“Life is one sacrifice after another,” she said now, imagining that Carmen, and not Heidemarie, sat before her.
“That is true,” said Heidemarie. She looked sadly at Dr. Tuttlingen and said, as she so often did, “America.”
He’s not taking you, Mrs. Parsters thought, watching Heidemarie. The words flashed into her head, just like that. Past events had proved her intuitions almost infallible. You’re not married, and he’s not taking you to America. Mrs. Parsters began to drum on the table, thinking.
Beside her, Dr. Tuttlingen was pursuing his investigation of the American way of life. “What is the cost in America of a pure-white diamond weighing four hundred milligrams?” He looked straight into Mrs. Owens’s eyes and brought out each word with pedantic care.
“Well, really, that’s something I just don’t know,” Mrs. Owens said, gazing helplessly around.
“I have a nephew in South Africa,” said Mrs. Parsters. “He would know.”
Dr. Tuttlingen was not at all interested in South Africa. Annoyed at being interrupted, he said, with heavy, sarcastic interest, “Cigarettes are cheap in South Africa, yes?”—a remark intended to put Mrs. Parsters in her place.
“Very expensive,” said Mrs. Parsters, drinking mineral water as if the last word on emigration had now been uttered.
Dr. Tuttlingen turned back to his cicerone, relentless. “What is the cost in America of one hundred pounds of roasted coffee beans?”
In her distraction, Mrs. Owens forgot how to multiply by one hundred. “Oh dear,” she said. “Just let me think.”
“I know a place where one can have tea for five pesetas,” said Mrs. Parsters.
“Goodness! Where?” cried Mrs. Owens, grateful for the change of subject.
“Unavailable today, I’m afraid. It’s being done up for the bazaar. It is run by a girl from Glasgow, for holders of British passports only.” She added, graciously, “I believe that she will accept Americans.”
“What do you get with this tea?” said Dr. Tuttlingen, suspicious but not noticeably offended.
“Tea,” said Mrs. Parsters, “with a choice of toast or biscuits.”
Dr. Tuttlingen looked as if he would not have taken the tea, or the talisman passport, as a gift. “I am going to swim now,” he announced, rising and patting his stomach. “Hot or cold, rain or shine, exercise before a meal is good for the health.” He trotted down to the sea, elbows tucked in.
The three women watched him go. Mrs. Owens relaxed. Heidemarie began to comb her hair. She opened a large beach bag of cracked patent leather and drew from it a lipstick and glass. With delicate attention, she gave herself a lilac mouth. She bit the edge of a long red nail and looked at it, mournfully.
“What a pretty shade,” Mrs. Parsters said.
“He doesn’t want to take me to America,” said Heidemarie. “He said it on the eleventh of July, on the thirteenth of July, and again this morning.”
“He doesn’t, eh?” Mrs. Parsters sounded neither triumphant nor surprised. “You haven’t managed it very cleverly, have you?”
“No,” admitted Heidemarie. She reached down and picked up Bobby and held him on her lap. Her round pink face struggled, as if in the grip of an intolerable emotion. The others waited. At last it came. “I like dogs so much,” she said.
“Do you?” said Mrs. Parsters. “Bobby, of course, is particularly likable. There are a great many dogs in England.”
“I like dogs,” said Heidemarie again, hugging Bobby. “And all the animals. I like horses. A horse is intelligent. A horse has some heart. I mean a horse will try to understand.”
“In terms of character, no man is the slightest match for a horse,” Mrs. Parsters agreed.
Mrs. Owens, trying hard to follow the strange rabbit paths of this dialogue, turned almost involuntarily at the mention of horses and stared at the bar. Sometimes a half door behind the bar would swing open, revealing an old, whiskery horse belonging to one of the waiters. The horse would gaze at them all, bemused and kindly, greeted from the French side of the pavilion with enthusiastic seagull cries of “Tiens! Tiens! Bonjour, mon coco!”
Heidemarie released Bobby. She looked as if she might cry.
“Now, then,” said Mrs. Parsters, drawing toward herself Dr. Tuttlingen’s empty chair. “You won’t help yourself by weeping and mewing. Come and sit here.” Obediently, Heidemarie moved over. “You must not take these things so seriously,” Mrs. Parsters went on. “Time heals everything. Look at Mrs. Owens.”
Mrs. Owens took a deep breath, deciding the time had come to explain, once and for all, that she was not divorced. But, as so frequently happened, by the time she had formulated the sentence, the conversation had moved along.
“I wanted to see New York,” said Heidemarie, drooping.
“Perfectly commendable,” said Mrs. Parsters.
“He says I’m better off in Stuttgart.”
“Oh, he does, does he?” Mrs. Parsters turned to look at the sea, where Dr. Tuttlingen, flat on his back, was thrashing briskly away from shore. “The impudence! I’d like to hear him say that to me. You want to give that man a surprise. Make a plan of your own. Show him how independent you are.”
“Yes,” said Heidemarie, biting the lilac tip of the straw in her glass. After a moment, she added, “But I am not.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Parsters. “Don’t let me hear such words. Was it for this that foolish women chained themselves to lampposts? Snap your fingers in his face. Tell him you can take care of yourself. Tell him you can work.”
Heidemarie repeated “work” with such melancholy that Mrs. Owens was touched. She tried to recall what accomplishments one could expect from a young, unmarried person of Heidemarie’s disposition, summoning and dismissing images of her as an airline hostess, a kindergarten teacher, and a smiling receptionist. “Can you type?” she asked, wishing to be helpful.
“No, Heidemarie doesn’t type,” said Mrs. Parsters, answering for her. “But I’m certain she can do other things. I’m positive that Heidemarie can cook, and keep house, and market far more economically than my ungrateful Carmen!” Heidemarie nodded, gloomy, at this iteming of her gifts. “My ungrateful Carmen,” said Mrs. Parsters, pursuing her own indomitable line of thought. “I said to her this morning, ‘It isn’t so much a cook I require as an intelligent assistant, with just enough maturity to make her reliable.’ A few light duties,” Mrs. Parsters said, looking dreamily out to sea. Suddenly, she seemed to remember they had been discussing Heidemarie. “I have only one piece of advice for you, my dear, and that is leave him before he leaves you. Show him you have a plan of your own.”
“I haven’t,” said Heidemarie.
“I might just think of something,” said Mrs. Parsters, with a smile.
“We all might,” said Mrs. Owens kindly. “I might think of something, too.” She wondered why this innocent offer should cause Mrs. Parsters to look so exasperated.
Farther along the beach, Dr. Tuttlingen was pursuing his daily course of exercise, trotting up and down the sands under the blazing sun. He looked determined and inestimably pleased with himself. He trotted over to the pavilion, climbed the steps, and drew up to them, panting. “I forgot to ask you,” he said to Mrs. Owens, who at once looked apprehensive. “What is the average income tax paid by a doctor in a medium-sized city in America?”