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Authors: John R. Maxim
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nice a time with Gwen.
After a salad lunch there was croquet. Gwen changed, as promised, into her old-fashioned blue summer dress with a carved onyx brooch at her throat. And Corbin, to her delight, had bought not only a straw hat and a pair of white duck trousers for the occasion but also a white linen blazer with wide brown vertical stripes. Several of the other guests applauded when they appeared on the croquet court and Gwen, given an audience, decided to play the dainty Vic torian maiden for all it was worth. She insisted that he stand with his arms around her from behind to help her hold and swing the mallet, then pretended to be shocked when he took that liberty. That scene played, she proceeded to trounce him, cheating shamelessly and brushing aside any protest with the reminder that she was only a mere girl and he was so strong. Corbin loved it. All of it. Every minute of that day and the next. On the Sunday evening train ride to New York he told Gwen Leamas that it was easily the happiest and most loving weekend of his life and that Greenwich, what he saw of it, was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen.
On the next day, Monday, Gwen was asked if she could fly to London right away as part of a group going there to negotiate the rights to several Thames Television proper ties. She could scarcely refuse. The business sessions and the obligatory entertaining would last well into the follow ing weekend. After that, although she did not want to be away from Jonathan, she would have at least several days in which to visit a few favorite relatives and carouse a bit with some old chums from school. Corbin rode with her to the airport and walked with her to the gate. His voice broke a bit when he said goodbye. He said he must be getting a cold. I love you, too, she answered.
Corbin had told himself that this was a great chance to catch up on his reading. Maybe play some racquetball. Maybe see a couple of those blood-and-guts movies that Gwen never wants to sit through. He'd halfway convinced himself that he would enjoy the period of privacy. A nice break. But he was back at her apartment for less than an hour when he realized for the second time in a year how hollow a place can be when the person who means every thing to you isn't there anymore. He wished she hadn't gone. He wished they'd never left the Homestead.
By Friday Corbin couldn't bear the thought of a whole weekend alone in her apartment. When he left the Burling ton Building at the day's end he found himself falling into the stream of men and women who were walking in the direction of Grand Central. Why not, he thought. There was no use going back to the Homestead. It wouldn't be the same, but what would be the harm in seeing a little more of Greenwich. He could take a late train back. Or, if he chose, he could stay over. Whatever felt good.
Corbin stayed over. And it did feel good. He didn't know why exactly, but it was better than feeling lonely, so he was not about to look for reasons. It was certainly a pretty town, full of attractive people who kept themselves looking fit. Nice homes. Nice yards. Women in tennis dresses. The leaves all red and gold like Japanese jewelry. After a morn ing of walking and breathing the crisp clean air he decided on lunch at a large hotel he seemed to remember down along the shore of Long Island Sound. It wasn't there. He must have been thinking of someplace else. But no matter. There were plenty of nice places to stop. On his way to the nearest of them he passed the storefront office of a real estate firm. In the window he saw about a dozen snapshots of homes that were offered for sale. Corbin stopped and looked. Two of the houses looked rather like the Home stead. Victorians. But on a smaller scale. Corbin turned away and had his lunch. That afternoon he returned to the city.
Sunday passed, then three workdays. On Wednesday evening, he once again took the train to Greenwich. He knew that the trip didn't make much sense,
After a salad lunch there was croquet. Gwen changed, as promised, into her old-fashioned blue summer dress with a carved onyx brooch at her throat. And Corbin, to her delight, had bought not only a straw hat and a pair of white duck trousers for the occasion but also a white linen blazer with wide brown vertical stripes. Several of the other guests applauded when they appeared on the croquet court and Gwen, given an audience, decided to play the dainty Vic torian maiden for all it was worth. She insisted that he stand with his arms around her from behind to help her hold and swing the mallet, then pretended to be shocked when he took that liberty. That scene played, she proceeded to trounce him, cheating shamelessly and brushing aside any protest with the reminder that she was only a mere girl and he was so strong. Corbin loved it. All of it. Every minute of that day and the next. On the Sunday evening train ride to New York he told Gwen Leamas that it was easily the happiest and most loving weekend of his life and that Greenwich, what he saw of it, was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen.
On the next day, Monday, Gwen was asked if she could fly to London right away as part of a group going there to negotiate the rights to several Thames Television proper ties. She could scarcely refuse. The business sessions and the obligatory entertaining would last well into the follow ing weekend. After that, although she did not want to be away from Jonathan, she would have at least several days in which to visit a few favorite relatives and carouse a bit with some old chums from school. Corbin rode with her to the airport and walked with her to the gate. His voice broke a bit when he said goodbye. He said he must be getting a cold. I love you, too, she answered.
Corbin had told himself that this was a great chance to catch up on his reading. Maybe play some racquetball. Maybe see a couple of those blood-and-guts movies that Gwen never wants to sit through. He'd halfway convinced himself that he would enjoy the period of privacy. A nice break. But he was back at her apartment for less than an hour when he realized for the second time in a year how hollow a place can be when the person who means every thing to you isn't there anymore. He wished she hadn't gone. He wished they'd never left the Homestead.
By Friday Corbin couldn't bear the thought of a whole weekend alone in her apartment. When he left the Burling ton Building at the day's end he found himself falling into the stream of men and women who were walking in the direction of Grand Central. Why not, he thought. There was no use going back to the Homestead. It wouldn't be the same, but what would be the harm in seeing a little more of Greenwich. He could take a late train back. Or, if he chose, he could stay over. Whatever felt good.
Corbin stayed over. And it did feel good. He didn't know why exactly, but it was better than feeling lonely, so he was not about to look for reasons. It was certainly a pretty town, full of attractive people who kept themselves looking fit. Nice homes. Nice yards. Women in tennis dresses. The leaves all red and gold like Japanese jewelry. After a morn ing of walking and breathing the crisp clean air he decided on lunch at a large hotel he seemed to remember down along the shore of Long Island Sound. It wasn't there. He must have been thinking of someplace else. But no matter. There were plenty of nice places to stop. On his way to the nearest of them he passed the storefront office of a real estate firm. In the window he saw about a dozen snapshots of homes that were offered for sale. Corbin stopped and looked. Two of the houses looked rather like the Home stead. Victorians. But on a smaller scale. Corbin turned away and had his lunch. That afternoon he returned to the city.
Sunday passed, then three workdays. On Wednesday evening, he once again took the train to Greenwich. He knew that the trip didn't make much sense,
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