The Two Timers

XIII

Breton was relieved to find the house in darkness when he got back.

He put the car in the garage and went into the house by the back door. A glance at his watch showed him that he had been away less than three hours — it had seemed much longer. Walking through the hall, he noticed the bottle of sleeping tablets lying where he had thrown it. He picked it up and took it back to the bathroom.

The sight of himself in the bathroom mirror gave Breton a shock. His face was haggard and shaded with stubble, his clothing rumpled and streaked with dust. He looked around the room and noted with approval that, as well as a shower stall, it was fitted with a deep tub. While hot water was thundering from the tap, he searched closets and produced clean underwear, a soft, dark-green shirt and a pair of slacks belonging to John Breton. He carried them into the bathroom, locked the door and proceeded to have the hottest bath he could remember. Half an hour later he was clean, relaxed and freshly-shaven — and it felt good.

He went downstairs into the friendly, soft-toned spaciousness of the big living room and stood, hesitating, before the cocktail cabinet. He had been avoiding alcohol almost completely for years because, as far as he was concerned, drinking and hard work were mutually exclusive. But that phase of his life had passed — he had now achieved just about everything he had set out to achieve, and could afford to relax a little. He inspected the whiskey, found it was Johnny Walker Black Label and nodded in satisfaction. John and he had diverged in many ways over the nine years, but his other self was still a good judge of liquor. He poured a generous measure, carried it over to the deepest armchair and began sipping. The evocative aroma, and the warmth of distilled sunlight seeping through his system, relaxed him still further. He took another glass…

Breton awoke with a start of panic, wondering where he was. It took several seconds for his surroundings to register, and when they did, he felt worried. The wall-clock told him it was past two in the morning, and obviously Kate had not come home yet. He got to his feet, shivering after the long sleep, then heard the faint sound of the garage doors being closed. Kate had arrived, after all, and the sound of her car’s high-compression engine coming up the drive must have been what had awakened him.

Self-consciously, nervously, he went through to the back of the house and opened the kitchen door. She came towards the light, the belt of her tweed suit untied and the jacket lying open to reveal the horizontal tensions of her tangerine-colored sweater. Breton had never seen Kate look so much like Kate.

“John,” she said uncertainly, shielding her eyes. “Oh… Jack.”

“Come in, Kate,” he said gently. “John has gone.”

“Gone?”

“Well, I did warn you. I told you the sort of mood he was in today.”

“I know you did — but I didn’t expect… Are you sure he’s gone? The car’s still out in the garage.

“He took a taxi. To the airport, I think. He wasn’t communicative.”

Kate peeled off her gloves and dropped them on the kitchen table. Breton automatically locked the kitchen door, like an ordinary husband sealing up his little fortress for the night, then found Kate staring at him, somberly, in a way which invested his familiar action with significance. He made a show of carelessly flinging the key onto the table, and ensured that it ended up nestling into the fingers of her gloves. What a start, he thought. A clash of symbols.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “You mean he’s just walked out? For good?”

“This is what I was warning you about, Kate. John was reaching the point where he had to make some pretty massive adjustments to his emotional circumstances. He probably interpreted your staying away from the house today as a lack of concern.”. Breton made himself sound contrite. “You can imagine how I feel.”

Kate walked through to the living room and stood at the stone chimney, staring down into the unlit fire. Breton followed her and positioned himself at the other side of the room, carefully gauging her reactions. A too-sudden advance at this stage could trigger off the antagonism he had noticed in her earlier in the day. Kate had a conscience.

“You’re wearing John’s clothes,’ she said, almost abstractedly.

“He took all he wanted and left me the rest.” Breton was amazed to find himself ‘on the defensive. “He filled two cases.”

“But what about the business? Are you…?”

“That’s John’s idea. I take it over.”

“You would.” Kate’s eyes were unreadable.

Breton decided it was time to shift his attack. “I don’t want you to get the idea that John’s completely unhappy about all this. He’s been feeling trapped — by his career and marriage — for years. Now he isn’t trapped. He’s made an effortless, guilt-free escape from a situation that was becoming intolerable to him, and it didn’t even cost him divorce fees.”

“Just a million dollar business.”

“The point is, he didn’t have to quit the business. I didn’t come here looking for money, Kate. I threw away every cent I owned, just to reach you.”

Kate turned to face him and her voice had softened. “I know. I’m sorry I said that. So much has happened.”

Breton moved towards her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Kate, darling, I…”

“Don’t do that,” she said quietly.

“I am your husband.”

“There are times when I don’t want my husband to touch me.”

“Of course.”

Breton let his arms fall by his sides. He had a feeling he had been taking part in an undeclared battle, and that Kate had won it through sheer superior generalship.

During the long hours of that night, as he lay alone in the guest room, he was brought face-to-face with a disturbing truth. Nine years of separate existence in the Time B world had left their mark on Kate, making her a difFerent person than the girl he had lost and conquered Time itself to recover.

And there was nothing in the whole wide universe he could do about it.