credit.’
‘You’re an astute woman, Mrs. Manderville,’ said Ravella, smiling, ‘and it’s a lovely bed. Priceless.’
Now she began to apply herself to the exquisite mysteries of her toilet, and in this occupation absorbed herself entirely. Meantime, her landlady went about to fasten up the windows, as a cold wind was stealing in off the water and the waves had grown choppy. Dusk fell early, whereupon she switched on the porch light to guide the path of the anticipated guest.
At last Ravella descended, smouldered into the front parlour and cast a blazing glance around.
Mrs. Manderville threw up her hands. ‘Well I never! If he didn’t love you before, my dear, he certainly will now!’
‘Of course he will, it’s what I intend. Now, how about a drink then, my good Mrs. M? No, though— I’ll do without, I’ll wait awhile —but then he might come— no, fetch me a gin and tonic.’
With this deliberation she sat down to await his arrival, the hinge of all her designs. She expected him every moment, certain of his eagerness, and supposed every rattle of the door, induced by the wind, to be his knock, every roll of the breakers to be bringing him nearer.
‘Well,’ said Mrs. Manderville, who had already put away half a bottle and was feeling rosy, ‘he’s certainly taking his time!’
‘Give him leave to practice what he’s going to say,’ snapped Ravella. ‘He doesn’t want to put a foot wrong for fear of offending me.’
‘It’s stirring up pretty rough tonight, though. I don’t suppose he’ll come.’
‘He can’t help it!’ she asserted. ‘Listen! That’s his step now. You go let him in, and he can surprise me here reading. Don’t let him smell your breath— be quick, he’s knocking— no, don’t answer too quickly, let him wait— what are you waiting for?’
James Trevick it was. He appeared stern and purposeful, his dark locks tossed by the wind, his eyes passionate and intense. Mrs. Manderville’s heart took a flutter just seeing him, and she obeyed meekly when he desired to see Ravella.
‘Oh! James,’ Ravella said, looking up from a newspaper. ‘So you did come after all. Thank you, Mrs. Manderville.’
The ogling landlady closed the door.
‘Would you like to—’ she resumed, but he cut in.
‘I’ve come here for a reason, Ravella.’
‘Oh yes,’ she replied, impressed by his fervent manner. ‘It seems you’re very eager about it.’
‘Very eager,’ he agreed in a low voice, scrutinising her face.
Ravella felt a little conscious of his avid attention, and sauntered over to the mantelpiece to evade it; but his intense look betrayed his deep emotion, and she thrilled at her conquest.
‘What is it you have to say?’ she asked gently, taking up a small clock and turning the minute hand with her fingertip. ‘I suppose you’ve come to tell me—’
‘I’ve come to tell you how much I hate and resent you, Ravella!’
She gasped and turned, dropping the clock, which smashed on the grate. He advanced towards her vehemently.
‘And in case you mean to mistake me,’ he said, ‘I repeat hate and resent. Don’t speak to me,’ he warned, as she attempted to reply. ‘I don’t want to hear anything more from you— any more lies, any more half-truths, anything at all. I know what you are, Ravella— I’ve caught you out. I know what you’ve done, and what you’ve tried to do— and I detest it, and I detest you.’
He pressed his face close to hers, and, appalled, she tried to dart away, but he caught her arm and yanked her back.
‘No, you’re not going, not until you’ve heard me! I say I know what you are, and I’m going to tell you to your face. I’ve spoken to Clare— I spoke to her today for the first time since we broke up. I wanted to apologise for what’s happened between us, make amends with the past, because I thought— God! I thought I was in love with you! But I’m not blind or stupid enough not to think about what she said to me, how she blamed herself, and how you acted in it all. Oh, she was taken in, and still is, but I could see through it, I could see how you split us up, Ravella, made us both miserable, out of pure spite. And then I began thinking about how you’ve led me on, how you happened to meet me in Hurlevor, how you’ve contrived to make me like you, to make me love you. Well, I had my suspicions, and they’re all confirmed. You’re poisonous, Ravella, and loving you would be taking the poison. You’re a vicious little fortune-hunter with a heart of brass and the mind of a sphinx— I’m sure you congratulated yourself on my coming here and telling you I love you, and laughing all the way to the bank— but it won’t happen— I’ve found you out, and you’re finished!’
Breathless, she reeled back from him, and managed to stutter: ‘Can’t I even defend myself?’
