df.theedge-第16部分

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he　future。。。　we　could　see。
　　I　listened　without　concentration　to　her　talking　to　someone　called　Lorrimore。　'Yes；　Mr　Lorrimore；　your　flowers　and　your　bar　bottles　will　already　be　on　the　train　when　it　es　into　the　station。。。。　And　the　fruit；　yes；　that　too。。。。　The　passengers　are　gathering　at　ten…thirty　for　the　reception　at　the　station。。。。　Yes；　we　board　at　eleven…thirty　and　leave　at　twelve。。。。　We're　looking　forward　to　meeting　you　too　。。。　goodbye　Mr　Lorrimore。'　She　glanced　over　at　me　as　she　began　to　dial　her　next　number；　and　said；　'The　Lorrimores　have　the　private　car；　the　last　car　on　the　train。　Hello；　is　that　Vancouver　racecourse。。。　？'
　　I　listened　to　her　discussing　entry　arrangements　for　the　owners。　'Yes；　we're　issuing　them　all　with　the　special　club　passes。。。　and　yes；　the　other　passengers　from　the　train　will　be　paying　for　themselves　individually；　but　we're　offering　them　group　transport。。。。'　She　put　down　the　receiver　eventually　and　sighed。　'We've　been　asked　to　fix　moderate…price　hotels　and　bus　transport　for　so　many　of　the　racegoers　that　it's　like　duplicating　the　whole　tour。　Could　you　wait　for　just　one　more　call。。。　or　two？'
　　We　left　the　darkened　office　almost　an　hour　later　and　even　then　she　was　still　checking　things　off　in　her　mind　and　muttering　vaguely　about　not　forgetting　scissors　and　clips　to　go　with　the　bandages　for　Ricky。　We　walked　not　very　far　to　a　restaurant　called　the　Fluted　Point　People　that　she'd　been　to　before　and　whose　menu　I　had　prospected　earlier。　Not　very　large；　it　had　tables　crammed　into　every　cranny；　each　dimly　lit　by　a　candle　lantern。
　　'Who　are　the　Fluted　Point　People；'　I　asked；　'in　general？'
　　'Heaven　knows；'　Nell　said。
　　The　waiter；　who　must　have　been　asked　a　thousand　times；　said　the　fluted　point　people　had　lived　on　this　land　ten　thousand　years　ago。　Let's　not　worry　about　them；　he　said。
　　Nell　laughed　and　I　thought　of　ten　thousand　years　and　wondered　who　would　be　living　on　this　land　ten　thousand　years　ahead。　Fluted　points；　it　transpired；　described　the　stone　tools　in　use　over　most　of　the　continent：　would　our　descendents　call　us　the　knife　and　fork　people？
　　'I　don't　honestly　care；'　Nell　said；　to　those　questions。　'I'm　hungry　right　now　in　Toronto　today。'
　　We　did　something　about　that　in　the　shape　of　devilled　smoked　salmon　followed　by　roast　quail。　'I　hope　this　is　all　on　your　expense　account；'　she　said　without　anxiety　as　I　ordered　some　wine；　and　I　said；　'Yes；　of　course；'　untruthfully　and　thought　there　was　no　point　in　having　money　if　one　didn't　enjoy　it。　'Hamburgers　tomorrow；'　I　said；　'to　make　up　for　it。　'Nell　nodded　as　if　that　were　a　normal　bargain　she　well　understood　and　said　with　a　galvanic　jump　that　she　had　forgotten　to　order　a　special　limousine　to　drive　the　Lorrimores　around　at　Winnipeg。
　　'Do　it　tomorrow；'　I　said。　'They　won't　run　away。'
　　She　looked　at　me　with　a　worried　frown　of　indecision；　and　then　round　the　fortable　little　candlelit　restaurant；　and　then　at　the　shining　glass　and　silver　on　the　table　and　then　back　to　me；　and　the　frown　dissolved　into　a　smile　of　self…amusement。
　　'All　right。　Tomorrow。　The　Lorrimores　may　be　the　icing　on　this　cake　but　they've　meant　a　lot　of　extra　work。'
　　'Who　are　the　Lorrimores？'　I　asked。
　　She　looked　at　me　blankly　and　answered　obliquely；　'Where　do　you　live？'
　　'Ah；'　I　said。　'If　I　lived　here；　I　would　know　the　Lorrimores？'
　　'You　certainly　wouldn't　ask　who　they　are。'
　　'I　live　in　London；'　I　said。　'So　please　tell　me。'
　　She　was　wearing；　as　so　many　women　in　business　tended　to；　a　navy　suit　and　white　blouse　of　such　stark　simplicity　as　to　raise　questions　about　the　warmth　of　the　soul。　Women　who　dressed　more　softly；　I　thought　inconsequentially；　must　feel　more　secure　in　themselves；　perhaps。
