‘What does that mean — ?’
‘But as, I can’t explain it, as a complete gift, I wanted to change my life so as to work with him, I still want to, to do some good in the world — ’
‘But what about sex? I know Stuart’s given it up, but with you on the scene — I must say I’m amazed — ’ Edward felt the amazement warming him, or perhaps it was the sherry. Midge looked more animated too.
‘He was cold. He told me to stop lying, to tell Thomas all about Harry, you see at that time Thomas didn’t know, he only found out from that newspaper — ’
‘What newspaper?’
‘May Baltram published an article about Jesse and she brought it right up to date! She actually described that evening at Seegard, how Harry and I arrived incognito, how they found out who we were — ’
‘Oh Midge — in a newspaper?’
‘Then the gossip columnists took it up. Apparently she’s written her life story in volumes, all about Jesse’s love life, all about Chloe, yards of spiteful stuff, and it’ll all be printed, she hates everybody. She’s probably writing lies about you at this very moment.’
‘I don’t believe that. But she described what happened, and Thomas read it? What a rotten way for him to find out — ’
‘Yes. I was very sorry about that. I was just going to tell him.’
‘What else did Stuart say? Wasn’t he tempted? What an extraordinary business!’
‘Tempted? Of course not. He told me it was all an illusion.’
‘But you want him, you desire him? That’s being in love.’
‘Yes — but it’s impossible like that — it must be in the other way — ’
‘I don’t understand this. I suppose he told you to stay with your husband?’
‘No. He didn’t say that. Just that I should tell everyone the truth — ’
‘And leave him alone! It doesn’t sound as if he’s done you much good.’
‘Oh he has, he has — such good — like a revelation — ’
‘Sorry, Midge, I can’t buy this — let’s get it clearer. Were you very much in love with Harry?’
‘Yes, very much, and for a long time, I wanted to be married to him, only I couldn’t see how.’
‘But could this stop so suddenly? It isn’t that you just decided you preferred Thomas? This idea of your being in love with Stuart seems to me perfect nonsense, it’s daft, it’s false, it can’t be so, it must mean something else! What did Thomas say?’
‘He thinks I’m still in love with Harry. He thinks this is an episode in my love for Harry. A sort of shock effect.’
‘Have you been seeing Harry?’
‘Yes, but not in the old way.’
‘How rotten for everybody! God, what a mess. You know, I think Stuart’s a red herring.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He’s not part of the thing at all, he’s just an external impulse, a sort of jolt, a solid entity, something you bump into. It’s all just happening in your mind. Your thinking you’re in love with Stuart is just an effect of things breaking up, of seeing an open scene, you’re surprised by your own ability to see things differently — ’
‘It doesn’t feel like that,’ said Midge. ‘I want to be with him, and he may never want to see me, and when I think that I don’t want to live — and it prevents me from thinking about them — ’
‘Them?’
‘Them.’ Midge found difficulty in putting it otherwise.
‘You mean Thomas and Harry. That’s just it. It’s an escape from choice. And thinking you love Stuart gives you a new kind of energy and makes a holiday from having to sort out the other thing — which you’ll have to go back to — wait, wait, you said everything you’d wanted became worthless. Perhaps there was a revelation, but you’ll have to judge it — you’ll have to see it all — perhaps Stuart has done something for you — ’ Edward was getting quite excited.
‘I can’t,’ said Midge, ‘I can’t judge, I can’t see, I want him to comfort me — it’s all awful — I’m awful — ’ She began to cry so quietly that it was a moment before Edward noticed that her cheeks had become wet.
‘Oh darling Midge, don’t cry, let me comfort you, let me hold your hand.’ Edward pushed his chair up close to hers so that their knees were touching. He took hold of Midge’s hand, and the next moment her head fell heavily against his shoulder. He leaned over until his long lank dark hair was mingling with her fair fragrant hair in which he could now see so many strands of different colours. He put an arm round her shoulders and cradled her until she drew back. He felt, which he had not done when he had so much admired her when he entered the drawing room, a sense of her whole body, its weight, its warmth, its softness, its being covered by clothes.
