The flowers were unnecessary, for at two oclock a greenhouse arrived from Gatsbys, with innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour later the front door opened nervously, and Gatsby, in a white flannel suit, silver shirt, and gold-coloured tie, hurried in. He was pale, and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath his eyes.
Is everything all right? he asked immediately.
Is everything all right? he asked immediately.
The grass looks fine, if thats what you mean.
What grass? he inquired blankly. Oh, the grass in the yard. He looked out the window at it, but, judging from his expression, I dont believe he saw a thing.
Looks very good, he remarked vaguely. One of the papers said they thought the rain would stop about four. I think it was The Journal. Have you got everything you need in the shape of of tea?
I took him into the pantry, where he looked a little reproachfully at the Finn. Together we scrutinized the twelve lemon cakes from the delicatessen shop.
Will they do? I asked.
Of course, of course! Theyre fine! and he added hollowly, old sport.
The rain cooled about half-past three to a damp mist, through which occasional thin drops swam like dew. Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clays[73] Economics, starting at the Finnish tread that shook the kitchen floor, and peering toward the bleared windows from time to time as if a series of invisible but alarming happenings were taking place outside. Finally he got up and informed me, in an uncertain voice that he was going home.
Whys that?
Nobodys coming to tea. Its too late! He looked at his watch as if there was some pressing demand on his time elsewhere. I cant wait all day.
Dont be silly; its just two minutes to four.
He sat down miserably, as if I had pushed him, and simultaneously there was the sound of a motor turning into my lane. We both jumped up, and, a little harrowed myself, I went out into the yard.
Under the dripping bare lilac-trees a large open car was coming up the drive. It stopped. Daisys face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic smile.
Is this absolutely where you live, my dearest one?
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain. I had to follow the sound of it for a moment, up and down, with my ear alone, before any words came through. A damp streak of hair lay like a dash of a blue paint across her cheek, and her hand was wet with glistening drops as I took it to help her from the car.
Are you in love with me, she said low in my ear, or why did I have to come alone?
Thats the secret of Castle Rackrent[74]. Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend an hour.
Come back in an hour, Ferdie. Then in a grave murmur: His name is Ferdie.
Does the gasoline affect his nose?
I dont think so, she said innocently. Why?
We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted.
Well, thats funny, I exclaimed.
Whats funny?
She turned her head as there was a light dignified knocking at the front door. I went out and opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes.
With his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the hall, turned sharply as if he were on a wire, and disappeared into the living-room. It wasnt a bit funny. Aware of the loud beating of my own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain.
For half a minute there wasnt a sound. Then from the living-room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by Daisys voice on a clear artificial note:
I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.
A pause; it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went into the room.
Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the mantelpiece in a strained counterfeit of perfect ease, even of boredom. His head leaned back so far that it rested against the face of a defunct mantelpiece clock, and from this position his distraught eyes stared down at Daisy, who was sitting, frightened but graceful, on the edge of a stiff chair.
Weve met before, muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at me, and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head, whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers, and set it back in place. Then he sat down, rigidly, his elbow on the arm of the sofa and his chin in his hand.
Im sorry about the clock, he said.
My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldnt muster up a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head.
Its an old clock, I told them idiotically.
I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on the floor.
We havent met for many years, said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be.
Five years next November.
The automatic quality of Gatsbys answer set us all back at least another minute. I had them both on their feet with the desperate suggestion that they help me make tea in the kitchen when the demoniac Finn brought it in on a tray.