The Secret Journey Read Online Free PDF

He noticed her black velvet dress, her black suède shoes, her well-kept hair, the single ornament she wore round her neck. He noticed the contours of her body set clear by the tightness of the black dress, and he noticed her hands. More than any other part of her person the hands stood out, at least for him, as the living manifestation of her character, of what she was. A moneylender. Whilst his eyes remained fastened upon her hands, she in turn was studying him. But so concentrated was his gaze that he was quite unconscious of the eyes that now roamed over his own person. Eyes that looked out over the edges of the notepaper she still held in her hand. She had read the letter long ago. It now became a sort of screen from behind which she could get a clear view of her visitor. To Mrs. Ragner it was almost as though that tall proud woman were now seated in front of her. But the expression was different. Mrs. Fury looked at her in one way—this young man had looked at her in quite another. Was he staring at the rings upon her fingers? And when he raised his eyes was he not staring at her neck, at that cavity between her breasts which took the weight of the necklace? Suddenly she dropped the letter and caught him unawares.
    â€˜To think that he has been studying my figure!’ she thought as she saw the embarrassed look he shot at her. Somehow she felt pleased with herself at this moment.
    â€˜Are you the Peter Fury who was at college?’ she asked, as she stretched her legs upon the black carpet.
    The young man leaned forward and said, ‘Yes.’ He had begun to fidget, and for the second time he looked at his watch. ‘I’ll be late,’ he thought. ‘I was at college in Cork,’ he stammered out, and half rose from the chair.
    â€˜What can he be in such a hurry about?’ Mrs. Ragner was asking herself. ‘You go to sea now,’ she continued. ‘Is your father still working? and your other brother, the one who had the accident?’
    Peter Fury replied ‘Yes.’ He rather resented this enquiry into what he considered purely private family affairs. In any case he wouldn’t sit in the house a minute longer. He had something far more important to do than sit looking at this fat greasy Jewess, who seemed to take an especial pleasure in asking him somewhat embarrassing questions. He brushed his trousers with his hand, got up and said, ‘I must go now. I have an appointment. I’ll be late.’ As he said this he flushed deeply as though he now resented what he had said. It was none of this woman’s business, anyhow. Of one thing he was quite certain. He wouldn’t come here again. His mother could do that. It wasn’t anything to do with him.
    Anna Ragner also got up and walked with him to the door. She smiled at him, saying, ‘About this note. Will you tell your mother that I have not yet made up my mind, and that on Friday I shall expect the usual payment?’
    â€˜Yes. Yes.’ Peter Fury was getting quite agitated now. She opened the door for him.
    â€˜Mr. Corkran will show you out.’ Suddenly, before he realized it, she was standing in front of him. ‘You will be here on Friday, then,’ she said, with all the assurance of a person who is quite certain that he will be.
    â€˜Yes, I’ll tell her that,’ replied the young man, looking down into Mrs. Ragner’s face as though what she was saying—in fact, as though the whole scene was but the fragment of some dream. He could not take his eyes from Mrs. Ragner’s hands. There was something fascinating about them, with their glittering rings, the crooked fingers, the powerful wrists. Then he hurried from the room. Halfway down the hall he gave a quick glance back as though he imagined she were following him, and then out of the shadows stepped the factotum, walking silently in his rope shoes, who said quickly, ‘Have you forgotten