The Thief of Time by John Boyne Read Free Book Online Page B

drink. ‘Well about two years ago anyway if that’s the same thing. I met him at some party. I was a fan, I was bewitched by him. Didn’t care that he was married. Everyone knew he hated Mildred anyway. Foolish to say he seduced me because he didn’t. I wanted him just as badly. And he was very kind to me, I have to give him that. When we were together, he couldn’t do enough for me. He’s actually a wonderful boyfriend, you know. It was just the ... the manner of parting which hurt.’
    I looked at her and raised my eyebrows quizzically. ‘Go on,’ I urged her.
    â€˜It’s ridiculous really,’ she laughed, wiping a tear from her eye. ‘And I don’t come out of it looking particularly attractive.’
    â€˜Tell me anyway,’ I insisted. She shrugged wearily, as if none of it mattered any more in her romantic exhaustions.
    â€˜We were at a party at Doug and Mary’s. It was a birthday party, and I was standing in a corner talking with some small time actor from Essanay who’d played roles in
The Bank
and
A Night In The Show,
I think. Charlie had fallen out with him over something – God knows what, something trivial no doubt – and hadn’t brought him over to Mutual with him when he switched studios. Anyway, this kid had fallen on difficult times since then and was asking me to help him out, to get him back in Charlie’s good books or whatever, and I was doing everything I could to get rid of him because if there was one thing I could never stand it was people assuming that, because Charlie and I were a couple, I could get them roles in his films. I decided to bring him over to speak to Charlie, leave them together to sort it all out and go talk to someone interesting instead. I found him out by the pool talking with Leopold Godowsky, the concert pianist who I knew Charlie admired enormously, and reintroduced him to this boy, who he shook warmly by the hand and allowed to join in the conversation. He seemed perfectly happy to have him there. I said I was returning inside to the party and Godowsky said that he would join me. I didn’t think anything of it and we simply stood inside and chatted for a few minutes. I told him I had heard him play once in Boston, when I was a child – my father was an enormous fan. He was flattered that I remembered the performance and told me some story about an overweight soprano who drank snake juice to improve her voice, which made me laugh. And that was all there was to it as far as I was concerned. Afterwards, as we drove home, Charlie said nothing at all to me and I could tell that he was angry about something but I was feeling tired and didn’t want to humour him by asking what it was so I pretended to fall asleep until we got there, at which time I went inside and up to bed. I didn’t want to return home to Amelia that night, hoping that whatever quarrel he had with me would have blown over by the morning.
    She was shaking as she told the story, avoiding my eyes, and I wanted to go over and hold her but decided to stay where I was, not wishing to interrupt her telling of this story, something which I suspected she had never done before, not even to Amelia.
    â€˜Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I got into bed and tried to fall asleep as I waited for Charlie to appear, which he did after about fifteen minutes.
    â€˜â€œGet up,” he said in a firm voice as he came into the room and slammed the door behind him. “Get up and go.”
    â€˜â€œWhat?” I asked, pretending that he’d just woken me up. “What’s wrong, Charlie?” I asked him.
    â€˜He leaned over the bed, pressed his hands down on my shoulders so they would bruise and said very clearly, each phrase precisely enunciated: “Get up. Get dressed. Get out.”
    â€˜When I started to ask him why, what I had done wrong, he packed a few things for me, cursed me for bringing that boy out to the