Cape Fear by John D. MacDonald Page A

quickly. “And, for your additional information, I am engaged to a very wonderful guy who, at the moment, is down in Pensacola learning to fly. So there will be no simpers and no fluttering lashes.”
    “Sam Bowden,” he said, smiling at her. He nodded at her book. “That course gave me a rough time.”
    “Nice recovery. I think I like you, Sam Bowden. I happento be doing very well in it. How long ago was this rough time?”
    “Couple of years ago. I’m in the law school now. Last year of it.”
    “Then what?”
    “Something to do with the war, I suppose. Claire insisted I finish out and get the degree, instead of doing what she called something foolish. Her father has a factory in Jersey and he’s loaded with war contracts. Claire has been campaigning to have me go in with him. He’s willing, and he guarantees a deferment. I haven’t decided. We’re going to be married as soon as I get the degree. Does everybody tell you a personal history?”
    “I’m a sympathetic type. Bill and I are going to be married as soon as they pin the Navy wings on him. I’m no heiress to a defense plant in Jersey, but even if I was I couldn’t keep him out of this thing. He’s all hopped up. I guess I wouldn’t try.”
    He did get her more coffee and they did leave together and he said, “I’ll walk you to the sordid dormitory.”
    “No flashy convertible?”
    “Nope. I’m one of the laboring classes.” He fell in slow step with her. “The first two years were gravy. Then my father died. With summer jobs and part-time jobs I’ve managed to hold on. I quit working for this last three months because I’ve got enough to finish out if I’m careful, and I want to put all the time I can into the books. It makes a funny situation when patriotism has to conflict with the dollar.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “My brother and I have to help support my mother. Her income isn’t enough. He’s got a wife but no kids. Mother lives with them in Pasadena. And George is about to get drafted. That’s a good reason I couldn’t trot off and sign up. The allotments from two G.I.s would be pretty slim.”
    “So the Jersey plant looks good.”
    “Or at least a commission if I could work it.”
    “I haven’t got a sou. I’m an only child. Mother died ten years ago. Dad is able to send enough to keep me going. He’s worked in the oil fields all his life. Whenever he’s been able to scrape enough together, he goes into a wildcat operation, and the holes are always dry, but he never gives up.”
    When they reached her dormitory he asked the crucial question. She hesitated and then said, “Yes, I’ll be eating there tomorrow at the same time.”
    By the end of a week they were spending every free moment together. They talked of everything under the sun. They told each other it was a perfectly platonic relationship. They told each other often of their love and loyalty for Bill and Claire. And they said Bill and Claire could not possibly object to an honest friendship between a man and a woman. Though he stole time from his books, his mind was quicker and fresher than it had ever been, and he could work with so much efficiency that he knew he was doing well. They had no money. But it was spring in Philadelphia and they walked endless miles and sat in parks and talked and talked and talked. Just an honest friendship. It was not significant that when he saw her walking toward him, his breath would catch in his throat.
    He wrote and phoned Claire dutifully. She wrote to Bill and read him Bill’s letters, and when she skipped over personalpassages he was filled with a dark fury. He said Bill seemed like a nice guy. He was convinced Bill was a braggart, a mental lightweight, an incurable and perennial juvenile. As revenge he read Claire’s perfumed letters to Carol. And was embarrassed at how superficial Claire sounded.
    It came to the inevitable turning point in a small city park at midnight on a gentle, starry night in late May. They