In the break that he took between desperate attempts to get to Julia on the phone, Mason called Mrs. Whitcomb and, having apologized and promised her a bonus, asked her to come immediately. He needed a nanny to stay with Matt, and he needed to have Julia listen and understand.

By the time Mrs. Whitcomb arrived, though, he had already talked to the stranger who was so much at home in Julia’s house, and who, to crown it all up, seemed to be talking with a Northern accent. Mason did not know if he wanted to run after her any longer; not now.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Capwell,” Mrs. Whitcomb said. “Couln’t come earlier. Is the little angel asleep?”

“Yes – thank you very much. I’ll be back – well, I don’t know when I’ll be back, Mrs. Whitcomb. Mrs. Parker is supposed to come in the morning anyway.”

Mason took his jacket and walked out.

He needed some air. He needed to think over everything that’d happened yesterday – because it was the next day already... He needed a drink, that was what he really needed. And the whole weekend was his.

There was no use kidding himself that anyone cared. No one was willing to give Mason as much as a chance to raise his voice in self-defense. The same old story: he was not good enough and never would be, would never live up to anyone’s standards. Mason’s life had been too quiet the last few months, it seemed; he told himself he must have forgotten what he was, to be getting accustomed to living in peace. Peace of mind? Sounds vaguely familiar; not that he had ever had any first-hand knowledge.

Julia. She’d come close enough to be able to hurt him so; why had he let her? He should have known better than that. If she expected him to beg now – well, she was mistaken. The woman who’d prided herself so much on her feeling of justice, he wondered how she would feel when she learnt the truth. She just did not seem to care; one man was as good as another, after all; wasn’t he?

Well, Julia had never been a fraud, that Mason could say for her. That was one trait she and Mary had in common. Mason felt Julia had been genuine every step of the way they had gone together, he knew it. Why, it did not help, if she so sincerely dumped him now.

He had much on his mind tonight, not only Julia. It was all a little bit too much. “I can’t help it if I’m drowning,” Mason told himself taking another drink. “It’s hereditary.”


*

Mason still was in the bar in the morning. It was not all for nothing the hotel had his family name on it; the barmen did not dare throw him out. He drank and fell asleep, and came to his senses, and drank a little more.

He was stunned to see Julia walk in the restaurant – rather early for the weekend morning. She looked fresh and blooming; that was just great. What a shining contrast to his crumpled clothes and bristle.

The individual accompanying her – Mason was relieved to see that was no Yuppie neurologist, but Pearl, everybody’s friend in Santa Barbara and a jack of all trades. He had not seen Pearl in town for a long time. Rumors had it Pearl had gone to look for Kelly; well, when Kelly was back Pearl was not, so Mason concluded the rumors got it wrong. He was not quite sure, though.

Shakily, he got to his feet and approached Julia and Pearl’s table.

“Morning.”

Julia stared.

“Hi Mase,” Pearl said matter-of-factly.

“Welcome home, Pearl.”

“Oh, home. Thank you kindly sir.”

“You’d excuse us – could I have a moment alone with Julia?”

Julia looked panicky, and Pearl felt as protective as ever. “No Mase, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said coolly.

Mason glared. He supported herself leaning on the table. “Oh yes?” he said menacingly. “Ok, stay. Has nothing to do with you. Suit yourself. Just one question, Julia. Couldn’t you find a less laughable excuse to break up with me and jump to another bed?”

The blood flushed in Julia's face. “Go away immediately, Mason,” she hissed.

“Because the reason you’ve found to justify yourself IS laughable, Julia; you just don’t know yet how laughable it is. Why did not you dare tell me straightforwardly it was over and to go to hell?”

“I’m telling you now: it’s over, go to hell.”

“I’m there, I guess,” Mason said. “And I wonder will you be able to forgive yourself for what you’re doing, Counsellor, and how are you going to live with yourself – well, that’s another question, of course, because it’s not only with yourself you’re going to live but there’re certain candidacies much more recent – I mean decent than yours truly who--”

Julia got up. “Pearl, please let’s go to some other place. It was a mistake to choose the Orient Express, anyway,” she said.

“Ah yes. Choosing the Orient Express, choosing the Capwell hotel, choosing a Capwell...” Mason went on. His eyes were dim. “A fatal mistake.”

Julia walked past him, and Mason collapsed on the chair she’d just occupied. Then he put his arms on the table and rested his head on them. He felt like howling; that was exactly what he felt like.

/Olga Lisenkova/

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