‘Lend me a hankie, Edward.’
‘Here. Now let’s sort it out together. Don’t worry about Stuart. In some way you’ll do him good. You’ll have shaken him. He’ll have to try, he’ll have to think what’s best to do, and of course he’ll see you again and want to be your friend. There’s a bond between you.’
‘You think so?’
‘Yes. So that can be good for both of you. But this being in love is an illusion, in a sense it must be, it’s a momentary flash. Stuart’s external, it’s all in you, Stuart’s nothing, he’s powerless, he’s an unreal element, I mean he’s just a happening, you’ve invented him. In the way you imagine it you’re not really connected at all. Harry and Thomas are real. And Meredith is real.’
‘I could get custody of Meredith in a law court — oh what a nightmare it all is — and Thomas was so cold — ’
‘He would be. He’s so used to not showing his feelings he probably had to withdraw a bit. Poor old Thomas, after all it’s pretty rough on him. You know how much he loves you, you must know that however cold he is. Where is he incidentally?’
‘At Quitterne. He went away and left me — to decide what I wanted — ’
‘And what do you want?’
‘I don’t know — You think Stuart won’t hate me? I want to change my life — ’
‘You have changed it. You’ve stopped having a secret love affair. If Stuart made you feel it was awful perhaps that was the right feeling. You can go on changing your life, you can do lots of good, after all what’s stopping you, what’s stopping any of us from doing lots of good — ’ Edward paused for a moment, impressed by the idea he had just uttered — ‘Of course Stuart won’t hate you, he’s crammed with good intentions, don’t worry about Stuart, it’s his thing that people don’t have to worry about him, it’s as if he isn’t there, if he’s done something to you it’s because that something was ready to happen anyway. If you really hate the thing with Harry and you realise Stuart can only be an inspiring friend, just look around and think what real things are left, plenty I’d say. On the other hand, if you’re really still desperately in love with Harry — ’
Midge, who had been looking intently at Edward and still holding his hand, suddenly stood up and put her hands to her face. She had heard the soft click of a key turning in the front door. Two people had that key, Harry and Thomas. She said to Edward, ‘Go and stop him. Then tell me which it is.’
Edward darted to the drawing-room door and closed it behind him. The man in the hall was Thomas.
Thomas looked at Edward with a strange expression, intense and searching and at the same time mischievous, as if it were Edward’s birthday and Thomas had brought a secret present for him. He did not seem to be surprised to see him. ‘Hello, Edward.’
‘Thomas, she’s in there. She asked me to find out which one it was — ’
‘I’ll announce myself. How are you?’
‘Better,’ said Edward. Was he better?
‘Good boy. Come and see me here tomorrow.’
‘I’m going to Seegard tomorrow,’ said Edward. This too had just come into his head. ‘I’ve got to,’ he said, ‘I won’t stay — ’
‘Well, come and see me very soon. Did you go back to that room??
??
‘Yes — you were right — but it’s enough — ’
‘Go to Harry, he may need you. I’m glad you’ve been with Midge. Now buzz off.’
As Edward passed Thomas, Thomas’s right hand gripped Edward’s left. As he opened the front door Thomas was pausing at the drawing-room door and looking back at him. Edward went out into the street closing the front door behind him.
Seegard in the bright soft afternoon sunlight looked different again, like an overgrown parish church with its stout tower and irregular nave. The light was kind to it, smoothing in the streaky stains upon the concrete of the tower, making the soiled surface seem old, giving it a hazy golden-brown patina like lichen-covered stone. The yellow rape had faded but other fields were shimmering with barley and stiffblue-green wheat. He thought, I have seen the seasons change and the year turn in this place. Along the track wild roses were profusely in flower, some with stiff petals, large and pink, some small and frail and almost white like scraps of paper. The cow parsley was over, which Ilona called fretty chervil.
