Sincerely, Willis Wayde (20 page)

“I'm calling for Miss Bess, Tillie,” he said, and he tried to sound like Mr. Henry Harcourt. “I'll wait here for her, if you'll let her know.”

“Miss Bess is in the upstairs sitting room,” Tillie said. “She asked if you would please go up.”

Willis had been at the Bryson Harcourts' often enough to know where the upstairs sitting room was, a pleasant Beacon Street parlor where Bess and Bill entertained their friends while Mr. and Mrs. Bryson Harcourt used the library. He ran up the stairs quickly, and there was Bess, ready and waiting, standing in the center of a blue Chinese rug. She wore a black velvet dress and she had pinned on it the white gold and diamond clip that her parents had given her on her last birthday. He had never seen Bess look better and it made him happy that Bess had gone to so much trouble.

“Why, Bess,” he said, “you look wonderful.”

She did not smile, nor did she hold out her hand. She stood in the center of the blue Chinese rug, and he could still recall its pattern of yellow dragons.

“Oh, Willis,” Bess said, “I'm glad you came on time.”

“Of course I came on time,” he told her. “I wouldn't have missed a minute of it.”

“Oh, Willis,” Bess said, “I'm terribly embarrassed, but I know you'll understand, because we're such old friends. There's something I want to explain. It's dreadful but I simply can't go out with you tonight.”

“You can't?” he heard himself repeating after her. “Why, what's the trouble, Bess?”

“Willis,” she said, “I'm so glad it's you. I have another engagement tonight and I simply forgot about it. There wasn't time to get hold of you or anything.”

She spoke faster than usual, like a child reciting from memory, and for some reason Willis groped over her words clumsily before he could get them into sequence.

“You have another engagement?” he repeated. “You mean you're going out with someone else?”

“I know it's dreadful, Willis,” Bess said, “and I'll promise not to let it happen again. I just forgot completely until he called me up this afternoon.”

“What made you forget?” Willis asked. “Don't you write things down?”

She shook her head.

“I should have,” she said. “Don't look so upset, Willis. We can go out some other time—any time at all.”

It was unfortunate that she used that phrase “any time at all.” It went through his mind like a glowing spark. He had an even temper and he usually could keep his emotions under control up to a certain point. If he passed that point it must have had something to do with the taken-for-granted quality of her speech, which indicated that he was Willis Wayde and that she could do anything she wanted with Willis Wayde.

“That's right,” he answered slowly, “any time at all.”

He never did forget the relief that lighted up her face.

“Oh, Willis,” she said, “I knew you'd be nice about it.”

“All right,” he said, and his speech sounded rougher than he had meant it to. “All right, I'll be nice, Bess.”

“Thanks, Willis. Thanks ever so much,” she said.

“You don't have to thank me,” he answered, “but next time let me know sooner when you find something you'd rather do.”

He was glad he had looked straight at her.

“Willis,” she said, “that isn't so—not really.”

“Listen,” Willis said. “I'm not as dumb as all that, Bess.”

“Willis,” she said, “you needn't look like that. Sometimes I hate you.”

Willis felt his lips curve into a smile.

“Other times you don't,” he said.

“Oh, God,” she said, “I don't know how I feel about you. I wish I'd never known you.”

“You needn't lie,” he said. “You're standing me up, aren't you?”

“I didn't know it would be like this,” she said. “Willis, don't be angry. Please,” and her voice dropped to a whisper. “
Please
.”

While the sound of her whisper was still in his ears, Bess Harcourt's eyes had widened and she was looking in panic at the open door. The front doorbell must have rung and neither of them had heard it, and now there was a sound of brisk footsteps on the stairs. He saw Bess swallow quickly.

“Oh,” she said, “hello, Ed.”

It was the Edward Ewing with whom he had played tennis, and Edward Ewing, unlike himself, was in a dinner coat.

“Edward,” Bess said, and her voice sounded choked, “you remember Willis Wayde, don't you?”

“Of course I do,” Edward Ewing said. “How's everything going?”

“Fine,” Willis answered. “I'm glad to see you again.”

