But who is she with?’ said Mr Carteret.
‘A young man. She met him on the aeroplane,’ Mrs Carteret said.
‘Now go to sleep.’
Outside the bedroom window the moon was shining brightly.
‘Nobody told me there was a young man on the aeroplane’, said Mr
Carteret crossly.
‘You saw him,’ Mrs Carteret said. ‘He was there when you met her
at the airport.’
‘I don’t remember,’ said her husband.
‘Yes, you do. You noticed his hat. You said so. It was light
green…’
‘Oh dear!’ said Mr Carteret. ‘That man? But he’s too old for her. He
must be nearly forty.’
‘He’s twenty-eight, dear. Now go to sleep.’
‘I can’t sleep,’ said Mr Carteret. ‘Three o’clock in the morning and I
can’t get to sleep.’
‘Just lie still, dear, and you’ll soon fall asleep,’ said his wife.
It was a warm night in July. A gentle wind whispered in the trees
outside the bedroom window. It sounded like a car coming. Mr Carteret sat up and listened. But it was only the wind.
‘Where are you going now?’ said Mrs Carteret.
‘I’m going downstairs for a drink of water. I can’t sleep. I can never
sleep in moonlight – I don’t know why. And it’s very hot too.’
‘Put your slippers on,’ said Mrs Carteret sleepily.
He found his slippers and put them on. He went down to the kitchen
and turned on the tap. The water was warmish. He let the water
run until it was cool enough to drink. Then he opened the kitchen
door and went out into the garden. The moon shone on his roses.
Mr Carteret could see the shape and colour of every flower. There
they were: red and yellow and white, very soft and sweet-smelling.
Each flower was wet with dew. He stood on the short green grass
and looked up at the sky. The moon was very bright. It was like a
strong, white electric light shinning down on the garden.
The wind whispered again in the trees. Again Mr Carteret thought it
was a car coming. Suddenly he felt helpless and miserable.
‘Sue,’ he said aloud, ‘Sue . . . where are you? What are you doing?
Susie, Susie, you don’t usually stay out so late.’
Susie. He always called her Susie when he was specially pleased
with her. Usually he called her Sue. When he was cross with her,
he called her Susan.
He remembered her nineteenth birthday, three weeks before. She
was getting ready to fly off to Switzerland for a holiday.
‘How lovely she is!’ everyone said. ‘How pretty and grown-up! And
she’s going to Switzerland all by herself! How wonderful!’
But Mr Carteret did not think his daughter looked grown-up. To him
she looked smaller and more girlish than ever. ‘Too young to go
away by herself,’ he thought crossly.
He heard the church clock. Half past three. At that moment he
heard the sound of a car. This time he was sure. He could see its
lights coming along the road.
‘You’re late, young lady,’ he said to himself. He did not feel miserable anymore; just a little cross. He could hear the car coming quickly along the road. Suddenly he began to run towards the house.
He did not want her to find him there. He wanted to get back to bed.
His pyjama trousers were too long. They were wet with dew. He
held them up, like skirts, as he ran.
‘This is stupid,’ he thought. ‘What stupid things parents do sometimes!’
At the kitchen door one of his slippers fell off. He stopped to pick it
up, and listened again for the sound of the car. All was quiet. Once
again he was alone in the quiet, moonlight garden. His slippers
were wet with dew. His wet pyjama trousers felt uncomfortable on
his legs.
‘It didn’t stop,’ he thought. He felt cross and miserable again. ‘We
always walked home from dances,’ he said aloud. ‘That was part
of the fun.’
Suddenly he felt frightened. He remembered the corner on the road
near his house. ‘It’s a dangerous corner,’ he said to himself. ‘There
are accidents there every week. What if Susie and this man . . .’ He
did not want to think about it. It was too awful.
‘And who is this man anyway? How do I know he’s a suitable friend
for Susie? Perhaps he’s a married man. Or a criminal.’
All at once he had a terrible feeling about this man. ‘I felt like this
when I saw her getting into the aeroplane,’ he thought. ‘I had a feeling of . . . of danger . . . accidents.’ He was shaking now. He felt
cold and sick. ‘She’s had a crash in that man’s car,’ he thought. ‘I’m
sure of it.’
