Free A Pocketful of Rye by A. J. Cronin Page A

glass we went out to the parking lot. As before, I carried her suitcase. On this occasion it was light. I sat the boy in the back seat of the car.
    â€˜He can stretch out there and perhaps get a sleep.’
    After a momentary hesitation she got in beside me.
    For some time I drove without speaking, taking the by-pass to avoid central Zürich, striking the shore of the See beyond, hoping that silence and the darkness might relax her nerves. Any anticipation I had entertained of our meeting, a reunion one might say, born of nostalgic recollection of the past, had been flattened by the stiffness of her attitude. And I had not failed to notice that she kept herself apart, well over to her own side of the car. Had Lotte’s remark upset her, as it had me? I made another effort to start the conversation.
    â€˜I owe you an apology for not being at the barrier to meet you, Cathy.’
    â€˜Yes,’ she said. ‘ If it hadn’t been for your girl-friend we’d have lost ourselves completely.’
    My girl-friend. So that had nettled her. I smiled in the darkness.
    â€˜My only excuse is … believe it or not … that I was thinking of you. Yes, hanging on in the bar, I got into a day dream of the old days, with Frank and you, lost all sense of the present in the past.’
    â€˜I’ve had more to think of than that lately.’
    â€˜Oh, of course,’ I said appeasingly. ‘I didn’t know you’d lost Dan until I had Frank’s letter. I’m sorry. Was he taken suddenly?’
    â€˜Yes, very sudden.’
    â€˜Too bad,’ I said, trying to sound sympathetic.
    Obviously she didn’t want to talk of it, so I curbed my curiosity and said:
    â€˜Then you’ve been worried about your boy. How long has he been … let’s say … off-colour?’
    â€˜About five weeks. We first noticed the T.B. gland then.’
    â€˜Well, don’t worry, Cathy. We ought to be able to get him right for you. It’s not an uncommon condition in children of his age. Just a bovine T.B. infection. Not the pulmonary type. We’ll not worry him by putting him in the ward. I’ve arranged with Matron for you both to have the guest chalet. It’s very cosy … usually reserved for visiting committee members.’
    â€˜The Matron? Is she nice?’
    â€˜Not bad at all, if you take her the right way. Oh, by the by,’ I hesitated, ‘I had to work a bit of an angle with her … to get you and Daniel in together, and with all the fancy trimmings. You see, normally we’re not allowed to take parents. So I established a sort of family relationship, told her you were my cousin. You can disown me if you like.’
    She did not speak for some time, then she said:
    â€˜Still playing about with the truth, Carroll. You were always good at it.’
    After that, I let it rest. Damn it all, I had only put on the act for her sake, to give her a good start with Matron and to get her the privilege of the committee chalet. I drove on in silence, and at speed, climbing now as we left Zürcher See behind, flashing through the villages of Landquart and Jenaz, almost deserted at this hour. The night darkness was deepened by the overhanging mountains. There was no mist but a fine rain had begun to fall. I switched on the radio to get the late news and weather report. Another level-crossing accident. Two killed in Grisons. Disarmament Conference reconvened in Geneva. More trouble in the Yemen. Servette had beaten Lucerne in the Cup two goals to one. Brighter weather lay ahead.
    From the swift occasional glare as we passed an illuminated sign I saw that she was sitting erect with closed eyes. Daniel, in the back seat, had fallen asleep, his audible breathing synchronized with the regular beat of the windscreen wipers. I switched on the heater. Out of sheer decency and good-heartedness I had tried to make it a cosy threesome in the snug little Opel, but something had