Free The Oracles by Margaret Kennedy Page A

conversation. The house had its customary deserted appearance. He went upstairs and found her moaning upon her bed.
    ‘Is it really you?’ she asked, peering at him with bloodshot eyes. ‘I thought you were there last night.… Oh Christ! My head!’
    ‘I’ll get you some coffee,’ he suggested.
    The kitchen looked even dirtier by daylight. He managed to brew some coffee and took it upstairs on a tray. She was now sitting up, a little recovered, haggard,yellow and waspish, but as reasonable as he could ever hope to find her.
    ‘Why are you here?’ she asked, as he gave her a cup. ‘I don’t remember a thing, not a damn thing about last night. I was terribly upset. Conrad has left me. Did I tell you?’
    ‘Frequently. Do you think he’s gone for good?’
    ‘I wouldn’t know. I couldn’t care less if he has. It’s been all packed up between Conrad and me for some time. It was the way he went that upset me.’
    This had a familiar ring. No man had ever gone in a way which did not upset her. Presently she added:
    ‘But you, Frank? What are you doing here? You’ve left it rather late, haven’t you, if you’ve come to fetch me home?’
    As she spoke, hope flickered in her sad eyes. She longed to hear that he wanted her back.
    ‘I came,’ he said, ‘because Conrad wrote and asked me to come. Quite a long letter. The longest I’ve ever had from him.’
    ‘He never! It takes him all day to write a postcard.’
    ‘He wrote it three weeks ago. But I only got it on Saturday. I’ve been in the States and my mail was kept for me. I came at once. But before I show you the letter …’
    ‘All about me, I suppose.’
    ‘Barely a word about you. But before we get on to that, I want to say something about the twins. I’ve seen them. I think they’d do better in school.’
    ‘I daresay they would. But do you mean that Conrad …’
    ‘So I’ll fix that, shall I? Find a school and make all the arrangements. And when I send for them you’ll let them go without kicking up a fuss, see?’
    ‘All right. But you may as well know that what you pay me for their keep is damn all we any of us have to live on.’
    ‘I had that idea. It was meant for two, not five.’
    ‘Too right, as you would say. But I never expected that Conrad’s children would be dumped on us. It quite spoilt the pattern. What I’ll do for money now I don’t know, if Conrad has really skipped. He could always raise the wind with the Rawsons. I suppose I’d better go back to the stage.’
    There was a pause. They both knew that she could not. Her reputation for unreliability outweighed her undoubted talent, and she was most unlikely to get a job. She had fallen behind. She was growing old. Her box-office appeal was as outmoded as her oaths and her slang.
    ‘So that’s one thing settled,’ he said at last. ‘Now … Conrad’s letter. You’d better read it.’
    He proffered her several sheets of expensive notepaper.
    ‘Funny!’ she exclaimed, taking them. ‘I’ve lived with him for two years, and I don’t believe I’ve ever read a letter of his. He’s got nice writing, hasn’t he? Beautiful! How odd.’
    ‘Not at all. He never has any difficulty in using his hands. It’s words that bother him. Who lives at The Moorings?’
    He pointed to the address on the notepaper.
    ‘The Rawsons. Why … did you think we lived there?’
    ‘No. I supposed he’d pinched some letter paper from rich friends, and I wondered if he has any, except the Rawsons.’
    Elizabeth began to read the letter. While she did so he wondered how soon he might expect her back atCheyne Walk. Some pretence at getting a job seemed to be essential to her self-respect. But she would eventually turn to him for shelter, countenance and protection, and he would not refuse it, although he never intended to live with her again. He felt obscurely responsible for her troubles, since he had never loved her as much as he loved Conrad.
    Dear Frank (she read),
    Can you come to