The Burden - Christie Agatha. Страница 35

He had asked the question with only mild curiosity.

"Certainly not. We'll get you right again. As I say, it will be a long business, but you'll go out of here a fit man. Only-"

The doctor hesitated.

"Only what?"

"You must understand this, Dr. Knox. You'll have to lead a quiet life in future. There must be no more public life. Your heart won't stand it. No platforms, no exertion, no speeches."

"After a rest-"

"No, Dr. Knox, however long you rest, my verdict will be the same."

"I see." He thought about it. "I see. Worn out?"

"Just that."

Worn out. Used by God for His purpose, but the instrument, being human and frail, had not lasted long. His usefulness was over. Used, discarded, thrown away.

And what next?

That was the question? What next?

Because, after all, who was he, Llewellyn Knox?

He would have to find out.

2

Wilding's voice came in, pat upon his thoughts.

"Is it in order for me to ask you what your future plans are?"

"I have no plans."

"Really? You hope, perhaps, to go back-"

Llewellyn interrupted, a slight harshness in his voice.

"There is no going back."

"Some modified form of activity?"

"No. It's a clean break-has to be."

"They told you that?"

"Not in so many words. Public life is out, was what they stressed. No more platform. That means finish."

"A quiet living somewhere? Living is not your term, I know, but I mean minister to some church?"

"I was an Evangelist, Sir Richard. That's a very different thing."

"I'm sorry. I think I understand. You've got to start an entirely new life."

"Yes, a private life, as a man."

"And that confuses and alarms you?"

Llewellyn shook his head.

"Nothing like that. I see, I've seen it plainly in the weeks I've been here, that I've escaped a great danger."

"What danger?"

"Man cannot be trusted with power. It rots him-from within. How much longer could I have gone on without the taint creeping in? I suspect that already it had begun to work. Those moments when I spoke to those vast crowds of people-wasn't I beginning to assume that it was I who was speaking, I who was giving them a message, I who knew just what they should or should not do, I who was no longer just God's messenger, but God's representative? You see? Promoted to Vizier, exalted, a man set above other men!" He added quietly: "God in His goodness has seen fit to save me from that."

"Then your faith has not been diminished by what has happened to you?"

Llewellyn laughed.

"Faith? That seems an odd word to me. Do we believe in the sun, the moon, the chair we sit in, the ground we walk upon? If one has knowledge, what need of belief? And do disabuse your mind of the idea that I've suffered some kind of tragedy. I haven't, I've pursued my appointed course-am still pursuing it. It was right for me to come here-to the island; it will be right for me to leave it when the time comes."

"You mean you will get another-what did you call it?-command?"

"Oh no, nothing so definite. But little by little a certain course of action will appear not only to be desirable, but inevitable. Then I shall go ahead and act. Things will clarify themselves in my mind. I shall know where I have to go and what I have to do."

"As easy as that?"

"I think so-yes. If I can explain it, it's a question of being in harmony. A wrong course of action-and by wrong I don't mean wrong in the sense of evil, but of being mistaken-is felt at once: it's like falling out of step if you're dancing, or singing a false note-it jars." Moved by a sudden memory, he said: "If I was a woman, I dare say it would feel like getting a stitch wrong when you were knitting."

"What about women? Will you, perhaps, go back home? Find your early love?"

"The sentimental ending? Hardly. Besides," he smiled, "Carol has been married for many years now. She has three children, and her husband is going ahead in real estate in a big way. Carol and I were never meant for each other. It was a boy and girl affair that never went deep."

"Has there been no other woman in all these years?"

"No, thank God. If there had been, if I had met her then-"

He left the sentence unfinished, puzzling Wilding a little by so doing. Wilding could have no clue to the picture that sprang up before Llewellyn's mental vision-the wings of dark hair, the frail delicate temple-bones, the tragic eyes.

Some day, Llewellyn knew, he would meet her. She was as real as the office desk and the sanatorium had been. She existed. If he had met her during the time of his dedication he would have been forced to give her up. It would have been required of him. Could he have done it? He doubted himself. His dark lady was no Carol, no light affair born of the spring-time and a young man's quickened senses. But that sacrifice had not been demanded of him. Now he was free. When they met… He had no doubt that they would meet. Under what circumstances, in what place, at what moment of time-all that was unknown. A stone font in a church, tongues of fire, those were the only indications he had. Yet he had the feeling that he was coming very near, that it would not be long now.

The abruptness with which the door between the book-cases opened, startled him. Wilding turned his head, rose to his feet with a gesture of surprise.

"Darling, I didn't expect-"

She was not wearing the Spanish shawl, or the high-necked black dress. She had on something diaphanous and floating in pale mauve, and it was the colour, perhaps, that made Llewellyn feel that she brought with her the old-fashioned scent of lavender. She stopped when she saw him; her eyes, wide and slightly glazed, stared at him, expressing such a complete lack of emotion that it was almost shocking.

"Dearest, is your head better? This is Dr. Knox. My wife."

Llewellyn came forward, took her limp hand, said formally: "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Wilding."

The wide stare became human; it showed, very faintly, relief. She sat in the chair that Wilding pushed forward for her and began talking rapidly, with a staccato effect.

"So you're Dr. Knox? I've read about you, of course. How odd that you should come here-to the island. Why did you? I mean, what made you? People don't usually, do they, Richard?" She half turned her head, hurried on, inconsequently:

"I mean they don't stay in the island. They come in on boats, and go out again. Where? I've often wondered. They buy fruit and those silly little dolls and the straw hats they make here, and then they go back with them to the boat, and the boat sails away. Where do they go back to? Manchester? Liverpool? Chichester, perhaps, and wear a plaited straw hat to church in the cathedral. That would be funny. Things are funny. People say: 'I don't know whether I'm going or coming.' My old nurse used to say it. But it's true, isn't it? It's life. Is one going or comings I don't know."

She shook her head and suddenly laughed. She swayed a little as she sat. Llewellyn thought: 'In a minute or two, she'll pass out. Does he know, I wonder?'

But a quick sideways glance at Wilding decided that for him. Wilding, that experienced man of the world, had no idea. He was leaning over his wife, his face alight with love and anxiety.

"Darling, you're feverish. You shouldn't have got up."

"I felt better-all those pills I took; it's killed the pain, but it's made me dopey." She gave a slight, uncertain laugh, her hands pushed the pale, shining hair back from her forehead. "Don't fuss about me, Richard. Give Dr. Knox a drink."

"What about you? A spot of brandy? It would do you good."

She made a quick grimace:

"No, just lime and soda for me."