Free Collected Novels and Plays by James Merrill Page B

“It’s a mistake to simplify,” he said.
    Francis took it as a clue. “The first time, then, it wasn’t with Natalie?”
    “No, it wasn’t. I don’t know why it wasn’t, except that your mother had always suspected Natalie in particular. I was very fond of Natalie, she’d had a hard time. One day Vinnie found a letter from her, a perfectly innocent, lovely letter. Women can be really cruel when they have an easy victim.”
    “I’m glad she’s here with you,” said Francis, his fingers on the table, looking deep into its smooth dark. “Shall we go to Enid?”
    Mr. Tanning smiled gently. “Don’t you think it’s strange that you and I should be so lonely? I’ve been lonely all my life, and I think you will be, Sonny. I guess we’re just made that way.”
    “It’s a mistake to simplify,” said Francis, hoping that his father would laugh. He didn’t.
    Enid was waiting in the ocean room.
    Her call would have been the most ordinary thing in the world, except that from the outset she created, in spite of herself, a complex impression. She rose with her lilting laugh to kiss them, then at once returned to her chair in innocent confusion, as if remembering how carefully she was dressed, how scented and combed, a pink tourmaline at her throat, and wanting them suddenly
not
to notice. She threw round hershoulders a light
     “daytime” sweater, she pulled knitting out of a bag—some tiny garment all rose and white—but the easy effect failed, proved merely the lengths she would go in order to play it simple. “I don’t feel I
need
to be so formal,” Enid began, after explaining that Larry was dead tired from his week at the office. “If I’ve peeked in at the wrong moment, just say the word.”
    Mr. Tanning cleared his throat. “I’d rather see you than anybody I know, Enid. You ought to have learned that by now.”
    “Mercy me!” she cried, her eyes shining. “Such complimentary remarks! Actually,” she went on, “we’d hoped to coax everybody over tomorrow afternoon, but when I talked to Natalie this morning she said you were already engaged.”
    “It’s no mystery,” said her father. “We’ve been asked to the Cheeks’ tomorrow afternoon.”
    “Yes, Natalie told me.” Enid was very gay about it. She chatted on and on, mostly to Francis, never dropping a stitch. What had been his favorite restaurant in Rome and did he know of a good tailor there (she and Larry were thinking of a trip next Easter) and weren’t the Italian people cheerful attractive little souls? Outside it had begun to rain. Wasn’t it cozy, the three of them sitting together? And what did Francis think of the changes
     she’d made at the Cottage? Why, it looked lovely, he said—and was startled to see her blush with pleasure. So he went on, beyond plain sociability, to praise as much as he could, the grouping of chairs, the texture of fabrics. He felt himself going too far, but Enid drank it in, nodding agreement, pointing out things he might have missed. The ocean room, she confessed, still needed thought. Well, he was sweet to say so, but it did. And she was thinking, yes indeed, she
     had schemes up her sleeve! Francis had the oddest notion of being appealed to, all unconsciously on her part—Enid had never in her life entertained an ulterior motive. From time to time, however, she interrupted herself to ask Mr. Tanning if she’d remembered to tell him how many thousands of dollars her committee had raised for the Hospital, or whom she’d runinto on the street the other day, or what progress Lily had made with her tennis
     lessons. Until at last Francis guessed what the matter was.
    “You sound,” he said ingenuously, “as though you hadn’t seen one another for a very long time.”
    “Well, we haven’t!” exclaimed Enid, her eyes squeezed shut with amusement. “It’s been a whole week! We might as well not be living in the same country!”
    “I asked you to lunch the day before yesterday,” her