“Who are the artists you thought up today?”
“Different ones for different parts. Marie Laurencin, Pascen, Derain, Dufy and Picasso.”
“For Christ sake, Derain.”
“Can’t you see a nice Laurencin of Marita and me in the car when we stopped the first time by the Loup on the way to Nice?”
“Nobody’s written that.”
“Well write it then. It’s certainly much more interesting and instructive than a lot of natives in a kraal or whatever you call it covered with flies and scabs in Central Africa with your drunken father staggering around smelling of sour beer and not knowing which ones of the little horrors he had fathered.”
“There goes the ball game,” David said.
“What did you say, David?” Marita said.
“I said thank you very much for having lunch with me, David told her.
“Why don’t you thank her for the rest of it?” Catherine said. “She really must have done something impressive to make you sleep as though you were dead until the absolute end of the afternoon. Thank her for that at least.”
“Thank you for going swimming,” David said to the girl.
“Oh did you swim?” Catherine said. “I’m glad you swam.
“We swam quite far,” Marita said. “And we had a very good lunch. Did you have a good lunch, Catherine?”
“I think so,” Catherine said. “I don’t remember.”
“Where were you?” Marita asked gently.
“Saint Raphael,” Catherine said. “I remember stopping there but I can’t remember about lunch. I never notice when I eat by myself. But I’m quite sure I did have lunch there. I know I intended to.”
“Was it nice driving back?” Marita asked. “It was such a cool lovely afternoon.”
“I don’t know,” Catherine said. “I didn’t notice. I was think ing about making the book and getting it started. We have to get
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it started. I don’t know why David started to be difficult the moment I commenced to put a little order into it. The whole thing has dragged along in such a haphazard way that I was suddenly ashamed of all of us.”
“Poor Catherine,” Marita said. “But now that you have it all planned you must feel better.”
“I do,” Catherine said. “I felt so happy when I came in. I knew I’d made you happy and I’d accomplished something prac tical too and then David made me feel like an idiot or a leper. I can’t help it if I’m practical and sensible.”
“I know, Devil,” David said. “I just didn’t want to get the work mixed up.”
“But it’s you who mixed it up,” Catherine said. “Can’t you see? Jumping back and forth trying to write stories when all you had to do was keep on with the narrative that meant so much to all of us. It was going so well too and we were just coming to the most exciting parts. Someone has to show you that the stories are just your way of escaping your duty.”
Marita looked at him again and he knew what she was trying to tell him and he said, “I have to go get cleaned up. You tell Marita about it and I’ll be back.”
“We have other things to talk about,” Catherine said. “I’m sorry I was rude about you and Marita. I couldn’t be happier about you really.”
David took everything that had been said in with him to the bathroom where he had a shower and changed into a newly washed fisherman’s sweater and slacks. It was quite cool now in the evening and Marita was sitting at the bar looking at Vogue.
“She’s gone down to see about your room,” Marita said.
“How is she?”
“How should I know, David? She’s a very great publisher now. She’s given up sex. It doesn’t interest her anymore. It’s childish really, she says. She doesn’t know how it could ever have meant anything to her. But she may decide to have an affair
with another woman if she ever takes it up again. There’s quite a bit about another woman.
“Christ I never thought it would go this way.”
“Don’t,” Marita said. “No matter what or how it is I love you and you are going to write tomorrow.”