ERNEST HEMINGWAY - Premium Edition. Ernest Hemingway

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      “Can’t I, though? You stay here. He’s mad about me, I tell you.”

      She was gone out of the room. I lay face down on the bed. I was having a bad time. I heard them talking but I did not listen. Brett came in and sat on the bed.

      “Poor old darling.” She stroked my head.

      “What did you say to him?” I was lying with my face away from her. I did not want to see her.

      “Sent him for champagne. He loves to go for champagne.”

      Then later: “Do you feel better, darling? Is the head any better?”

      “It’s better.”

      “Lie quiet. He’s gone to the other side of town.”

      “Couldn’t we live together, Brett? Couldn’t we just live together?”

      “I don’t think so. I’d just tromper you with everybody. You couldn’t stand it.”

      “I stand it now.”

      “That would be different. It’s my fault, Jake. It’s the way I’m made.”

      “Couldn’t we go off in the country for a while?”

      “It wouldn’t be any good. I’ll go if you like. But I couldn’t live quietly in the country. Not with my own true love.”

      “I know.”

      “Isn’t it rotten? There isn’t any use my telling you I love you.”

      “You know I love you.”

      “Let’s not talk. Talking’s all bilge. I’m going away from you, and then Michael’s coming back.”

      “Why are you going away?”

      “Better for you. Better for me.”

      “When are you going?”

      “Soon as I can.”

      “Where?”

      “San Sebastian.”

      “Can’t we go together?”

      “No. That would be a hell of an idea after we’d just talked it out.”

      “We never agreed.”

      “Oh, you know as well as I do. Don’t be obstinate, darling.”

      “Oh, sure,” I said. “I know you’re right. I’m just low, and when I’m low I talk like a fool.”

      I sat up, leaned over, found my shoes beside the bed and put them on. I stood up.

      “Don’t look like that, darling.”

      “How do you want me to look?”

      “Oh, don’t be a fool. I’m going away to-morrow.”

      “To-morrow?”

      “Yes. Didn’t I say so? I am.”

      “Let’s have a drink, then. The count will be back.”

      “Yes. He should be back. You know he’s extraordinary about buying champagne. It means any amount to him.”

      We went into the dining-room. I took up the brandy bottle and poured Brett a drink and one for myself. There was a ring at the bell-pull. I went to the door and there was the count. Behind him was the chauffeur carrying a basket of champagne.

      “Where should I have him put it, sir?” asked the count.

      “In the kitchen,” Brett said.

      “Put it in there, Henry,” the count motioned. “Now go down and get the ice.” He stood looking after the basket inside the kitchen door. “I think you’ll find that’s very good wine,” he said. “I know we don’t get much of a chance to judge good wine in the States now, but I got this from a friend of mine that’s in the business.”

      “Oh, you always have some one in the trade,” Brett said.

      “This fellow raises the grapes. He’s got thousands of acres of them.”

      “What’s his name?” asked Brett. “Veuve Cliquot?”

      “No,” said the count. “Mumms. He’s a baron.”

      “Isn’t it wonderful,” said Brett. “We all have titles. Why haven’t you a title, Jake?”

      “I assure you, sir,” the count put his hand on my arm. “It never does a man any good. Most of the time it costs you money.”

      “Oh, I don’t know. It’s damned useful sometimes,” Brett said.

      “I’ve never known it to do me any good.”

      “You haven’t used it properly. I’ve had hell’s own amount of credit on mine.”

      “Do sit down, count,” I said. “Let me take that stick.”

      The count was looking at Brett across the table under the gas-light. She was smoking a cigarette and flicking the ashes on the rug. She saw me notice it. “I say, Jake, I don’t want to ruin your rugs. Can’t you give a chap an ash-tray?”

      I found some ash-trays and spread them around. The chauffeur came up with a bucket full of salted ice. “Put two bottles in it, Henry,” the count called.

      “Anything else, sir?”

      “No. Wait down in the car.” He turned to Brett and to me. “We’ll want to ride out to the Bois for dinner?”

      “If you like,” Brett said. “I couldn’t eat a thing.”

      “I always like a good meal,” said the count.

      “Should I bring the wine in, sir?” asked the chauffeur.

      “Yes. Bring it in, Henry,” said the count. He took out a heavy pigskin cigar-case and offered it to me. “Like to try a real American cigar?”

      “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll finish the cigarette.”

      He cut off the end of his cigar with a gold cutter he wore on one end of his watch-chain.

      “I like a cigar to really draw,” said the count “Half the cigars you smoke don’t draw.”

      He lit the cigar, puffed at it, looking across the table at Brett. “And when you’re divorced, Lady Ashley, then you won’t have a title.”

      “No. What a pity.”

      “No,” said the count. СКАЧАТЬ