“I'm awfully sorry, Bess,” Edward Ewing said. “I wasn't able to get anything at the Colonial. The time was just too short, I guess, but we can go to a movie anyway.”

Willis smiled again, though his face still had an ironlike feeling, and he reached in his pocket and drew out a small envelope.

“It's a funny thing,” he said. “I have a couple of tickets for tonight for that show at the Colonial. I just stopped in to ask Bess if she didn't want them, because I have to write a report. It's due first thing tomorrow morning. The Harvard Business School, you know.”

All at once he felt completely easy, and he was amused by Edward Ewing's puzzled look.

“Why that's awfully nice …” Edward Ewing began, and Bess Harcourt interrupted him.

“Isn't that the queerest thing, Edward,” she said, “to have Willis come around with those two tickets?”

“Yes,” Edward Ewing said slowly. “Yes, it's pretty queer.”

It was the first time that Willis ever recognized his ability to control a situation, and it was something worth remembering.

“It's what we call coincidence, I guess,” he said. “I'm glad you showed up just now and I hope you'll use them. I hear it's quite a show. I wish I didn't have to miss it.”

“Of course I can mail you a check in the morning, but are you sure you don't want them?” Edward Ewing asked.

“Yes,” Willis said, and he laughed. “Absolutely sure.”

“I was taking Bess out to dinner,” Edward Ewing said. “Why don't you have dinner with us before you go out to Cambridge?”

“That's very kind of you,” Willis said, “but I've really got to get back. Bess wouldn't like it if I stayed,” and he laughed before Bess could interrupt. “You see, her grandfather is helping me through Business School, and I've got to get good marks.”

“Oh, Willis,” Bess said, “why can't we all have dinner? It's such a good idea.”

“Good-by, Bess,” he said, and he held out his hand.

He had walked to Central Square before he was in the least aware of anything around him. He could never forget his sense of his own inadequacy. He knew that Bess Harcourt's attitude toward him was his fault as much as hers. He had always felt inferior to her, and his inferiority had always fed her arrogance. He told himself that night that he was through with Bess and that he would never see her again, and yet all the while he knew as sure as fate that Bess only needed to call him back.

Two days later she sent him a letter, and he must have been expecting it because he felt a great relief when he saw the envelope addressed in her bold slanting handwriting. Its sentences were still clear in his memory.

Dear Willis,

I am ashamed of what I did the other night and I have been wretched ever since. I don't know why it is that I sometimes want to hurt you. I don't behave that way with other people, and I promise never to do it again. Please forgive me, and please—I'll be in the country on Saturday and until Sunday afternoon—please come and see me. It's always better when we are alone together.

With love,

Bess

Although he made up his mind not to, of course he saw her that Saturday, but if you were hurt once, you were instinctively careful not to be hurt that way again.

X

Willis never could have explained to anyone else exactly what it had meant to him when Mr. Harcourt had invited him to attend the stockholders' luncheon at the big house in June, 1929.

“Oh, by the way, Willis,” he had said, “I have been meaning to give you a little present. Here are five shares of common stock in the Harcourt Mill made out in your name. Don't thank me too much for them. Their par value is negligible.”

It was the gesture that counted, and Willis still had that original certificate, framed and hanging on the wall of his study. It was more important to him than his diplomas and other mementos, and when he looked at it he could always remember Mr. Harcourt.

“Besides,” Mr. Harcourt said, “it is a necessary gesture, because I want you to attend the stockholders' meeting and to be at the house for the customary luncheon. It's time you met some of the more remote members of the family.”

It had been a long time since Willis and Bess Harcourt had looked down from the second floor upon the stockholders of the Harcourt Mill. Things were subtly different now, because Willis had a feeling of being part of the house itself. If the sensation was slightly feudal, it still was real. It seemed to him that day that he was almost like Bill Harcourt or something that Bill Harcourt should have been. He wondered sometimes why Bill Harcourt had not been acutely jealous of him, but it was not in Bill's nature to be jealous, and perhaps he had always thought of Willis as relieving him of responsibilities.