Now he was walking backwards and forwards across the dewy, moonlight grass. ‘I’m sure she’s had an accident,’ he thought. ‘In a
minute or two the police will telephone – oh dear! oh dear!’
He began to walk up the road in his pyjamas and bedroom slippers.
He looked at the sky; there were lines of gold above the tree-tops.
The moon was disappearing. It was almost day. ‘Oh, where is she?
he cried, and he began to run.
A few moments later, he thought he saw a pair of yellow eyes looking at him from the road. He realized that they were the lights of a
car. It was standing at the side of the road. He did not know what
to do about it. Should he go up to the car, and knock on the window
and say, ‘Susan, come home’? But there was always the chance
that some other man’s daughter was in the car.
‘And then what will she think of me – out here in my pyjamas?’
He stopped and watched the light of day filling the sky. ‘What will the
neighbours think if they see me?’ he thought. ‘I must go home and
get to bed. I don’t know why I’m worrying like this. I never worried
like this when she was little.’
He turned and started to walk home. Just then he heard a car engine. He looked round and saw its lights coming along the road.
Suddenly he felt more stupid than ever. There was no time to get
away. He could only hide behind a tree. The long wet grass under
the tree made his pyjamas wetter then ever.
The car passed him. He could not see who was inside. ‘Perhaps
it’s Susie,’ he thought. ‘And now I shall have to go home and change my pyjamas.’ He started walking again. Then he stopped once
more. ‘What if it isn’t Susie?’ he thought. ‘What if something really
has happened to Susie?’
He felt sick and cold and miserable. The blood seemed to whisper
and sing inside his ears. His heart seemed to fill his whole body.
‘Oh Susie,’ he whispered, ‘Come home safely. Please . . . ‘
He realized that the car had stopped outside his house. A moment
later he saw Susie. She was wearing her long yellow evening dress.
‘How pretty she is!’ he thought. He heard her sweet, girlish voice
calling: ‘Goodbye. Yes. Lovely. Thank you.’
‘I mustn’t let her see me now,’ he thought. ‘I must keep out of sight.
I must go in through the back door. Then I can go upstairs and put
on dry pyjamas . . .’
A moment later the car turned and came back along the road
towards him. This time there was no chance to hide. For a few
miserable moments he stood there with the light of the car shining
in his eyes.
‘Look natural,’ he said to himself. ‘And hope that nobody notices
me.’
The car stopped and a voice called out:
‘Excuse me, sir. Are you Mr Carteret?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m Carteret.’ He tried to sound cool and unworried.
‘Oh. I’m Bill Jordan, sir. ‘I’m sorry we were so late. I hope you
haven’t been worried about Susie?’
‘Oh! No. Of course not.’
‘My mother kept us, you see.’
‘But I thought you went to a dance.’
‘Oh no, sir. We went to dinner with my mother. We played cards
until three o’clock. My mother loves cards. She forgot the time.’
‘Oh, that’s all right. I hope you had a good time.’
‘Oh, we had a wonderful time, thank you. But I thought that perhaps
you were worried about Susie . . .’
‘No, no. Of course not!’
‘That’s all right then.’ The young man looked at Mr Carteret’s wet
pyjamas and looked away again. ‘It’s been a wonderfully warm night, hasn’t it? he said politely.
‘Terribly hot. I couldn’t sleep’
‘Sleep! I must get home to bed! He smiled, showing beautiful white
teeth. ‘Good night, sir?
‘Good night.’
The car began to move away. The young man waved goodbye and
Mr. Carteret called after him:
‘You must come and have dinner with us one evening . . .’
‘How kind! Yes, please . . . Good night, sir’
Mr Carteret walked down the road. ‘He called me sir,’ he thought.
‘What a polite young man! I like him.’
He reached the garden. The new light of morning shone on his roses. There was one very beautiful red rose, newly opened and dark
as blood. ‘I’ll pick it,’ he said to himself, ‘and take it upstairs for my
wife.’ But, in the end, he decided to leave it there.
And then suddenly, a bird began to sing.