‘Defend!’ he raged. ‘Defend what you’ve done? How could you defend it, to Clare, to me? Don’t you think I wanted to love you, don’t you think it hurts me? Don’t you even care? I thought that what I felt for Clare was false, because what I felt for you was stronger and more changing— but she is true and you are false, and all I’m left with is a lie!’
‘But what about Clare,’ gasped Ravella, ‘she’s mistaken— you’re mistaken—’
‘You can’t argue your way out of it!’ he bellowed. ‘It’s lies feeding on lies, you know it is! Look at you there, with your made-up face and your smart clothes— you’re just a lie!’
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, which caught the comb in her hair, knocked it free and unbound her studied coiffure. With that contemptuous sign he quit the room, leaving Ravella stunned at the devastation of all her plans. She sank to the floor in a stupor.
Mrs. Manderville rushed in immediately on his leaving and dropped down beside her. ‘What is it? What is it?’ she clamoured, though really she had heard it all at the door.
Ravella started up wildly and yanked at her dishevelled hair. ‘I’m caught! I’m blocked! I’m ruined! Fetch me the gin!’ —screamed in a hysterical tone that brooked no refusal.
The wind had stoked up very high and the waves were crashing heavily against the quay— it was a fretful night without and a fretful night within. Ravella gnashed and ground her teeth, and was only partially soothed by the restorative spirit, and that in vast quantities. The hour grew late before her ire diminished to coherence.
Mrs. Manderville attempted to console her. ‘Don’t take it so hard, my darlin’, he didn’t mean all he said.’
‘What? Did you hear him? Did you hear what he called me? A lie! A liar! Well, why should I deny it? The noblest form of communication! Society lives on lies, and he’s as bad as me, as bad as anyone. Poet? Hah! Liar!’
Ravella paced the room like a tigress caged, swigging from the bottle, her hair streaming wildly down her back and her eyes glancing confusedly about.
‘A sphinx, he called me! I wish I were, so I wouldn’t have been cornered by the likes of him! How could he attack me like that? Where was my tongue? What could I say? What have I done— butchered his mother and slept with his father? A little self-interest, that’s all— I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth! He wouldn’t even hear me— he doesn’t know me, or how I feel in the matter— I’d have made him happier than he knows, and it’s all thrown away on a scruple!’
‘He didn’t want to hear you, my love,’ put in Mrs. Manderville. ‘He’s afraid of you. I’ll wager he’s all bluff, and really he hopes you love him. He wanted to teach you a lesson.’
‘He said I have a heart of brass!’ cried Ravella. ‘What kind of rubbish is that? My heart’s as much muscle as anyone’s! It’s too harsh— I still remember how to feel, and he’s stung me sharp enough. A fortune hunter! Well, but at least I have a talent, an ambition— I don’t waste my days hammering out miserable rhymes!’
‘Dry your eyes, now. He’s not worth your tears, and nor’s his money, since he must come with it.’
‘Poison, he said! I’ll give him poison! A strychnine cocktail, and see how he fares on that! Hates and resents me
, does he? How have I deserved hate? Hate! When I’ve made him happy! And isn’t a world of happiness worth a little pocket money in return? I would have listened to him, talked to him, cared for him, amused him, laughed at his jokes, soothed his hurts, bolstered his ego, doted on his paltry poetry— oh, I know all the tricks, don’t I? But that’s not enough for him, he wants all this and nothing in return— the pattern of a man! But what else could I give, what could I promise? And all for what? Hatred! Resentment!’
‘Now, now, don’t fret— and nevermind what he says about hating. I don’t reckon that’s worth the breath he said it with, for all his bellowing. I may not be so sharp as you, my lover, but I’ll tell you this, I’ve lived longer, and I’ve seen enough of men in my time to know that they only ever hate what they’re afraid of, or what they can’t have— anything above that, and they’re just too lazy for it. I’ll bet he’s no different. He says hate loud enough, oh, and resentment too, but it’s because he’s afraid of you, my dear. He’s head over in love with you, and that’s a fact, though he says hate to hide it. He loves you, but he’s gotten a bad opinion of you, so he’s afraid of who he’s in love with, and reckons he can’t do with you anymore. But the truth is, he can’t do without you, my lover, so he rattles on about hate because he knows if he doesn’t, he’ll be rattling on about love instead. I suppose resentment is true