‘You don’t mean you forgot you put it round my neck?’
‘Of course I forgot. And it’s not the only male neck it’s been round lately! I’ve got other things to think about besides you. As indeed you yourself were anxious to suggest!’
‘So there is someone else!’
‘No. Get out of my way.’
‘Who is it? Who is it?’ Tallis took hold of the white blouse at the neck.
‘Let go, you’re tearing it. Let go! Or do you really want a fight?’
‘I want you to stay here and talk to me properly.’
‘Well, just see if you can keep me here!’
Morgan crooked her left foot round the back of Tallis’s ankle and pressed her right hand against his throat. They staggered together, knocking over a row of half-empty milk bottles. Tallis twisted the white nylon collar till it tore and captured her hand and began to bend it round behind her back. Morgan tried to bring her knee up but Tallis had drawn her too closely against him. Their faces touched, bone moving on bone. Morgan’s free hand clawed the back of his shirt, her feet began to slip, and she came down heavily on the floor, pulling Tallis over on top of her. The string of the necklace broke and the amber beads pattered loudly to the ground all about them. Morgan twisted away from him and sprang to her feet. The kitchen door banged. The front door banged.
Tallis got up slowly. His neck was bruised, his knee was throbbing. The kitchen floor was covered with broken glass and sticking yellowish milky mess. He picked up a half of one of the bottles and threw it into the sink where it broke into further pieces. Bending down he began to pick up the amber beads here and there and stuff them into the pockets of his trousers.
‘Oh er excuse me—’ A round-faced young man with spectacles carrying a black bag and a nylon mackintosh was standing in the doorway.
‘What do you want?’ said Tallis. He went on searching for the beads.
‘I’m sorry—I thought I’d better wait until—I wanted to see you—’
‘What about?’ Tallis threw another piece of milk bottle into the sink.
‘I’m the new doctor.’
‘Oh.’ Tallis straightened up. ‘Sorry. You’ve been with my father? ’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry,’ said Tallis. ‘Won’t you sit down? He’s been rather in pain.’
‘We had a talk—’
‘Can you operate for that sort of arthritis? We haven’t heard anything since the X-rays.’
The doctor, who had not sat down, closed the kitchen door. He drew his shoe along the linoleum in an attempt to scrape off the sour milk. He looked at Tallis with a rather odd expression on his face. ‘I’m afraid the news is not very good.’
‘You mean you can’t operate?’
‘I mean it’s not arthritis. At least there is a mild arthritic condition. But—’
‘It’s cancer,’ said Tallis.
‘Yes.’
‘I see,’ said Tallis. He picked up the two tea cups and put them in the sink with the broken glass. ‘What’s the outlook?’
‘There’s very little we can do, I’m afraid. Some deep ray treatment may ease the discomfort of course. But the condition being already general—’
‘What’s the outlook?’
‘Your father might live for a year.’
‘I see,’ said Tallis.
‘Of course I haven’t told him. He still thinks it’s arthritis. We naturally think it proper in such cases for the relatives to decide—’
‘Yes, yes. You’ll let me know about the treatment. I don’t want—if it just prolongs life for a short while—if he’s suffering—but you said it might ease him—’
‘It is thought to be advisable—’
‘Could you go, please,’ said Tallis.
‘If you’d like to see the specialist you’d be welcome at the hospital, any time tomorrow morning, just telephone—’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll come. And now please go, forgive me. Thank you.’
The door closed.
The kitchen where usually there were so many scratchings and scufflings and patterings of claws was completely silent. Even the murmur of the traffic seemed to have been made still. Tallis stared at jagged glass and crumpled newspaper and milk which had already dried into thick yellowish pats and errant gleaming globes of wine-dark Baltic amber. He stared down into a world that had been utterly changed.
CHAPTER SIX
HILDA WAS CAUTIOUSLY STROKING PETER’S HAIR. Peter, politely affecting not to notice, had his noble faraway Napoleonic look on. They were in Hilda’s boudoir, sitting side by side upon the small sofa.
‘So I can tell your father that you’ll definitely go back to college in October?’
