The Case of William Smith

Chapter Twenty-seven

William woke up to the sound of the grandfather clock on the landing striking eight. It had a very deep, solemn note, and he must have waked just before the first stroke, because he found himself counting up to eight. He knew he hadn’t missed any of the strokes, because it always did a sort of whirring grunt before it started to strike, and that was the first thing he had heard. He was lying on his right side, with the curtains drawn back from the row of windows which looked towards the garden. Two of them were open. The sky was a slaty grey. He could see the upper branches of the cedar stretched out over the garden like black wings. It isn’t dark at eight o’clock in January, but it isn’t really light.

He turned and saw Katharine lying beside him with her hands together under her chin and her hair loose on the pillow. Perhaps it happened at that moment, or perhaps it had really happened when he was asleep – he didn’t know, and it didn’t matter – but, turning like that and seeing Katharine, he was aware that what he had called the blank wall no longer existed. William Smith remembered William Eversley, and William Eversley knew all about William Smith. The two halves of his memory had come together and merged into one. The only thing that wasn’t clear was being in the German hospital. He remembered everything right up to the time they were bombed, and he knew he had been in a German hospital, because he remembered coming out of it labelled William Smith, but the bit between was as vague as a last year’s dream. It had probably been very unpleasant, and he decided that he could do very well without it. Meanwhile there were a lot of things to be sorted out. He began on them methodically.

There was Katharine – but that had come all right. It mightn’t have, because of course she might have married someone else. But she hadn’t. They had married each other all over again. Then there was Eversleys. That wasn’t so easy. He wondered what Cyril and Brett had made of the war years and the difficult changeover. He had no very exalted opinion of either of them when it came to business. Cyril simply hadn’t got it in him, and Brett didn’t bother. He might have had to of course, but William didn’t feel very sanguine about it. He wondered what they were going to say when they knew that he had come back. The family side of them would be pleased of course, but he thought the business side was going to take a bit of a knock. It didn’t make it any easier his being the youngest of the three, and by a good many years. And then he thought about Miss Jones. She came sliding into his mind as he had seen her at six o’clock on the evening of December the sixth. There wasn’t the faintest shadow of a doubt that she had recognized him. Or was there? He thought about that. He could remember what he used to look like, and he could remember what he looked like yesterday when he was shaving. He really hadn’t changed enough to give Miss Jones the benefit of the doubt. She had known him for at least seven years before he went missing. Frank Abbott had recognized him after only seeing him once. Davies – that was old Davies he had blundered into in the street – he had known him again, just like that, all in a flash under a street-lamp. Miss Jones must certainly have known him.

He had got to the point where it occurred to him that being dead for seven years and then coming to life again is bound to complicate other people’s affairs as well as your own, when Katharine stirred, threw out a hand, and woke.

Just for a moment she didn’t know where she was. Then William was hugging her and saying, ‘Darling, wake up – wake up quickly! I’ve remembered!’

She couldn’t think of anything to say. She felt dazed, and happy, and safe, because it didn’t really matter about anything as long as William was there. She said,

‘I am awake.’

‘You’re not! But you’ve got to be! Kath, I’ve remembered!’

She woke right up then.

‘Oh, darling!’

‘Yes. And it’s a pretty kettle of fish, isn’t it – what with our being bigamists – ’

‘We’re not!’

‘My child, we are. A bigamist is someone who goes through a form of marriage whilst a previous husband or wife is alive. I’m a previous husband, and you’re a previous wife, and we’re both alive, so we’re bigamists.’

‘We’re not! It doesn’t matter how often you marry the same person. I found out in a roundabout sort of way.’

His voice changed.

‘Katharine, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I wanted you to remember.’

‘Suppose I hadn’t?’

‘I would have told you today anyhow. Miss Silver said I must.’

‘Miss Silver? What did you tell her?’

‘Everything. She seemed to know most of it already.’

‘How could she?’

‘She puts things together. She said I’d got to tell you. And I was going to, only I hoped you’d remember first – and you have.’

There was a long pause before he said,

‘I didn’t really forget you.’

‘I know you didn’t.’

