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VI
Vera Claythorne lay in bed, wide awake, staring up at the ceiling.
The light beside her was on. She was frightened of the dark.
She was thinking:
“Hugo … Hugo … Why do I feel you’re so near to me tonight? … Somewhere quite
close….
“Where is he really? I don’t know. I never shall know. He just went away—right away—
out of my life.”
It was no good trying not to think of Hugo. He was close to her. She had to think of him—
to remember….
Cornwall….
“I want to swim out to the rock, Miss Claythorne. Why can’t I swim out to the rock?”
Looking up—meeting Hugo’s eyes watching her.
The evenings after Cyril was in bed….
“Come out for a stroll, Miss Claythorne.”
“I think perhaps I will.”
The decorous stroll down to the beach. The moonlight—the soft Atlantic air.
And then, Hugo’s arms round her.
“I love you. I love you. You know I love you, Vera?”
Yes, she knew.
(Or thought she knew.)
“I can’t ask you to marry me. I’ve not got a penny. It’s all I can do to keep myself. Queer,
you know, once, for three months I had the chance of being a rich man to look forward to. Cyril
wasn’t born until three months after Maurice died. If he’d been a girl….”
If the child had been a girl, Hugo would have come into everything. He’d been
disappointed, he admitted.
“I hadn’t built on it, of course. But it was a bit of a knock. Oh well, luck’s luck! Cyril’s a
amuse his small nephew. No rancour in Hugo’s nature.
wouldn’t live to grow up….
And then—?
“Miss Claythorne, why can’t I swim to the rock?”
Irritating whiney repetition.
“It’s too far, Cyril.”
“But, Miss Claythorne….”
She thought:
“I wish I had some proper sleeping stuff.”
She thought:
“If I were doing away with myself I’d take an overdose of veronal—something like that—
not cyanide!”
“Ten little soldier boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were Nine.”
She thought to herself:
“It’s horrible—just like us this evening.…”
Why had Anthony Marston wanted to die?
She didn’t want to die.
She couldn’t imagine wanting to die….
Death was for—the other people….
6
维拉·克莱索恩躺在床上瞪着天花板。
她的床头灯还亮着。她怕黑。
她脑中思绪起伏：雨果……雨果……为什么我觉得今晚你总是看着我？好像就在我的
身旁……
雨果究竟在哪儿？我不知道，也永远不想知道。他就这么走了——不辞而别——从此
与我没有任何关系。
要做到不去想雨果谈何容易。他就在她身边。她无法不想他——无法忘了他……
康沃尔……
黑色的海礁，一望无际的金色沙滩，心宽体胖的汉密尔顿夫人，西里尔拉着她的手，
没完没了地吵闹。
“我想游到礁石那边去，维拉小姐。你为什么不让我游到礁石那边去？”
她抬眼向上一看，正好与雨果注视着她的目光不期而遇。
晚上，西里尔睡着了。
“维拉小姐，出来散散步吧。”
“好，我们出去走一走。”
他们俩在海滩上散步，月光洒满海滩，大西洋的海风温柔地吹着。
突然，雨果的胳膊环住了她的腰。
“我爱你，我爱你，你知道我爱你吗，维拉？”
当然，她知道。
（也可以说她以为自己知道。）
“我没办法向你求婚。我身无分文，连自己都养活不起。说出来你也许不相信，我足足
有三个月盼着自己能一下子变成富翁，其实机会就在我面前。莫里斯死了整整三个月之
后，西里尔才出生。假如西里尔是个女孩……”
假如西里尔是女孩，那这一切就都是雨果的了。他承认自己失望透顶。
“当然，我没有完全指望这个。但是，我确实也很失望。算了，虽然我运气不好，但是
西里尔还是很讨人喜欢的，我可是很疼爱他。”雨果很疼爱西里尔，无论小侄子想玩什么，
雨果都陪他玩，所以西里尔这孩子也很喜欢他。雨果似乎天生就不会记仇。
西里尔不是那种强壮的孩子。也许可以更坦白地说，他是那种体质很弱，容易生病的
孩子……
然后……
“维拉小姐，为什么我不能游到礁石那边去？”
西里尔反反复复地缠着她问，快要把她烦死了。
“不行，太远了，西里尔。”“可我……维拉小姐……”
维拉起身走到梳妆台旁，吃了三片阿司匹林。
她想：如果我带了真正的安眠药就好了。
她又想：要是我想一了百了的话，就多吃些安眠药，我可不要吃氰化物！
一想到安东尼·马斯顿那张紫青色扭曲的脸，她不由得打了一阵寒战。
她走到壁炉前，抬头望着镜框里关于小士兵的歌谣。
十个小士兵，出门打牙祭；
不幸噎住喉，十个只剩九。
她暗自想道：太可怕了，就像我们今天晚上……
安东尼·马斯顿为什么要自杀呢？
她可不想自杀。
她根本无法想象轻生的念头。
死亡和她无关——死亡是别人的事……
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