‘Yes. Haven’t you told him already?’
‘Well, sort of. But I wanted to be sure. I thought you might change your mind.’
‘I won’t. I’ve given my word to Morgan.’
Hilda sighed. She had perceived her son’s love for her sister. She was not alarmed, but it made her feel sad somehow. It made her feel old.
‘Your father will be so relieved.’
‘I don’t care what he thinks!’
‘Peter, do try to be a little more kind to him. You do hurt him so. He is your father.’
‘Precisely!’
‘Oh Peter, don’t be so boring!’
‘If only he’d just relax and stop acting father! It’s like a rotten evening in the theatre.’
‘You might stop acting too!’
‘All right, mother, all right!’
Hilda thought, I must ask Morgan to tell Peter to be kind to Rupert. He’ll attend to her. She sighed again. But that would have to wait, since Morgan had just rung up to cancel a luncheon date and announce her temporary departure from London.
‘Morgan told me I ought to be nicer to him,’ said Peter, ‘so I suppose I’ll have to try!’ He detached himself gently from the light pressure of his mother’s arm and shifted a little way along the sofa.
‘So she already—Will you come to that dinner party, Peter?’
‘You mean to celebrate pa’s great book? I shouldn’t think so. Is that ghastly masterpiece actually finished?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he going to read it aloud at the dinner?’
‘Don’t be silly.’
Rupert is sad that the book is finished, thought Hilda. He had travelled with it such a long way. And now that he’s stopped working on it he probably feels all kinds of doubts and anxieties about its worth. Rupert had been in a strange mood just lately, nervy, preoccupied, worried.
‘By the way, Peter, do you happen to know Morgan’s address? She’s away, isn’t she?’ Morgan had rung off so quickly, Hilda had not been able to ask for an address.
‘She’s visiting here and there and seeing somebody about a job, I think. She sent me a note, but no address. Look, I must go in a moment, mother darling.’ He stood up beside her and put his hand lightly under her chin. Hilda captured the hand and quickly squeezed it and kissed his fingers, closing her eyes for a moment. Looking up at her tall son she felt an agony of anxious protective frustrated love. She yearned over his future, so full of terrible unknowns. She groaned with the weight of a love which she could scarcely begin to express. She had already released his hand.
‘You are all right, aren’t you, Peter?’
‘Yes, mother, I’m fine.’
He looked well, calmer, plumper. That was Morgan’s doing.
‘Come again soon.’ She felt so sad at his going, sad at his inevitable separateness from her, sad that he had been so much taken over by Morgan, sad at her own inadequacy to the immense needs of his youth. ‘I do wish you’d come back and live here.’
‘I must have my own place. It’s more than ever important.’
‘How’s Tallis?’
‘I think Tallis is going mad.’
‘You aren’t serious?’ said Hilda.
‘No, I suppose not, but he’s been very odd lately. Well, maybe no odder th
an usual. I must push along, mama.’
‘You’ll come again soon?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘When?’
‘Oh next week probably. I’ll ring up. Cheerio and thanks for the mun!’
After Peter was gone Hilda uncurled herself from the sofa and patted the cushions back into shape. She teased out her hair which was still a little damp from a recent plunge in the pool. Then she went to her desk where she had laid out all her arrears of correspondence. The Kensington and Chelsea Preservation Society. The West London Noise Abatement League. The Discharged Prisoners Help Society. Oxfam. Labour Party. Townswomen’s Guild. The Bardwell Clinic for Unmarried Mothers. The Chelsea Pensioners’ Christmas Tobacco Fund. Friends of the Old Vic, the National Gallery, the Wigmore Hall, the Fulham and Putney Juvenile Delinquents. British Societies for Peace in various parts of the world.
