Page 93 of The House on Sunset Lake

‘Never knowingly hides his light under a bushel, my father. Are you looking forward to the party?’

‘I’m not coming,’ replied Saul, glancing away.

‘Not coming?’ said Jim incredulously. It was hard to imagine that Saul would want to miss being in the thick of a literary soirée.

‘I’m busy.’

‘Saul, come on. From where I’m sitting, you don’t appear to be living in party central.’

‘Lucille’s night off, isn’t it.’

‘Then come with me. I can pick you up, take you to the venue . . . You’ll know everyone there.’

‘Precisely,’ he said quietly.

He took another swig of his Scotch.

‘You know, I was someone once, Jim. Someone who made careers, who people listened to. And the truth is, the older you get, the more people should listen to you. But it doesn’t work like that. They listen to you but they’re not interested in what you’ve got to say.’

‘Saul, don’t be silly.’

‘Your father will have half of the beau monde at his party and I don’t want them to see me like this. I want them to remember me as I was. Racing to Elaine’s or Michael’s with the hottest manuscript in town in my briefcase and the prettiest girl in town on my arm. Not some old guy in a wheelchair they have to give five minutes’ polite chit-chat to.’

‘Saul, everyone will be thrilled to see you.’

‘The wise man knows when to bow out,’ he said quietly.

Jim wanted to tell him that until a couple of days ago he would have said the same thing, but now he believed that you had to play your hand as long as possible, but Saul had already wheeled his chair over to the bookcase.

‘I’ve got something for him,’ he said, more briskly.

‘My father?’

‘I got Lucille to sort a gift. She’s better at that sort of thing than me. I think she got him some fancy case of wine. But then I found this as well,’ he said, struggling to lift something heavy off the shelf.

‘Here, let me help,’ said Jim, going over.

‘When you move outta place after fifty years, there’s always one hell of a clear-out.’ Saul handed him a thick white envelope. ‘We found this.’

‘What is it?’ asked Jim, feeling the weight of it in his hands.

Ther

e was a twinkle in Saul’s eye.

‘Your father’s first draft manuscript of College.’

‘You kept it?’

‘He came to see me in New York, Christmas 1994. I was always the first person to see his work, and with your father, I never knew what to expect,. I was particularly nervous that meeting,’ he said, shaking his frail head. ‘I knew it was my final throw of the dice with him. If going to Savannah wasn’t going to help him find his writer’s mojo, then I didn’t know what I was going to do. But . . .’ He paused and looked away, lost in thought. ‘But I had nothing to worry about. I read it straight after he’d gone and couldn’t put it down until I’d finished it. I knew I had an important piece of fiction in my hands.’

‘And that’s it,’ said Jim, nodding towards the envelope.

‘The only original version in existence, I guess. Could have sold it, might have paid for one of those stair-lift things, but screw it, eh?’

‘This changed our lives, you know.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Saul, nodding sagely. ‘Give it to him at the party, huh?’