simply couldn't be, it was impossible, she was in hospital where people were helped to get better, she simply could not have killed herself, it was another false alarm. «Really-dead? Are you sure-?»
«Yes, yes-oh I am so-it was all my fault-she's dead, Bradley-she was alive in the ambulance-but then they told me she wasn't alive any more-I-oh Bradley, forgive me-Priscilla wasn't alive any more. «It's not your fault,» I said mechanically. «It's my fault.»
«Oh I'm so wretched-it's all my fault-I want to kill myself-I can't live after this, how can I-« More whining and crying.
«Francis. Stop that whimpering. Listen. How did you find out where I was?»
«I found a letter in your desk from the agent-I thought you might be there-I had to find you-Oh Bradley, I've been in hell, in hell, not knowing where you were-thinking this had happened and you didn't even know-I sent the telegram late last night but they said it wouldn't arrive till this morning.»
«I've just got it. Hold on. Just keep quiet and hold on.» I stood silent in the slanting ray of the sun, looking at the pitted concrete of the telephone box, and I wanted to cry out, She cannot be dead, has everything been done, everything? I wanted to take Priscilla in my arms and make her live again. I wanted desperately to console her and to make her happy. It would have been so easy.
«Oh God, oh God, oh God-« Francis was saying softly, repeating it again and again.
«Listen, Francis. Does anyone else know I'm here, does Arnold know?»
«No. No one knows. Arnold and Christian came over last night. They rang up and I had to tell them. But I hadn't found the letter then and I told them I didn't know where you were.»
«That's good. Don't tell anybody where I am.»
«But, Brad, you're coming back at once, aren't you? You must come back.»
«I'm coming back,» I said, «but not at once. It was only chance you found that letter. You must consider that this telephone conversation didn't happen.»
«But, Brad, the funeral and-I haven't done anything-she's in the mortuary-«You haven't told her husband, you know, Roger Saxe?»
«No, I-«
«Well, let him know. You'll find his address and phone number in my address book in the-«Yes, yes-«He'll organize the funeral. If he won't, organize it yourself-Start organizing it anyway-Do whatever you'd do if you really didn't know where I was-I'll come when I can.»
«Oh Brad, I can't do it-you must come, you must-they keep asking-she's your sister-«I hired you to look after her. Why did you leave her?»
«Oh God, oh God, oh God-«
«Do as I tell you. There's nothing we can do for-Priscilla-she isn't-there any more.»
«Brad, please come, please-for my sake-Until I see you I'm in hell-I can't tell you what it's been like-I must see you, I must-«I can't come now,» I said. «I can't-come-now. Get on with the arrangements-get hold of Roger Saxe-I leave it all to you. I'll come when I can. Goodbye.»
I put the receiver down quickly and came out of the box into the full sun. The man who had been waiting looked at me curiously and went in. I walked over to the car and stood beside it, touching the bonnet. The dry road had made it dusty. I made trails in the dust with my fingers. I looked along the quiet pretty village street, composed of eighteenth-century houses of different shapes and sizes. Then I got into the car and turned it and began to drive back very slowly past the church and on towards Patara.
As I drove along the road at about fifteen miles an hour I realized what an ambiguous and suspended state I had been in since our arrival, so long ago, at Patara. I had of course been prepared to occupy myself simply with being happy, simply with the miracle of her continued presence. This was right surely. These days of paradise, rescued from the slow anxious mastication of time, should not be marred by pusillanimous fears of the future, or by that despair which Julian called my «abstraction.» On the other hand, as I now saw, some deep reflection had been
