For the
moment there's only the O'Farrell Red Cross taxi, not yet gone about its
legitimate business; so it was Julian who took Father Beckett to the
far-off railway station, to meet Jim Beckett the next day but
one--Julian--of all people on earth!
Father Beckett begged me to be of the party, and Mother Beckett--too
frail still for so long and cold a drive--piled up her persuasions. But
I was firm. I didn't like going to meet trains, I said. It was prosaic.
I was allowed to stop at home, therefore, with my dear little lady: the
last time, I told myself, that she would ever love and "mother" me. Once
Jim and I had settled our affairs in that "interview" I was ordered to
wait for, I should be the black sheep, turned out of the fold.
There was just one reason why I'd have liked to be in the car to bring
Jim back from the station. Knowing Julian-Puck, I was convinced that
despite Father Beckett's presence he'd contrive a chance to thrust some
entering wedge of mischief into Jim Beckett's head. Not that it was
needed! If he'd read the first pages of Jim's letter--the secret
pages--he would have known that. But the night the great news came to
the chateau, he whispered into my ear: "You seem to be taking things
easy. Sure you won't change your mind and bolt with me?--or do you count
on your invincible charm, "_ueber alles_"?"
I didn't even answer. I merely looked. Perhaps he took it for a defiant
look, though Heaven knows it wasn't.
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