The Gambling Man

Quickly opening the door, he called to the driver, ‘It’s all right, Stoddard,’ then to Jimmy, ‘Get in. What’s up? What’s happened?’

As the carriage jerked forward again Jimmy bounced back on the seat, and again Rory demanded, ‘What is it? What’s happened now? Have they sunk another one?’

‘No.’ Jimmy shook his head. It’s nowt to do with the boats.’

‘Well, what is it? Something wrong at home?’ Rory’s inquiry was quiet, and when again Jimmy shook his head, he said almost angrily, ‘Well, spit it out, unless you’ve just come for a chat.’

‘I haven’t just come for a chat, and . . . and I’ve been hangin’ around for nearly an hour waitin’, waitin’ to see if you’d come out on your own.’

‘Why?’ Rory was sitting forward on the seat now. Their knees were touching. He peered into Jimmy’s white face, demanding, ‘Come on, whatever it is, tell us.’

‘You’re going to get a gliff, Rory.’

‘A gliff?’

‘Aye, you’ll . . . you’ll never believe it. You’d . . . you’d better brace yourself. It’s . . . it’s something you won’t be able to take in.’ When he stopped, Rory said quietly, ‘Well, tell us.’

‘It’s . . . it’s Janie.’

Jimmy’s voice had been so soft that Rory thought he couldn’t possibly have heard aright; Jimmy’s words had been distorted, he imagined, by the grind­ing of the carriage wheels, so he said loudly, ‘What did you say?’

‘I said, it’s Janie.’

‘Janie?’ A sudden cold sweat swept over his body and his own voice was scarcely audible now when he asked, ‘What . . . what about Janie?’

‘She’s . . . she’s back. She’s . . . she’s not dead, she wasn’t drowned . . .’

Rory didn’t utter a word, no protest, nothing, but his body fell back and his head once more touched the upholstery, and as if he had been shot into a nightmare again he listened to Jimmy’s voice saying, ‘I was petrified. It was her voice, but . . . but I wouldn’t open the door at first. And then . . . and then when I saw her, I still didn’t believe it was her. She’s . . . she’s changed. Nobody . . . nobody would recognize her. It . . . it was the shock. Her hair’s gone white, and her skin, her skin’s all brown like an Arab’s in Corstorphine Town. It’s the sun, she said. She’s . . . she’s been in some place in France miles off the beaten track. She talks about a priest comin’ once every six months. She’s changed, aye. I knew you’d get a gliff but . . . but I had to come. If . . . if I hadn’t she would have turned up herself. Eeh! she’s changed. What’ll you do, Rory? What’ll you do?’

His world was spinning about him. He watched it spiralling upwards and away, taking with it the new way of living and the prestige it had brought to him. Sir, he was called, Master. She had given him everything a woman could possibly give a man, a home, wealth, position, and now a child. He had never been so happy in his life as he had been since he married her; and his feelings for her were growing deeper every day. You couldn’t live with a woman like that and receive so much from her and give nothing in return; something had been growing in him, and last night he had almost told her what it was, he had almost put a name to it. He had never thought he would be able to say to another woman, I love you. That kind of thing didn’t happen twice, he had told himself. No; and he was right, that kind of thing didn’t happen twice. But there were different kinds of love. It was even appearing to him that what he was feeling now would grow into a bigger love, a better love, a fuller love. Charlotte had said there were better marriages based on friendship than on professions of eternal love.

He had once sworn eternal love for Janie, but he knew now that that had been the outcome of a boy’s love, the outcome of use, the outcome of growing up together, seeing no one beyond her . . .

She couldn’t be back. She couldn’t. No! No! Life couldn’t play him a trick like that. He had gone to the Justice before he married Charlotte and the Justice had told him it was all right to marry again. “Drowned, presumed dead,” was what he had said. And she was dead. She had been dead to him for nearly two years now, and he didn’t want her resurrected.