In fact Bill Harcourt had expressed some of these thoughts himself on the afternoon of the luncheon. He was often surprisingly frank in the things he said. Bill was standing on the flagstone porch by the front door smoking a cigarette.

“Thank God you're here,” he said. “It takes a great weight off my mind.”

“What sort of weight?” Willis asked.

“I mean I won't have to make an ass of myself,” Bill said, “trying to answer a lot of questions. You can do all the talking for me. I always hate these parties. Thank God there's someone bright around the house.”

Willis laughed. It was always easy to laugh at Bill and still feel loyal to him, and the truth was that Bill had never cared about the Harcourt Mill and knew that he was not obliged to care, except in a superficial manner.

“All right, Bill,” he said, “but you're not as dumb as all that, you know.”

“I know exactly how dumb I am,” Bill said. “I wish I didn't have to keep pretending I'm something that I'm not.”

“That's a fine way to talk,” Willis said, “when you'll be the boss here some day.”

“Hell,” Bill told him, “I don't want to be the boss of anything.”

Willis laughed again. It was true that the place belonged partly to Bill, but Willis was part of it too. He was more aware than he ever had been of his position when he and Bill walked into the front hall. Mr. and Mrs. Henry Harcourt were already there, waiting to receive the guests.

“Hello, boys,” Mr. Harcourt said, just as though Willis were a member of the family. “There's punch in the living room, and Bill, I'd like you to see that Willis meets everyone.”

Physically Mr. Harcourt had changed very little. He had always looked small and slightly frail and old, but not too old. He always had a bright alertness. He was always carefully dressed. Though his hair may have grown grayer and his motions a trifle slower, he looked about the same to Willis as when Willis had seen him first. He had reached a static, timeless period like the house in which he lived, and the same was true with Mrs. Henry Harcourt. Her hands still looked as delicate as they had over the tea tray on that winter afternoon in the library.

“Willis, dear,” she said, “I want to talk to you for a minute after the guests have left. You and I are the only outsiders here—not that we're really outsiders.”

“Harriet means that she's thinking of you as my keeper, Willis,” Mr. Harcourt said. “She's going to talk to you about my general health and ask that I don't overdo.”

“Henry,” Mrs. Harcourt said, “I wish you'd remember what Dr. Blair said in Boston.”

“Harriet, dear,” Mr. Harcourt said, “I remember very well what Dr. Blair said. Anyway, I'm not dead yet, Harriet, though I dare say several people here would like me to be.”

“Now, Henry,” Mrs. Harcourt said. “Who would like to see you dead?”

“Probably my nephew Roger,” Mr. Harcourt said. “There's always a lot of solid hatred in a well-regulated family, Harriet. Willis, I want you to be especially pleasant to Roger if he should ask you about anything. Now, Bill, you and Willis go into the living room and have some punch. It's very weak.”

In the long dark hall leading to the living room Bill grasped Willis by the arm so hard that Willis remembered he was startled.

“What's that about Dr. Blair seeing Grandfather?” he asked.

Willis could see that he was genuinely concerned and that something Bill had always counted on was threatened, and Bill had always hated change. Willis could only answer that it was the first time that he had ever heard of any doctor.

“Blair's a heart specialist,” Bill said. “I don't believe anyone's told Father.”

Willis knew that he was representing Mr. Harcourt in a way. He knew that it would be wrong for the news to get around suddenly and he told Bill exactly that.

Then they were in the living room among the people around the punch bowl, and Willis was speaking to Mr. and Mrs. Bryson Harcourt. Mrs. Harcourt said it was wonderful that Willis was doing so well. She had heard so much about Willis lately.

“Willis is all right,” Mr. Bryson Harcourt said, “and Willis has always been all right. How do you think Father's looking, Willis?”

Obviously Mr. Bryson Harcourt had heard something.

“I think he's looking fine, sir,” Willis said.

“He is,” Mr. Harcourt answered. “Just what I was thinking, and we've had a fine year but we've got to keep Father from overdoing. I know you'll help me out on this, Willis.”