Edward stopped just before he came to the avenue of trees, and looked about and listened. He could hear a lark and a distant cuckoo, but these sounds scarcely disturbed, even accentuated, a deep warm silence which hung over the land and the house. He could not hear the river. He went slowly forward, stepping upon the pavement, until he came to the last feathery ash tree. Then he stopped again. The main door into the barn was shut. He looked at the windows of Selden, at his own window, then up at the tower. The idea of being covertly observed disturbed him. He felt guilty, an intruder, someone who might legitimately be shot at. He had prepared, even for himself, no explanation of his visit. He had now twice run away without a word. How would this be viewed? Had they noticed, did they care, were they even there any more? As soon as he had seen Thomas Edward had realised that it was essential to go back, not to try to find out ‘what had happened’, but simply to make peace, to establish himself as acceptable and real, and then make a more dignified and considerate departure. They must do this for him, be kind to him, meet him without anger, accept him as a mourner, bring a certain period of time, a certain drama, to a quiet close, set him free. After that the question of his further connection with Seegard and its inhabitants might become an ordinary question which could be rationally considered.
Free to do what? To return to the beginning, to his guilt and anguish about Mark, go back to that as to an interrupted task? Settle down to a lifetime of unanswered questions about Jesse? He had certainly not come to Seegard seeking some total clarification, there could be none. See Midge again and find out what she had decided? Talking to Midge had felt somehow good, perhaps simply because it had aroused some ordinary animal-like curiosity about the world outside himself which had been dead for such a long time. Look after Harry, talk to Stuart? Follow Ilona to Paris? He felt miserable about Ilona; supposing something awful happened to her in Paris? Was this yet another radiant source of guilt which would travel with him? He proposed not to think too much about that. The urgent thing, the real thing, which was now his duty, was to find Brownie, to be with Brownie, to immerse himself in her presence as in a healing spring. How feeble his attempts to find her now seemed, how pusillanimous, slinking about near her mother’s house, ashamed to go to Sarah’s. He had been so tired, suffering from a sort of moral lassitude. He had lacked an energy and a courage which he would perhaps regain if he could make his peace with Seegard. Then he would bang on her mother’s door, interrogate Sarah, find her friends in Cambridge, follow her to America if necessary. Then indeed nothing should prevent him from finding Brownie and marrying her.
Edward tried the door of the Atrium, it was open, he stepped inside. He had expected to suffer from shock, but had not anticipated the electrical wave of emotion which rushed at him and over him as he quickly closed the door and took a step into the huge room. He trembled, then sat down quickly on a chair. There were two chairs standing together near the door in an unusual position, and as he sat he realised that these were the chairs upon which Harry and Midge had sat, like disgraced prisoners, on the evening of their disastrous apparition. No one had moved the chairs. He got up at last and placing his feet cat-like upon the slates moved to the table. There were some clean plates piled upon it, and a cup with some liquid in it. He walked to the door of the Interfectory and peered in. The room was empty, sleepy, shabby, untidy, smelling as usual of decaying books and dirty ancient cushions. He went to the door into the tower. It was unlocked and he went through into the big ground floor ‘art gallery’ room. This was different. Jesse’s pictures had all been taken down and stacked against the walls showing only their backs. He hastily returned to the hall, he had begun to feel he was looking for Jesse, walking less cautiously now but still unable to break the silence with any cry of ‘Hello!’ or ‘Where are you?’ As he padded towards Transition he noticed that the tapestry of the girl pursuing the flying fish had been taken down and was folded into a thick pile beside the wall. Perhaps it had already been bought by an American. The potted plants had also been moved, pushed much more closely together in their corner so that their branches were bent and overlapping, some had been broken, they looked dusty and drooping too, perhaps forgotten and un-watered. He thought, Ilona watered them. One of them seemed to be dead; it was the one into which he had poured Ilona’s love potion, and which had grasped at him with its leafy arms when he had been about to leave the house on his first flight. He paused to pity it, then hurried on to Transition. The kitchen was untidy, some crockery left in a wash-bowl. The big stove was out, but the deepfreeze ‘large enough to contain a human body’, was purring. In the washroom there was a pile of clean towels. Edward checked his instinct to pick them up and take them to the airing cupboard. If he found no one he would not want them to know that he had passed through the house like a ghost. As he opened the door into Selden he heard a stutter of sound which he took to be a swallow singing, until he realised it was Mother May’s typewriter.