‘I loved you the minute you came into the shop. I hadn’t ever stopped loving you. It was there all the time, and then – you came – ’ His voice broke. ‘Katharine, why didn’t you tell me?’

She said very softly, ‘Silly! How could I walk into a shop and say to William Smith, “You don’t think you’ve ever seen me before, but I’m your wife”?’ She put her cheek against his. ‘What would Miss Cole have said!’

William thought of several things that Miss Cole might have said. They laughed together with the sort of laughter which comes like a ripple on the surface of emotion. It came, and it went. Katharine said,

‘I wanted you to fall in love with me all over again, and when you did I wanted you to marry me. I thought you would remember then, but you didn’t, and every day you didn’t it was harder to tell you. But I would have told you today. It wouldn’t have been fair to let you go on being William Smith.’

He said slowly, ‘No – it wouldn’t have been fair.’ And then, ‘I say, Kath, there’s going to be a bit of a mess to clear up. I’ve been thinking – ’

‘Don’t think too much.’

He gave his head the quick impatient shake which had always reminded her of a dog coming out of the water.

‘I’ve been thinking – that time I went to Eversleys and saw Miss Jones – she must have known me. Or do you think – ’

‘No, I don’t. You haven’t changed a bit. You never have, and I don’t suppose you ever will.’

Like an echo there came back out of the past her own voice saying on a note of anger, ‘It’s no use, William never changes!’ It was something she wanted to do and he wouldn’t let her. She couldn’t remember what it was, but she could remember being ten years old, and angry, and saying, ‘William never changes!’

She came back to Mr. Davies’ name.

‘Old Davies knew me – at least I suppose he did. He bumped into me in the street. He nearly dropped, and he asked me who I was.’

‘And you said William Smith, Tattlecombe’s Toy Bazaar, Ellery Street. And first he thought you were a ghost, and then he went and found a call-box and rang me up.’

‘He rang you up?’

She said, ‘That’s how I knew,’ and hid her face against him.

It was a little while before they got back to Miss Jones.

‘You know,’ Katharine said, ‘it was very odd her giving you such a late appointment. You signed your letter “William Smith”, and I can’t help thinking that she recognised the “William”. Not enough to be sure, but enough to make her give you that late appointment when practically everyone else would have gone. They shut at half-past five nominally. Mr. Davies used to hang about a bit. That evening he’d forgotten something and came back, poor old boy.’

‘Why poor old boy?’

‘He’s dead, William.’

‘How?’

‘He had a street accident on December the seventh.’

He repeated the date, ‘December the seventh – ’

‘The day after he saw you.’

‘The day after he recognized me?’

‘Yes.’

There was a pause. Then William said,

‘He did recognize me?’

‘Yes, He rang me up and said, “I’ve just seen Mr. William.”’

‘Do you think he said that to anyone else?’

‘I don’t know. He went to the office next day, and he went away in the evening. On the way home he was knocked down at a street-crossing and taken to hospital. He never recovered consciousness. I didn’t hear about it until ten days ago. Bunny told me. It was the day I had extra time off. I lunched with Cyril. Brett and Bunny were there. There had been a bit of a hold-up about my money and Bunny had come up to see about it. We went away together in a taxi, and he told me the money would be all right now, but to let him know if it wasn’t. They had been telling him Mr. Davies had muddled things up. William, I can’t forgive them for that.’

‘Katharine – what are you saying?’

‘They said he was past his work, and that he had muddled up the accounts. Bunny told me. And he told me that Mr. Davies was dead. I didn’t know till then. I went back to the flat and rang up Miss Jones. She told me about the accident, and when I pressed her I got the date. It was the seventh of December.’

There was a pause. Then he said,

‘Davies came to the office that day?’

‘Yes.’

He began, ‘Do you suppose – ’ and then broke off.

Katharine answered what he hadn’t said.

‘I don’t know. I wrote to say not to tell anyone about seeing you. He would have had my letter that evening, but he never got home. He went to the office on the seventh. Perhaps he didn’t tell anyone.’ She stopped. Then after quite a long time she said, ‘Perhaps he did.’