Hilda found that she could not focus her eyes upon the letters. She felt vague and gloomy, she did not quite know why. She was a little worried about Rupert. Was it just his book or was he perhaps developing the ’flu? She had been very disappointed not to see Morgan and a little hurt at the brusque way in which Morgan had cancelled the appointment. The bond with her sister had never been more important. Hilda had expected much from Morgan’s return, almost a renewal of life. She was well aware that she had felt gratified that the defeated Morgan should come back to her to be cared for, but she knew too that the gratification was an expression of love. There was some fruition of the past in this cherishing of her sister, some reassuring line of force from childhood which reached away onward into the future. Hilda needed to be leaned upon and confided in and Morgan could not have been more dependent and more frank. Thus far, in the chemistry of the world, all was well. Hilda had been sorry when her sister moved out of the house, but she had understood. Now she was troubled by this sudden breath of aloofness. Possibly Morgan regretted having talked so much.
She tried to be sensible about Morgan as she tried to be sensible about Peter, but it is not easy to cajole a naturally possessive temperament. Did Peter know what it was like for her when he walked out of the room vaguely saying he might turn up next week, vaguely saying he would telephone? Peter was uncaged and free, and although Hilda knew that her son loved her to an extent which was probably exceptional, and talked to her with an openness which was certainly unusual, she was after all only his mother. This meant that she was a unique and precious being to him, but it also meant that it was her special privilege to put up humbly and uncomplainingly with any degree of casualness and neglect. Peter knew that it was a metaphysical impossibility that her love for him should diminish by one iota whatever he might or might not do, and this precisely enabled him to dismiss her altogether from his mind.
Hilda brooded for a time upon these paradoxes, but she was not addicted to feeling sorry for herself and she soon began to try to concentrate upon the letters. She was just reaching for her pen when there was a sound upon the stairs. Hilda turned. It was much too early for Rupert. She thought it might be Morgan. Someone tapped softly upon the door.
‘Come in,’ cried Hilda.
Someone opened the door rather deferentially and peered in. It was Julius King.
‘Oh!’ said Hilda. ‘Good heavens, you gave me a shock. Come in, Julius.’
Hilda had seen Julius only twice since his return to England, on both occasions at Rupert’s urging. Rupert was anxious that there should be no appearance of coldness on Hilda’s part. She had joined Rupert and Julius for lunch once, and more recently Julius had come to Priory Grove for a drink, though he had only stayed for half an hour.
‘Please forgive me for walking in. The door was open!’
‘It usually is!’ said Hilda. ‘I expect you want Rupert. I’m afraid he won’t be in just yet.’
‘No, I don’t specially want Rupert. I was passing near by and I thought I might steal a brief refuge from the sun. You must forgive me for feeling so much at home here!’
‘But I’m delighted!’ said Hilda. ‘It is hot, isn’t it. You wouldn’t like a swim, would you? You could borrow Rupert’s things.’
‘No, no, I’m nervous of water, even in swimming pools.’
‘Perhaps you wanted to see Simon? He’s quite gone off his swimming lately, I’m sorry to say.’
‘No, indeed. But how modest you are! You imagine me to be anxious to see anyone rather than yourself.’
Have I been rude? thought Hilda. She always felt a bit awkward with Julius. ‘No, indeed—But wouldn’t you like some tea or a drink? I think it’s not too early for a drink, don’t you?’
‘I’d adore some lemonade,’ said Julius, ‘or Coca Cola if you had any in the fridge. I got so hot walking round the Boltons, and I must confess that the idea of a cold drink did figure in my plans for coming here!’
‘Of course, of course, do come downstairs. I’m afraid we don’t keep Coca Cola but you could have some lemonade and plenty of ice.’
Julius waited in the drawing room while Hilda squeezed lemons and brought the lemonade and glasses from the kitchen. He had opened the french windows and a warm thick smell of garden came into the room.
‘You wouldn’t like some gin with it? No? Do sit down, it’s a bit cooler in here. I expect you miss the air conditioning. But this is very unEnglish summer weather you know, and I don’t suppose it’ll last much longer.’
Julius merely smiled and sipped the lemonade. He was sitting in a small armchair half turned to the window. Hilda hovered about and then sat down near him. The room was shadowy and uncertain in the proximity of the bright sunlight. Hilda felt uneasy.