　　'The　Lorrimores；'　Nell　said；　showing　no　insecurity；　'are　one　of　the　very　richest　families　of　Toronto。　Of　Ontario。　Of　Canada；　in　fact。　They　are　the　society　magazines'　staple　diet。　They　are　into　banking　and　good　works。　They　own　mansions；　endow　art　museums；　open　charity　balls　and　entertain　heads　of　state。　There　are　quite　a　few　of　them；　brothers；　sisters　and　so　on；　and　I'm　told　that　in　certain　circles；　if　Mercer　Lorrimore　accepts　an　invitation　and　es　to　your　house；　you　are　made　for　life。'　She　paused；　smiling。　'Also　he　owns　great　racehorses；　is　naturally　a　pillar　of　the　Ontario　Jockey　Club　and　has　this　private　rail　car　which　used　to　be　borrowed　regularly　by　campaigning　politicians。'　She　paused　again　for　breath。　'That's　who's　honouring　our　train…Mercer　Lorrimore；　the　big　chief　of　the　whole　clan；　also　Bambi；　his　wife；　and　their　son　Sheridan　and　their　daughter　Xanthe。　What　have　I　left　out？'
　　I　laughed。　'Do　you　curtsy？'
　　'Pretty　nearly。　Well；　to　be　honest；　Mercer　Lorrimore　sounds　quite　nice　on　the　telephone　but　I　haven't　met　him　yet　or　any　of　the　others。　And　he　phones　me　himself。　No　secretaries。'
　　'So；'　I　said；　'if　Mercer　Lorrimore　is　on　the　train；　it　will　be　even　more　in　the　news　from　coast　to　coast？'
　　She　nodded。　'He's　going　For　the　Benefit　of　Canadian　Racing　in　capital　letters　on　the　Jockey　Club's　PR　handout。'
　　'And　is　he　eating　in　the　dining　car？'　I　asked。
　　'Don't！'　She　rolled　her　eyes　in　mock　horror。　'He　is　supposed　to　be。　They　all　are。　But　we　don't　know　if　they'll　retreat　into　privacy。　If　they　stay　in　their　own　car；　there　might　just　be　enough　room　for　everyone　else　to　sit　down。　It's　a　shambles　in　the　making　though；　and　it　was　made　by　my　boss　selling　extra　tickets　himself　when　he　knew　we　were　full。'　She　shook　her　head　over　it；　but　with　definite　indulgence。　The　boss；　it　appeared；　ranked　high　in　her　liking。
　　'Who　did　he　sell　them　to？'　I　asked。
　　'Just　people。　Two　friends　of　his。　And　a　Mr　Filmer；　who　offered　to　pay　double　when　he　found　there　was　no　room。　No　one　turns　down　an　extra　profit　of　that　sort。'　She　broke　open　a　roll　with　the　energy　of　frustration。　'If　only　there　was　more　room　in　the　dining　car；　we　could　have　sold　at　least　six　more　tickets。'
　　'David。。　er。。。　Zak　was　saying　the　forty…eight…seater　was　already　stretching　the　actors'　vocal　cords　to　the　limit　against　the　noise　of　the　wheels　on　the　rails。'
　　'It's　always　a　problem。'　She　considered　me　over　the　candle　flame。　'Are　you　married？'　she　said。
　　'No。　Are　you？'
　　'Actually；　no。'　Her　voice　was　faintly　defensive；　but　her　mouth　was　smiling。　'I　invested　in　a　relationship　which　didn't　work　out。'
　　'And　which　was　some　time　ago？'
　　'Long　enough　for　me　to　be　over　it。'
　　The　exchange　cleared　the　ground；　I　thought；　and　maybe　set　the　rules。　She　wasn't　looking　for　another　relationship　that　was　going　nowhere。　But　dalliance？　Have　to　see。。。
　　'What　are　you　thinking？'　she　asked。
　　'About　life　in　general　'
　　She　gave　me　a　dry　look　of　disbelief　but　changed　the　subject　back　to　the　almost　as　pelling　matter　of　trains；　and　after　a　while　I　asked　her　the　question　I'd　had　vaguely　in　mind　all　day。
　　'Besides　the　special　passes　for　the　races；　and　so　on；'　I　said；　'is　there　anything　else　an　owner　of　a　horse　is　entitled　to？　An　owner；　that　is　to　say；　of　one　of　the　horses　travelling　on　the　train？'
　　She　was　puzzled。　'How　do　you　mean？'
　　'Are　they　entitled　to　any　privileges　that　the　other　people　in　the　special　dining　car　don't　have？'
　　'I　don't　think　so。'　Her　brow　wrinkled　briefly。　'Only　that　they　can　visit　the　horse　car；　if　that's　what　you　mean。'
　　'Yes；　I　know　about　that。　So　there's　nothing　else？'
　　'Well；　the　racecourse　at　Winnipeg　is　planning　a　group　photograph　of　owners　only；　and　there's　television　coverage　of　that。'　She　pondered。　'They're　each　getting　a　memorative　plaque　from　the　Jockey　Club　when　we　get　back　on　the　train　at　Banff　after　the　days　in　the　mountains。'　She　paused　again。　'And　if　a　horse　that's　actually　on　the　train　wins　one　of　the　special　races；　the　owner　gets　free　life　membership　of　the　clubs　at　all　three　racecourses。'
　　The　last　was　a　sizeable　carrot　to　a　Canadian；　perhaps；　but　not　enough　on　its　own；　surely；　to　attract　Filmer。　I　sighed　briefly。　Another　good　idea　down　the　drain。　So　I　was　left　with　the　two　basic　questions；　why　was　Filmer　on　the　train；　and　why　had　he　worked　so　hard　to　be　an　owner。　And　the　answers　were　still　I　don't　know　and　I　don't　know。　Highly　helpful。
　　We　drank　coffee；　dawdling；　easy　together；　and　she　said　she　had　wanted　to