the garden.
“So you got back,” she said.
“Yes,” David said. “We had a good swim. I wish you’d been there.”
“Well, I wasn’t,” she said. “If it’s of any interest to you.
“Where did you go?” David asked.
“I was in Cannes on my own business,” she said. “You’re both late for lunch.”
“I’m sorry,” David said. “Do you want to have anything before lunch?”
“Please excuse me, Catherine,” Marita said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
“You’re still drinking before lunch?” Catherine asked David.
“Yes,” he said. “I don’t think it matters if you’re getting a lot of exercise.”
“There was an empty whiskey glass on the bar when I came
“Yes,” said David. “I had two whiskeys actually.”
“Actually,” she mimicked him. “You’re very British today.”
“Really?” he said. “I didn’t feel very British. I felt sort of half-assed Tahitian.”
“It’s just your way of speaking that irritates me, she said. “Your choice of words.”
“I see,” he said. “Did you want a shot before they bring the chow?”