Tender Is the Night (51 page)

“Now we
are prepared to give—” Dick calculated quickly, “one thousand francs to each of
the girls—and an additional thousand to the father of the ‘serious’ one. Also
two thousand in addition, for you to distribute as you think best—” he shrugged
his shoulders, “—among the men who made the arrest, the lodging-house keeper
and so forth. I shall hand you the five thousand and expect you to do the negotiating
immediately. Then they can be released on bail on some charge like disturbing
the peace, and whatever fine there is will be paid before the magistrate
tomorrow—by messenger.”

Before
the officer spoke Dick saw by his expression that it would be all right. The
man said hesitantly, “I have made no entry because they have no
Cartes
d’Identité
. I must
see—give me the money.”

An hour
later Dick and M.
Gausse
dropped the women by the
Majestic Hotel, where Lady Caroline’s chauffeur slept in her landaulet.

“Remember,”
said Dick, “you owe Monsieur
Gausse
a hundred dollars
a piece
.”

“All
right,” Mary agreed, “I’ll give him a check to-morrow—and something more.”

“Not I!”
Startled, they all turned to Lady Caroline, who, now entirely recovered, was
swollen with righteousness. “The whole thing was an outrage. By no means did I
authorize you to give a hundred dollars to those people.”

Little
Gausse
stood beside the car, his eyes blazing suddenly.

“You
won’t pay me?”

“Of
course she will,” said Dick.

Suddenly
the abuse that
Gausse
had once endured as a bus boy
in
London
flamed up and he walked through the moonlight up to Lady Caroline.

He
whipped a string of condemnatory words about her, and as she turned away with a
frozen laugh, he took a step after her and swiftly planted his little foot in
the most celebrated of targets. Lady Caroline, taken by surprise, flung up her
hands like a person shot as her sailor-clad form sprawled forward on the
sidewalk.

Dick’s
voice cut across her raging: “Mary, you quiet her down!
or
you’ll both be in leg-irons in ten minutes!”

On the
way back to the hotel old
Gausse
said not a word,
until they passed the Juan-les-Pins Casino, still sobbing and coughing with
jazz; then he sighed forth:

“I have
never seen women like this sort of women. I have known many of the great
courtesans of the world, and for them I have much respect often, but women like
these women I have never seen before.”

Dick and
Nicole were accustomed to go together to the barber, and have haircuts and
shampoos in adjoining rooms. From Dick’s side Nicole could hear the snip of
shears, the count of changes, the
Voilàs
and Pardons.
The day after his return they went down to be shorn and washed in the perfumed
breeze of the fans.

In front
of the Carleton Hotel, its windows as stubbornly blank to the summer as so many
cellar doors, a car passed them and Tommy
Barban
was
in it.
Nicole’s momentary glimpse of his expression, taciturn
and thoughtful and, in the second of seeing her, wide-eyed and alert, disturbed
her.
She wanted to be going where he was going. The hour with the
hair-dresser seemed one of the wasteful intervals that composed her life,
another little prison. The coiffeuse in her white uniform, faintly sweating
lip-rouge and cologne reminded her of many nurses.

In the
next room Dick dozed under an apron and a lather of soap. The mirror in front
of Nicole reflected the passage between the men’s side and the women’s, and
Nicole started up at the sight of Tommy entering and wheeling sharply into the
men’s shop. She knew with a flush of joy that there was going to be some sort
of showdown.

She
heard fragments of its beginning.

“Hello,
I want to see you.”

“. . . serious.”

“. . . serious.”

“. . . perfectly agreeable.”

In a
minute Dick came into Nicole’s booth, his expression emerging annoyed from
behind the towel of his hastily rinsed face.

“Your
friend has worked himself up into a state. He wants to see us together, so I
agreed to have it over with. Come along!”

“But my
hair—it’s half cut.”

“
Nevermind
—come along!”

Resentfully
she had the staring coiffeuse remove the towels.

Feeling
messy and unadorned she followed Dick from the hotel. Outside Tommy bent over
her hand.

“We’ll
go to the Café des
Alliées
,” said Dick.

“Wherever
we can be alone,” Tommy agreed.

Under
the arching trees, central in summer, Dick asked: “Will you take anything,
Nicole?”

“A citron
pressé
.”

“For me
a
demi
,” said Tommy.

“The
Blackenwite
with siphon,” said Dick.

“Il
n’y
a plus de
Blackenwite
.
Nous
n’avons
que
le Johnny
Walkair
.”

“Ca
va
.”

“She’s—not—wired for sound
but on the quiet
you ought to try it—”

“Your
wife does not love you,” said Tommy suddenly. “She loves me.”

The two
men regarded each other with a curious impotence of expression. There can be
little communication between men in that position, for their relation is
indirect, and consists of how much each of them has possessed or will possess
of the woman in question, so that their emotions pass through her divided self
as through a bad telephone connection.

“Wait a
minute,” Dick said. “
Donnez
moi
du gin et du siphon.”

“Bien,
Monsieur.”

“All
right, go on, Tommy.”

“It’s
very plain to me that your marriage to Nicole has run its course. She is
through. I’ve waited five years for that to be so.”

“What
does Nicole say?”

They
both looked at her.

“I’ve
gotten very fond of Tommy, Dick.”

He
nodded.

“You
don’t care for me
any more
,” she continued. “It’s all
just habit. Things were never the same after Rosemary.”

