Earth and High Heaven Read Online Free PDF Page B

always does. It’s not shyness, exactly; he’s just not interested in people in general, he’s a rugged individualist. It’s Mother who keeps up the social end of things. Charles can’t be bothered, except at his club. Why? Do you know him?”
    â€œI’ve seen him once or twice, I’ve never met him.”
    â€œIf you’d like to meet him, I’ll take you up to his study and introduce you to him ...”
    â€œOh, no thanks,” said Marc hastily. “I’m sorry,” he added, rather embarrassed, “I didn’t mean to sound rude, but I’m no good at meeting people, I never know what to say to them. The idea of barging in your father just ... well, I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”
    Erica was looking up at him with interest. Finally she remarked involuntarily, “You and René are not a bit alike ...”
    â€œWhy should we be?”
    â€œYou’re one of his best friends, aren’t you?”
    â€œNo,” he said, “I don’t think so. I’ve known him for about ten years, but in all that time I doubt if we’ve ever had a really personal conversation. We usually talk law when we’re together. He’s a very good lawyer ...”
    â€œNot politics?” interrupted Erica.
    â€œNo, not politics,” said Marc. “We stick to law. I suppose he’s told you that he’s going to run in the by-elections ...”
    â€œIs he?” asked Erica, surprised. She said with a faintly amused expression: “One of our difficulties is the fact that René refuses to stop being funny about everything that really matters. Probably it’s just as well,” she added reflectively. “I don’t like quarreling with people.”
    â€œRené wouldn’t quarrel with you. He’s too good a politician.”
    She could see René across the room talking — French, she realized by his gestures and his expression — to Mrs. Oppenheim, the Viennese refugee. Although she was not in love with him, the very sight of him moved her a little, and she said, her voice changing, “René’s not just a good politician. He’s really brilliant, he studied in France, and even though he disapproved of the French, it isn’t as though he’d been stuck in Quebec all his life! He’s an awfully good speaker and he knows what this war’s all about ...”
    â€œDoes he?” asked Marc.
    â€œDon’t you think he does?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” said Marc noncommittally.
    Between the Drakes’ house and the house on the street below, the steep slope was planted with rock gardens, squat pines and cedars, flowers and flowering shrubs, and halfway down there was a cherry tree in blossom. Beyond the cherry tree and the lower houses half hidden by green leaves, the skyscrapers and church spires were turning to gold and the city was full of long blue shadows.
    â€œWhat a marvellous place to live,” said Marc.
    â€œWait another hour when the lights are on and it isn’t quite dark. I’ve lived up here all my life and I still haven’t got used to it. I’ve been in love with Montreal ever since I can remember.”
    He was watching a ship which was moving slowly up the Lachine Canal, and thinking of Erica, only half hearing her voice as she went on talking, softly and unselfconsciously as though she had known him for years. She was not only lovely to look at, she was also the sort of person whom you liked and with whom you felt at ease from the first moment. Her character was in her fine, almost delicate face, in the way she talked and listened to what you had to say; there was nothing put on about her and nothing hidden. You could tell at a glance that she had a good brain, that she was generous, interested, and highly responsive. Her manner was neither arrogant nor self-deprecating; it was as though she had already come to terms with life and