“They were in Sainte Maxime or Saint Raphael,” Catherine said. “I saw them the other day.”
“I don’t know what it is now with the smoke screen,” David said. “There must be other ships we cane t see.
“There come the planes,” Marita said. “Aren’t they lovely?”
They were very small, neat sea-planes and three of them were coming around the point low over the water.
212 213
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“When we were here in the early summer they had gunnery practice off the Porquerolles and it was terrific,” Catherine said. “It shook the window. Will they use depth bombs now, David?”
“I don’t know. I shouldn’t think so if they’re working with real subs.”
“I can go to swim, can’t I please David?” Catherine asked. “I’m going away and then you can swim all the time by yourselves.”
“I asked you to swim,” David said.
“That’s true,” Catherine said. “You did. Then let’s go now and all be friends and happy. If the planes come in close they can see us on the beach at the cove and that will cheer them up.
The planes did come by close off the cove while David and Marita were swimming far out and Catherine was tanning on the beach. They passed rapidly, three echelons of three, their big Rh6ne motors roaring suddenly as they flew over then dying away as they went toward Sainte Maxime.
David and Marita swam back in to the beach and sat on the sand by Catherine.
“They never even looked at me,” Catherine said. “They must be very serious boys.”
“What did you expect? Aerial photography?” David asked her.
Marita had said very little since they had left the hotel and she said nothing to this.
“It was fun when David really did live with me,” Catherine said to her. “I can remember when I liked everything that David did. You must try to like his things too, Heiress. That is if he has any left.”
“Do you have any left, David?” Marita asked.
“He traded everything he had in on those stories,” Catherine said. “He used to have so many things. I certainly hope you like stories, Heiress.”
“I like them,” Marita said. She did not look at David but he
saw her serene dark face and sea wet hair and smooth lovely skin and her beautiful body as she sat looking out at the sea.
“That’s good,” Catherine said lazily and took a long deep lazy breath as she stretched out on the beach robe on the sand that was still warm from the afternoon sun. “Because that’s what you’re going to get. He used to do so many things too and he did them all so beautifully. He had a wonderful life and all he thinks about now is Africa and his drunken father and his press cuttings. His clippings. Has he ever shown you his clippings, Heiress?”
“No, Catherine,” Marita said.
“He will,” Catherine said. “He tried to show them to me once at le Grau du Roi but I put a stop to that. There were hundreds of them and every one, almost, had his picture and they were all the same pictures. It’s worse than carrying around obscene post cards really. I think he reads them by himself and is unfaithful to me with them. In a wastebasket probably. He always has a wastebasket. He said himself it was the most important thing for a writer—”
“Let’s go in and swim, Catherine,” Marita said. “I think I’m getting cold.”
“I mean the wastebasket was the most important thing for a writer,” Catherine said. “I used to think I ought to get him a really wonderful one that would be worthy of him. But he never puts anything he writes in the wastebasket. He writes in those ridiculous child’s notebooks and he doesn’t throw anything away. He just crosses things out and writes along the sides of the pages. The whole business is a fraud really. He makes mistakes in spelling and grammar too. Did you know, Marita, that he doesn’t even really know grammar?”
“Poor David,” Marita said.
“Of course his French is worse,” Catherine said. “You’ve never seen him try to write it. He fakes along well enough in conversa tion and he’s amusing with his slang. But actually he’s illiterate.”