Free Daniel Martin by John Fowles

reaction. ‘Ghosts.’
    ‘But… ‘ she lets expostulation trail away. ‘You’re going?’
    ‘It seems there’s not much time left.’ She stares at him, and her eyes show two kinds of hurt honesty, both a childlike and an adult. If he tells her a lie then, it is also partly to himself. ‘It’s Caro, Jenny. We’ve torn her apart for so long. I can’t refuse the olive-branch now it’s offered.’
    ‘Why does he want to see you so much?’
    ‘God knows.’
    ‘But you must have some idea.’
    He lets out a breath.
    ‘He’s a professional philosopher as well as a Catholic. They do rather live in a world of their own.’ He reaches and takes her hand, but again looks out into the night. ‘His wife’s someone special. Very meticulous over personal relationships. Very scrupulous. She wouldn’t have broken so many years of silence without… ‘ but he doesn’t finish.
    She withdraws her hand and turns away. He watches her light a cigarette by the couch.
    ‘Why did it feel right to throw a full champagne bottle into a river?’
    ‘It was just her way once of suggesting we’d all been living in a false paradise at Oxford.’ He goes on a shade too quickly. ‘All very involved. I’ll tell you one day.’
    ‘You don’t have to defend it. I just wondered.’
    But she avoids his eyes.
    He says, ‘Perhaps it’s for the best.’
    ‘Thanks very much.’
    ‘A breather.’
    ‘I didn’t realize it was a race.’ She picks up an ashtray and empties it unnecessarily into a wastepaper basket. ‘You won’t come back?’
    ‘They only want you for three weeks more. With any luck.’
    She leaves a silence. ‘Well. That’ll teach me to make jokes about second sight.’
    ‘Yes. It was a little uncanny, that.’
    She glances at him, accusing.
    ‘Ask me to marry you again.’
    ‘I try not to repeat silly mistakes.’
    ‘Your whole life’s a mistake. You’ve just told me so.’
    ‘All the more reason for not dragging you into it.’
    ‘I shouldn’t have said yes.’
    ‘Then what?’
    She bends and plumps a cushion. ‘I think about it. Quite a lot. Much more seriously than you do, I suspect. For all your talk.’
    ‘Then you should know why it wouldn’t work.’
    ‘I know the signs are bad. All you say.’ She obstinately arranges cushions, then picks one up to examine some loose braiding. ‘I just wonder if the fact that you won’t trail round after me and I won’t give up everything to darn your socks isn’t really rather a good thing. The best I’m likely to get. Given the squaw bit doesn’t attract me at all. That it wrecked my only other… serious relationship. Would always wreck it with anyone normal my own age.’ She says; ‘I’m trying to be honest.’
    ‘Then it definitely wouldn’t work, Jenny. The one component such marriages need is a core of dishonesty. I don’t think we two could manage that. In the long run.’
    She puts the cushion down. ‘You don’t seem to realize I need you. In so many ways.’
    ‘Need someone.’
    She turns from the couch and sits in an armchair, hunched forward, head bowed. ‘I feel frightened already.’
    ‘That proves I’m bad for you. And always would be.’
    ‘I’ve got to decide about the new part.’
    ‘You know what I think. He’s a good man. He’ll get the script up. You should do it.’
    ‘And take myself off your hands.’ She says, ‘I’d know you were waiting. You’d be there.’
    ‘I shall be. For as long as you want. You know that.’ He searches for a placebo. ‘And you can move into the Cabin. Abe and Mildred would love that.’
    ‘I might. And don’t change the subject.’ She draws on the cigarette, blows out smoke, then looks up at him. He still stands by the telephone. ‘I notice you’re not admitting that I’m also the best you’re likely to get.’
    ‘You’re shopping for bargains.’
    ‘You hide. That’s even worse.’
    ‘What do I hide?’
    ‘Your past.’
    ‘Not cool. The past.’
    ‘That’s a