Unattracted
to this angle, Tommy broke in sharply with:

“You
don’t understand Nicole. You treat her always like a patient because she was
once sick.”

They
were suddenly interrupted by an insistent American, of sinister aspect, vending
copies of The Herald and of The Times fresh from
New York
.

“Got
everything here, Buddies,” he announced. “Been here long?”

“
Cessez
cela
!
Allez
Ouste
!” Tommy cried and then to Dick, “Now no woman would
stand such—”

“Buddies,”
interrupted the American again. “You think I’m wasting my time—but lots of
others don’t.” He brought a gray clipping from his purse—and Dick recognized it
as he saw it. It cartooned millions of Americans pouring from liners with bags
of gold. “You think I’m not going to get part of that? Well, I am. I’m just
over from Nice for the Tour de France.”

As Tommy
got him off with a fierce “
allez
-
vous
-en,”
Dick identified him as the man who had once hailed him in the Rue de Saints
Anges
, five years before.

“When
does the Tour de France get here?” he called after him.

“Any
minute now, Buddy.”

He
departed at last with a cheery wave and Tommy returned to Dick.

“Elle
doit
avoir
plus avec
moi
qu’avec
vous
.”

“Speak
English! What do you mean ‘
doit
avoir
’?”

“‘
Doit
avoir
?’
Would have more
happiness with me.”

“You’d
be new to each other. But Nicole and I have had much happiness together,
Tommy.”

“
L’amour
de
famille
,” Tommy said,
scoffing.

“If you
and Nicole married won’t that be ‘
l’amour
de
famille
’?” The increasing commotion made him break off;
presently it came to a serpentine head on the promenade and a group, presently
a crowd, of people sprung from hidden siestas, lined the curbstone.

Boys
sprinted past on bicycles, automobiles jammed with elaborate
betasselled
sportsmen slid up the street, high horns tooted
to announce the approach of the race, and unsuspected cooks in undershirts
appeared at restaurant doors as around a bend a procession came into sight.
First was a lone cyclist in a red jersey, toiling intent and confident out of
the
westering
sun,
passing
to the melody of a high chattering cheer. Then three together in a harlequinade
of faded color, legs caked yellow with dust and sweat, faces expressionless,
eyes heavy and endlessly tired.

Tommy
faced Dick, saying: “I think Nicole wants a divorce—I suppose you’ll make no
obstacles?”

A troupe
of fifty more swarmed after the first bicycle racers, strung out over two
hundred yards; a few were smiling and self- conscious, a few obviously
exhausted,
most of them indifferent and weary. A retinue of
small boys passed, a few defiant stragglers,
a
light
truck carried the dupes of accident and defeat. They were back at the table.
Nicole wanted Dick to take the initiative, but he seemed content to sit with
his face half-shaved matching her hair half-washed.

“Isn’t
it true you’re not happy with me
any more
?” Nicole
continued. “Without me you could get to your work again—you could work better
if you didn’t worry about me.”

Tommy
moved impatiently.

“That is
so useless. Nicole and I love each other, that’s all there is to it.”

“Well,
then,” said the Doctor, “
since
it’s all settled,
suppose we go back to the barber shop.”

Tommy
wanted a row: “There are several points—”

“Nicole
and I will talk things over,” said Dick equitably. “Don’t worry—I agree in
principal, and Nicole and I understand each other. There’s less chance of
unpleasantness if we avoid a three- cornered discussion.”

Unwillingly
acknowledging Dick’s logic, Tommy was moved by an irresistible racial tendency
to chisel for an advantage.

“Let it
be understood that from this moment,” he said, “I stand in the position of
Nicole’s protector until details can be arranged. And I shall hold you strictly
accountable for any abuse of the fact that you continue to inhabit the same
house.”

“I never
did go in for making love to dry loins,” said Dick.

He
nodded, and walked off toward the hotel with Nicole’s whitest eyes following
him.

“He was
fair enough,” Tommy conceded. “Darling, will we be together to-night?”

“I
suppose so.”

So it
had happened—and with a minimum of drama; Nicole felt outguessed, realizing
that from the episode of the camphor-rub, Dick had anticipated everything. But
also she felt happy and excited, and the odd little wish that she could tell
Dick all about it faded quickly. But her eyes followed his figure until it
became a dot and mingled with the other dots in the summer crowd.

Tender is the Night

XII

The day
before Doctor Diver left the
Riviera
he spent all his time with his children. He was not young any more with a lot
of nice thoughts and dreams to have about himself, so he wanted to remember
them well. The children had been told that this winter they would be with their
aunt in
London
and that soon they were going to come and see him in
America
.
Fräulein
was not to be discharged without his consent.

He was
glad he had given so much to the little girl—about the boy he was more
uncertain—always he had been uneasy about what he had to give to the
ever-climbing, ever-clinging, breast-searching young. But, when he said good-by
to them, he wanted to lift their beautiful heads off their necks and hold them
close for hours.

He
embraced the old gardener who had made the first garden at Villa Diana six
years ago; he kissed the
Provençal
girl who helped
with the children. She had been with them for almost a decade and she fell on
her knees and cried until Dick jerked her to her feet and gave her three
hundred francs. Nicole was sleeping late, as had been agreed upon—he left a
note for her, and one for Baby Warren who was just back from
Sardinia
and staying at the house. Dick took a big drink from a bottle of brandy three
feet high, holding ten
quarts, that
some one
had presented them with.