The Man Whose Dreams Came True by Julian Symons

Author:Julian Symons
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: The Man Whose Dreams Came True
ISBN: 9780755129652
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2013-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

He spent the following hours in a state of dazed happiness, like a small boy who has swallowed several doses of nasty medicine as prelude to a promised treat and now, with the medicine consumed, sees unalloyed pleasure ahead. He spent the night at a hotel near London Airport, arranged for a six-thirty call – the ticket said he had to report at seven-fifteen – and tried to sleep, but found it impossible. In the end he took the travel pamphlets out of his case and spent an hour looking at them.

Caracas would be wonderful for a time, but no doubt they would get tired of it. And after that? Perhaps a journey to the hinterland which revealed, so the pamphlets said, the real history of the country. He was not much interested in ruins and monuments, but probably he would learn Spanish. He saw that there were ample opportunities for gambling. He would be careful about that. Perhaps it would be a good idea for Jenny to control the money, and to make him an allowance. At the airport he would buy a Spanish phrasebook. He did not think at all of Eversley Foster, who seemed to belong already to a past so distant that it might never have existed. Nor did he think of Jenny. Strangely enough, his mind turned to recollections of the General, the book of memoirs, his own behaviour. Those wretched little fiddles he had worked, and then the business with the cheque – he felt really ashamed of them now. Yet even these thoughts were not wholly painful, for they carried with them the consolation that there would be no need for him to do anything of that kind ever again. With that in his mind he fell asleep at three o’clock in the morning.

He woke at six, and by the time his six-thirty call came had washed and shaved. He dressed with care, allowing himself to consider whether it should be the charcoal grey suit or lightweight trousers and sports jacket. He knew perfectly well that the decision had already been made in favour of informality, for in thirteen hours of travelling the suit would get rather painfully creased, but still he laid out both sets of clothes on the bed and talked to himself aloud as he weighed the possibilities, wondering what the weather would be like in Caracas when he arrived at night. Were the nights chilly? ‘Even if they are I think this is going to be rather cosier, don’t you?’ he said to an imaginary companion before hanging up the charcoal grey again in his travelling wardrobe. As a gesture, purely as a gesture to Jenny because they were distinctly unsuitable, he put the orbicular links into the cuffs of his shirt. The money stayed in his wallet. He had decided to take Jenny’s ten thousand to one chance, and not to bother with a parcel. His euphoria was such that it did not need support from food. He did no more than nibble at the toast and sip at the coffee brought to his room.

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