“You know that’s not possible in an election year,” said Hilary.
“I know only too well.” Vivian reached for the ashtray, stubbed out her cigarette, and put the ashtray back on the table. “See?” She smiled at Tash. “I won’t forget. What I really wanted to say to you is that I’m sorry I’ve seen so little of you since you came here. I hope we can make up for that when I come back.”
On the stairs once more, Tash looked at Hilary. “She didn’t say anything about her loss of memory.”
“She never mentions it. She behaves as if it had never happened.”
“Do you think she really has no memory of anything that happened while she was away?”
“I think she’s forgotten because she wants to forget. Can you think of any better reason for letting sleeping dogs lie? I’ve always thanked God that memory is selective. Life couldn’t go on if we had to remember everything.”
“That’s heresy to the modern psychiatrist.”
“And look at the mess he’s made of the human mind in less than a hundred years. Nature is wiser than we are. Blotting out an intolerable memory is a survival trait, like growing scar tissue. I just hope this new doctor knows what he’s doing.”
“Why did she change doctors?”
“The other one, Dr. Grant, didn’t seem to be doing her any good, so Jeremy called in his own doctor, Henry Clemens. Now if she could just get rid of that gargoyle of a maid—”
“Is that how you think of Juana?”
“Don’t you?”
“Not now that I’ve talked to her and seen her smile.”
They had come to the door of Tash’s office.
“Hilary, when Vivian comes back and finds I’m gone, please tell her I’m sorry I had to go without saying goodbye. In other circumstances, she and I could have been friends.”
“When are you going?”
“Tomorrow morning early.”
“Then I’ll say good-bye now.” Hilary held out her hand. “We must have luncheon together in town once you’re settled back in your old job.”
She was the only person who had spoken of wanting to see Tash again.
It took only a few moments to pack personal possessions in a brief case. She took it and her portable typewriter with her when she went into the mess hall for something to eat.
It was early for supper. Two women from the secretariat were at the far end of the room drinking tea, but there was no one else in sight.
Tash played with a salad for a while, then went upstairs to her own rooms, stopping at the guard room on her way to surrender her office key to the man on duty.
Her two suitcases were in the closet. She packed swiftly, took a cold shower, and put on the thinnest nightgown that came to hand. It happened to be filmy white with a matching robe, the sort of thing our grandmothers called a negligee.
She pulled a long chair over to a French window that was standing open on the balcony. Half-sitting, half- reclining she could see the last daylight draining from the pale, rain-washed sky.
She tried to read. By the time the first star came out, she had put the book down. She didn’t feel hungry. She felt empty. How was she ever going to get to sleep tonight?
At last she remembered a bottle of rum Carlos had given her to keep in her rooms when she first moved into Leafy Way. “For dire emergency,” he had said. “Such as the bar being closed.”
It was still standing, unopened, on the hat shelf in her clothes closet.
She opened it now. There was always fresh ice-water in the Thermos jug beside her bed. She filled a glass and took it back to the long chair in the sitting room.
The stars came out one by one to watch and keep her company while she sipped her drink. The empty feeling began to melt away. Physically she felt looser, mentally she felt enlarged. Now she could say with true faith: This, too, will pass.
She looked at the clock. Nearly eleven. One more drink, a smaller one, and she would sleep, and leave early tomorrow morning and put the whole thing behind her forever.
She was only twenty-five. The greater part of life was still ahead of her.
She heard the light knock, but didn’t pay attention to it until it came a second time.
Hilary? So late?
She went to the door and threw it open.
On the threshold stood Jeremy Playfair.
11
“I HAD TO talk to you. I knew you were awake because I saw your light.”
His voice was almost inaudible. Never before had she seen him so subdued.
“Come in,” she said, and shut the door as he stepped inside. “I was just having a drink. Would you like one?”
“Thanks, I need one.”
He must have been playing tennis earlier that evening, for he was wearing sneakers, slacks, and a tennis shirt.
“Has something happened?”
He hesitated over his answer. “A lot of things have happened, including your resignation. Why did you resign?”
“But I told you, the newspaper—”
“Please. Let’s have the truth.”
Had she been telling the truth all along, she would have protested indignantly. But she had been suppressing the true and suggesting the false, which is lying, no matter what the Supreme Court says, so she hesitated.
That moment’s hesitation gave him an advantage. He seized it quickly. “You don’t defend yourself because you know you can’t. Now tell me the real reason you resigned.”
“Is there any rule that says one has to give a reason?”
“No rule, but it is customary.”
“I gave you enough reason to satisfy custom.”
He moved his glass, swirling the drink in a miniature whirlpool. “You gave no reason. Just a transparently false excuse. Mr. Brewer and his newspaper can get along without you perfectly well and you know it.”
“You’ve been making inquiries?”
“Of course. I questioned
