Free The Winds of Marble Arch and Other Stories by Connie Willis Page A

play. Everyone wore high-necked costumes, including Hayley Mills who swept in swathed in a bulky coat. “I’m
so
sorry I’m late, dear,” she said, taking off her coat to reveal a turtleneck sweater and going overto stand in front of a stage fire. “It’s so cold out. And the air’s so strange.”
    Whoever was playing her husband said, “‘Into my heart an air that kills from yon far country blows,’” and Elliott leaned over and whispered, “Oh, God, a
literary
play.”
    I’d missed the rest of the husband’s line, but he must have asked Hayley why she was late because she said, “My assistant cut her hand, and I hadto take her to hospital. It took forever for her to get stitched up.”
    A hospital. I hadn’t considered that. Their morgues would have been full during the Blitz. Was there a hospital close to Holborn? I would have to ask Elliott at intermission.
    A sudden rattle of applause brought me out of my reverie.
    The stage was dark. I’d missed Scene I. When the lights went back up, I tried to focus onthe play, so I could discuss it at least halfway intelligibly at the intermission.
    “The wind is rising,” Hayley Mills said, looking out an imaginary window.
    “Storm brewing,” a man, not her husband, said.
    “That’s what I fear,” she said, rubbing her hands along her arms to warm them. “Oh, Derek, what if he finds out about us?”
    I glanced sideways across Sara at Cath, but couldn’t see her facein the darkened theater. She obviously hadn’t known what this play was about, or she’d never have chosen it.
    But Hayley wasn’t acting anything like Sara. She chain-smoked, she paced, she hung up the phone hastily when her husband came into the room and was so obviously guilty no one, least of all her husband, could have failed to miss it.
    Elliott certainly didn’t. “The husband’s got to be acomplete moron,” he said as soon as the curtain went down for the intermission. “Even the
dog
could deduce that she’s having an affair. Why is it characters in plays never act any way remotely resembling real life?”
    “Maybe because peoplein real life don’t look like Hayley Mills,” Cath said. “She
does
look wonderful, doesn’t she, Sara? She hasn’t aged a day.”
    “You’re joking, right?” Elliottsaid. “All right, I know people kid themselves about their spouses having affairs, but—”
    “I
have
to go to the bathroom,” Cath said. “I suppose there’ll be a horrible line. Come with me, Sara, and I’ll tell you the saga of my china.” They edged past us.
    “Get us a glass of white wine,” Sara called back from the aisle, and Elliott and I shouldered our way to the bar, which took ten minutes, andanother five to get served. Sara and Cath still weren’t back.
    “So where were you all day?” Elliott asked me, sipping Sara’s wine. “I looked for you at lunch.”
    “I was researching something,” I said. “Holborn Tube station is in Bloomsbury, isn’t it?”
    “I think so,” he said. “I rarely take the tube.”
    “Are there any hospitals near the tube station?”
    “Hospitals?” he said bewilderedly. “I don’tknow. I don’t think so.”
    “Or churches?”
    “I don’t know. What’s this all about?”
    “Have you ever heard of a thing called an inversion layer?” I said. “It’s when air is trapped—”
    “They simply must do something about the women’s bathroom situation,” Sara said, grabbing her wine and taking a sip. “I thought we were going to be in there the entire third act.”
    “Sounds like an excellent idea,” Elliottsaid. “I don’t mean to sound like the Old Man, but if this is any indication, plays truly have gone to hell! I mean, we’re expected to believe that Hayley Mills’ husband is so blind that he can’t see his wife’s in love with—the other one—what’s his name—?”
    “Pollyanna,”
Cath said. “I’ve been trying to remember it all through the first two acts. The name of the little girl who always