‘I gather you may be our neighbour in the Boltons,’ she said. ‘You’ll be very grand when you live there, we’ll hardly dare to call on you!’ I’m being idiotic, she thought. Why am I so inept?
‘I hope you’ll come,’ said Julius, politely. ‘Hilda, what perfectly delicious fresh lemonade. What are the more vaunted pleasures of the flesh compared with the wild joy of quenching one’s thirst on a hot day?’
Julius was sipping his lemonade, smiling at her with an air almost of ecstasy, and his face looked like a mask. What pale hair and dark eyes he has, thought Hilda. He really is a very odd-looking man. His hair has a strange faded look, like old hair, yet his face is young. He’s not exactly blond at all, and his eyes must be dark grey, or are they dark brown with a sort of tinge of blue? And how extremely long and curly his mouth is, like two mouths blurred into one.
She thought, I mustn’t stare so. ‘It is a pleasant neighbourhood, ’ said Hilda.
‘I like that little backwater where Morgan lives too,’ said Julius. ‘It’s quite near here, isn’t it.’
‘You’ve been to see Morgan—’
‘Yes. Just as a friend of course, the drama is over. I hope you didn’t think too ill of me, Hilda?’
‘I—no, I—how can I judge?’
‘One does judge, though. Morgan must have told you about it all?’
‘She told me a little, yes, but—’
‘But—?’
‘But other people’s lives are very mysterious,’ said Hilda. ‘One can hardly ever see what another person is like.’
‘You mean you can’t see what I’m like?’
‘No. I can hardly see what Morgan’s like. Morgan talked about it, but I couldn’t really see—or presume to make any judgement. ’
‘Thank you,’ said Julius, after a moment’s silence.
He was rather solemn now. Hilda felt agitated by the conversation. Julius was studying her and she could not look at him. She looked at the sunlit garden and the sparkling water and the roses and her eyes dazzled. She shifted her chair and filled her sight with the soft blurred colours of the dim room, the figure of Julius vague and hazy in her attention. She felt nervous and yet at the same time almost sleepy.
‘It may seem odd to you, Hilda, but I cared very much what you thought.’
‘What I thought?’
‘Yes. Perhaps one instinctively
selects one’s judges. Perhaps there is deep significance in the selection. I always wondered: what will Hilda think?’
‘But you scarcely know me, knew me.’
‘I am glad you altered the tense. Morgan talked a lot about you. And after all I have met you quite often, and you are not a person one forgets. I dare say I have observed you much more closely than you have observed me.’
‘I can hardly believe you really worried about my opinion!’ said Hilda. The idea rather pleased her however.
‘I did, I assure you! You are so much more grown-up than Morgan, so much more of a genuinely thinking being. When I tried to be objective I tried to see the thing through your eyes. Impossible of course, but I assure you it was a salutary exercise!’
Hilda was touched. It also occurred to her that she had not conceived of Julius as having scruples. She had been rather unjust to him. ‘I hope you were not too hurt by what you called the drama?’
‘Thank you for asking, Hilda, thank you for thinking! I was hurt, I was after all very attached. But one recovers and the details don’t matter. And I suppose my conscience ached a bit! A married woman and so on. I am old enough to be a very conventional person at heart. But one can deal with one’s conscience. Morgan dealt with hers. And I can’t pretend to be very saintly.’
‘I expect it was really a muddle,’ said Hilda. ‘So many things in life are.’
‘So many things are. I’m afraid your sister has a compulsive genius for muddles.’
‘I think she gets entangled with people because she’s so kindhearted, ’ said Hilda, ‘and then she finds she can’t get out.’
‘Exactly. And it’s very innocent really.’
‘You think Morgan has recovered?’
‘From me? Well! Yes! Don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Hilda thoughtfully. ‘She is certainly quite absorbed in—being kind-hearted in another quarter!’ She gave a little laugh. ‘And as you say, it’s very innocent really.’
‘Good heavens,’ said Julius, ‘so you know?’ He put his glass on the floor and stared at Hilda.
‘Yes of course,’ said Hilda. ‘But how did you know? Did Morgan tell you?’