She would have lied about this if there had been any chance at all for a lie to be believed, but there wasn’t any, not the slightest, and so the only thing she could do was to tell the truth, or at least part of it, and try to make what had happened seem as natural and insignificant as possible.
“Yes,” she said, “it’s true. I called and said that I couldn’t come.”
“May I ask what made you change your plans?”
“Why do you continually ask if you may ask? Since you are obviously going to ask whatever you please, its rather ridiculous and a waste of time.”
“You needn’t answer any of my questions if you don’t want to. Not at this time, anyhow.”
“Later, however, you would force me to answer them. Is that what you mean?”
“I hope it would not be necessary.”
“In other words, if you were inclined to be honest, it is exactly what you mean. Well, it doesn’t matter, for I don’t mind answering at all, and I only wish you would not try to pretend that things are different from what they are.”
“I apologize. Please tell me why you were unable to go to the Club that night.”
“There was a very simple reason. I had promised I would go hear the piano and the drum again, because I liked them and wanted to, but at the last minute my husband wanted me to go out somewhere with him instead, and I felt compelled to go.”
Now Bunting did look sidewise at Oliver Farnese for verification, and Farnese smiled and nodded. It was apparent from his serenity that he found nothing disturbing in his wife’s activities and did not object in the least to her interest in pianos and drums and whoever played them.
“That’s right, Lieutenant,” he said. “We went to the Empire Room, where I had made a reservation. I suppose you can check that if you feel inclined.”
“I’m sure it won’t be necessary.” Bunting sighed and stood up. “I won’t intrude any longer, and I appreciate your kindness. These things are tough. The toughest. You find a body in a street or an alley, and there doesn’t seem to be any reason for it, no leads, no connections. We’ll be lucky if we ever get anything definite on this one. I mustn’t impose my troubles on you, however. I’ve already been bother enough, I’m afraid. Thank you again for your kindness, Mrs. Farnese. You’ve been very patient.”
“Not at all,” she said.
For a moment she was afraid that he was going to offer to shake hands on leaving, and she was exorbitantly relieved when he did not, turning abruptly, instead, and starting for the door with Oliver following. She remained motionless in her chair, her hands folded in her lap, and pretty soon Oliver returned from the door and stood a few feet away looking at her amicably.
“You did quite well, my dear,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”
“Are you?” she said.
“Yes, I am. You were admirable. I’ve never heard anyone avoid the truth so cleverly. You had poor Bunting on the defensive from the beginning.”
“I wasn’t trying to put him on the defensive. I only wanted him to get finished and go away.”
“I can understand that, my dear. You’ve gone through a difficult time. I was certain, however, that I could depend on you to be sensible. You’re feeling tired and despondent now, but you’ll recover in a little while. I’ve noticed before how remarkably durable and resilient you are.”
“Thank you very much.”
“You owe me no gratitude, my dear. You have earned everything I’ve said.”
“And done?”
“Yes. Said and done.”
He laughed and took half a step toward her, and she wondered what she would do if he were to touch her. Perhaps she would begin to scream, she thought, or rake him with her nails, or merely be sick on herself and the carpet. He did not touch her, however. He stood for a second with one foot before the other and one hand lifted toward her, but then he lowered the hand slowly and drew the forward foot back.
“I think you had better rest now,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go to the office for the rest of the afternoon.”
“I don’t mind. Please go where you wish.”
“Will you be all right?”
“Certainly.”
“It disturbs me to be off my routine. I want to resume it without any further delay, and I hope that it will not be necessary to disrupt it again soon.”
She didn’t know if this was a warning or not, but it was of no great importance. She sat without moving or answering, and he turned and went out of the room, and she continued to sit with her hands folded after he was gone, and she was still there, in the exact position she had been in when he left, when he returned and crossed the room and left the apartment.
Now I will think very carefully about everything that has happened, she thought. It is absolutely essential now to think clearly and sanely and not to allow myself to become deceived by emotion or excessively depressed by what has occurred and can’t be helped. Let me see how it was exactly. I went accidentally to the place where he worked, which was nothing for which I can be blamed and was no offense of any kind, and I saw him there and heard him play the piano, and I thought that he was beautiful and played beautifully, and I loved him, I did love him, and now he is dead because of it, but that is no reason to accuse myself or to assume responsibility for what I did not want or directly do.
I did not want him to be hurt or to die. All I wanted was to make him happy and to be happy myself, and that’s what I did and almost was. He said himself that he was happy, that each time we were together was the best time of all, and this was good. It’s true, of course, that it would not have continued indefinitely, or even much longer, which I’ll not try to deny, but it was good for the time it lasted and better than no good at all. This is only logical, that something is better than nothing, and it is surely not my fault that it ended badly.
So. I have reasoned calmly and rationally, there is no question about that, and it is clearly preposterous for me to have this terrible and oppressive feeling of guilt, as if I had personally done a great wrong or had deliberately permitted the great wrong that was done. Commitment to grief is one thing, and commitment to guilt is another. That’s the distinction I must understand and believe. I saw him die, however. There’s no getting away from that. I saw him beaten and killed by a monster, and I said nothing afterward to anyone, and just a little while ago when the policeman was here I still said nothing, and the reason I have said nothing and will say nothing is because I am afraid of Oliver, and I know that he would find a way to destroy me if I gave him cause. I could go away, of course, but he could certainly find me if he wanted to, and even if he couldn’t I still wouldn’t go away, because there is no place for me in the world but this place and no way to survive but this way. I’m a coward, to tell the truth. I do not care to make a gesture that would change nothing that has happened and would only make things worse.
There. I have faced things fairly as they are, and myself as I am. There is supposed to be a kind of catharsis in this, and one is supposed to feel much better after having done it. In a little while, if I sit here quietly, I shall surely begin to feel better.
She sat quietly and waited to begin feeling better, but she didn’t feel better at all, and pretty soon it was impossible to wait any longer for anything or to stay any longer in the apartment than it would take her to change her clothes and get out. Unfolding her hands and rising, she walked stiffly to her room with the strangest and most disturbing sense of being precariously contained, as if the slightest exaggerated motion would cause her to fly apart in all directions. In her room, she changed her clothes and brushed her hair and came out again to the telephone and called down to the garage for the Jaguar. When she got downstairs and outside to the street, the Jaguar was there, and she got in it and drove away, and then for the first time she began to think of where she would go, and she knew, even as she began to think, that she was going to Duo’s, where Joe Doyle had worked, and this was for some reason imperative, something she had to do.