Edward sped along the west corridor and out onto the terrace by the door in the façade. The sound of the typewriter, also reminding him of what Midge had told him, made him feel unready to confront Mother May. He did not trust Midge’s account of the matter, but the idea of someone writing about his mother, perhaps about him, dismayed him very much. He recalled the way Midge had said, about Jesse and Chloe, ‘now they’re both dead’; and for a second his mother’s ghost appeared beside the path he was following, opening its arms and uttering a soundless shriek. Edward hurried on. The person he wanted to see was Bettina. But perhaps by now she too had fled. He passed the ilexes and the orchard. Here too things had changed. The poplar trees had been cut down. The felled trees lay, neatly denuded already of their branches, long smooth poles aligned in the grass. The tree men had cleared the scene. At the river the grass had grown so high along the bank that he missed the slatted bridge at first and had to retrace his steps. He crossed easily over the sunken level of the docile more gently flowing stream. The wood was darkly shaded and the saplings upon the hillside, through which he had passed so easily before, were now in full leaf, forming sticky screens which picked at his clothes and sprang back at his face. His feet discovered the little path which was overhung by plants and scarcely visible. He could feel the tree roots and little woody icons underfoot. He thrust his way in, seeing the sunlight beyond, and came out onto the level of the dromos.
The sun, shining into his face, dazzled him as he began to look and to move toward the yellow lingam stone. Someone was sitting on the low fluted column which formed the pedestal. It was Bettina.
‘Hello,’ said Edward, ‘I thought you might be here.’
‘Hello Edward,’ said Bettina, ‘I thought you might come.’
Bettina too had cut her hair, though not so short as Ilona’s. It fell thick shaggy and uneven almost to her shoulders. She had probably cut it herself savagely, very quickly. He pictured her with angry eyes, armed with long scissors, staring into a mirror late
at night. He found himself saying, ‘What did you do with your hair, all the stuff you cut off?’
‘I burnt it.’ She was wearing one of her ‘good’ flowery dresses, not woven, but made of light cotton, which she had hitched up over her knees revealing long slim brown bare legs and sandalled feet. She sat leaning forward, her long necklace swinging gently. As Edward looked she pulled her skirt down.
After a moment’s silence he said, ‘Those plants need watering, the ones in the hall.’
‘Yes. Yes.’
Bettina with short straight hair looked younger, cleverer, foxier, like some casual stylish boy who might be pointed out as a brilliant student. Edward saw her now for the first time as separate, lonely, someone with a private individual future, not part of a trio, and his heart was touched. Also he saw her likeness to Jesse, and with a strange pang her likeness to himself, as he read or conjectured a reciprocal vision in her face, as she narrowed her light grey eyes in the sunshine and thrust back her untidy hair. She did not smile, but regarded Edward with a not unbenevolent curiosity. She said, ‘You’re wearing Jesse’s ring.’
‘Yes. It’s mine. He gave it to me.’ Surely that’s true isn’t it? thought Edward. There was no other possible answer. He was not going to surrender the ring. He said, ‘I see the poplars are dead.’ He had meant to say, ‘cut down’.
‘Yes, we had them cut down.’
‘Surely you don’t need the money now?’
Bettina continued to stare at him and did not answer.
Edward sat down on the grass, it was warm. ‘Why is the grass here always so short?’
‘The tree men put sheep in.’
‘Why did May ask me to Seegard?’
‘She felt she had to, after she got Thomas McCaskerville’s letter.’