God Almighty! What was he saying? What was he thinking? He’d go mad.

‘Rory. Rory.’ Jimmy was sitting by his side now, shaking his arm. ‘Are you all right? I . . . I knew it’d give you a giiff; she . . . she scared me out of me wits. What are you gona do?’

‘What?’

‘I said what are you gona do?’

He shook his head. What was he going to do?

‘She’s back in the boathouse; she wants to see you.’

He stared dumbly at Jimmy for a time, then like someone drunk he leant forward and tapped on the roof of the carriage with his silver-mounted walking stick, and lowering the window again, he leant out and said, ‘Well get off here, Stoddard; I . . . I’ve a little business to attend to.’

A few minutes later Stoddard was opening the carriage door and pulling down the step, and when they alighted he said, ‘Twelve o’clock, sir?’

‘What? Oh. Oh yes; yes, thank you.’

‘Good night, sir.’

‘Good . . . Good night, Stoddard.’ He walked away, Jimmy by his side, but when the carriage had disappeared into the darkness he stopped under a street lamp and, peering down at Jimmy, said, ‘What, in the name of God, am I going to do in a case like this?’

‘I . . . I don’t know, Rory.’

They walked on again, automatically taking the direction towards the river and the boatyard, and they didn’t stop until they had actually entered the yard, and then Rory, standing still, looked up at the lighted window, then down on Jimmy, before turning about and walking towards the end of the jetty. And there he gripped the rail and leant over it and stared down into the dark, murky water.

Jimmy approached him slowly and stood by his side for a moment before saying, ‘You’ve got to get it over, man.’

Rory now pressed a finger and thumb on his eyeballs as if trying to blot out the nightmare. His whole being was in a state of panic. He knew he should be rushing up those steps back there, bursting open the door and crying, ‘Janie! Janie!’ but all he wanted to do was to turn and run back through the town and into Westoe and up that private road into his house, his house, and cry, ‘Charlotte! Charlotte!’

‘Come on, man.’

At the touch of Jimmy’s hand he turned about and went across the yard and up the steps. Jimmy had been behind him, but it was he who had to come to the fore and opened the door. Then Rory stepped into the room.

The woman was standing by the table. The lamp­light was full on her. She was no more like the Janie he remembered than he himself was like Jimmy there. His heart leapt at the thought that it was a trick. Somebody imagined they were on to something and were codding him. They had heard he was in the money. He cast a quick glance in Jimmy’s direction as if to say, How could you be taken in? before moving slowly up the room towards the woman. When he was within a yard of her he stopped and the hope that had risen in him flowed away like liquid from a broken cask for they were Janie’s eyes he was looking into. They were the only recognizable things about her, her eyes. As Jimmy had said, her skin was like that of an Arab and her hair was the colour of driven snow, and curly, close-cropped, curly.

Janie, in her turn, was looking at him in much the same way, for he was no more the Rory that she had known than she was the Janie he had known. Before her stood a well-dressed gentleman, better dressed in fact than she had ever seen the master, for this man was stylish with it; even his face was different, even his skin was different, smooth, clean-shaven, showing no blue trace of stubble about his chin and cheeks and upper lip.

Her heart hardened further at the sight of him and at the fact that he didn’t put out a hand to touch her.

‘Janie.’

Aye, it’s me. And you’re over the moon to . . . to see me.’ There was a break in the last words.

‘I thought . . . we all thought . . .’

‘Aye, I know what you thought, but . . . but it isn’t all that long, it isn’t two years. You couldn’t wait, could you? But then you’re a gamblin’ man, you couldn’t miss a chance not even on a long shot.’

He bowed his head and covered his eyes with his hand, muttering now, ‘What can I say?’

‘I don’t know, but knowin’ you, you’ll have some excuse. Anyway, it’s paid off, hasn’t it? You always said you’d play your cards right one day.’ She turned her back on him and walked to the end of the table and sat