‘What do you think of the coffee this time, Bill?’ said Mr Everard. ‘A bit better, isn’t it?’
‘It’s very good, sir,’ said Mor, pouring the insipid stuff hastily down his throat.
‘Are you suggesting,’ said Miss Carter to Bledyard, ‘that we should treat the representation of the human form in some way quite differently from the presentation of other things?’
‘As you know,’ said Bledyard, ‘we find it natural to make the distinction. Only we do not make it absolutely absolutely enough. When confronted with an object which is not a human being we must of course treat it reverently. We must, if we paint it, attempt to show what it is like in itself, and not treat it as a symbol of our own moods and wishes. The great painter the great painter is he who is humble enough in the presence of the object to attempt merely to show what the object is like. But this merely, in painting, is everything.’
How I agree with you! said Miss Carter. Distantly from the school the two-fifteen bell was heard ringing.
‘But,’ said Bledyard, ‘when we are in the presence of another human being, we are not confronted simply by an object — ’ He paused. ‘We are confronted by God.’
‘Are you teaching the first period, Bill?’ said Mr Everard. ‘I’m sorry, I should have asked you earlier.’
‘No, I’m not, in fact,’ said Mor.
‘Do you mean that we ought not to paint other human beings? asked Miss Carter.
‘Each must find out his own way,’ said Bledyard. ‘If it were possible, ah, if it were possible to treat a head as if it were a spherical material object! But who is great enough to do this?’
‘I don’t see why one should attempt to treat a head as a spherical material object,’ said Mor. ‘We know what a head is, and we know what it is to understand another person by looking into his eyes. I don’t see why the painter should be obliged to forget all this.’
‘Who is worthy to understand another person?’ said Bledyard. He spoke with no more and no less intensity than at the start. He answered Mor’s words, but his eyes were fixed upon Miss Carter. ‘Upon an ordinary material thing we can look with reverence, wondering simply at its being. But when we look upon a human face, we interpret it by what we are ourselves. And what are we?’ Bledyard spread out his two hands, one of which held the untasted cup of coffee.
‘I agree with much of what you say,’ said Miss Carter, speaking quickly before Bledyard could interrupt her. ‘Our paintings are a judgement upon ourselves. I know in what way, and how deplorably, my own paintings show what I am. But still I think — ’
‘It is a fact,’ said Bledyard, ‘that we cannot really observe really observe our betters. Vices and peculiarities are easy to portray. But who can look reverently enough upon another human face? The true portrait painter should be a saint - and saints have other things to do than paint portraits. Religious painters often understand this obscurely. Representations representations of Our Lord are usually not presented as if they were pictures of an individual. Pictures of Our Lord usually affect us by the majesty of the conception, and not by any particular expression or gesture. Where the picture is individualized, as in Caravaggio’s rendering of Christ at Emmaus, we are shocked. We should be equally shocked at any representation of a human face.’
Mr Everard was looking at his watch and shifting restlessly. He began to say something, but Miss Carter got in first. ‘What you say is so very abstract, Mr Bledyard. One might think beforehand that it is impossible to depict a human face with sufficient reverence — and perhaps in some absolute sense sufficient reverence there never is. But if we consider paintings by Rembrandt, by Goya, by Tintoretto, by — ’
Miss Carter’s voice was rising higher. She was becoming extremely excited. Bledyard tried to interrupt her. Mr Everard uttered some half-articulate sound.
Mor, speaking very loudly, managed to drown them all. ‘I’ve got to go now, I’m afraid.’ A sudden silence followed.
Bledyard laid his cup down and stood up. He turned to Mr Everard. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for a very pleasant lunch, Mis-ter Ever-ard. I have enjoyed meeting Miss Miss Carter. I hope I have not stayed stayed too long.’
Miss Carter stood up. She was looking flushed and agitated. She said, ‘Thank you very much indeed — it was so kind of you. I have enjoyed it.’
Evvy was looking ready to drop with exhaustion. They all walked down into the hall. As Mor descended the stairs he saw the little packet of books which he had left on the hall table. He pounced on it and took the opportunity to hand it quickly to Miss Carter. ‘The books I promised you.’
Miss Carter took them distractedly and said, ‘Oh, thank you,’ hardly looking at him. Mor cursed Bledyard. They all came out on to the gravel in front of the house. The blazing heat of the afternoon rose from the earth in waves.
‘Oh, Bill,’ said Evvy, ‘do make my apologies to your wife. I quite meant to invite her, I really meant to, but you know how inefficient I am. At this time of term my memory quite goes. But do tell her, will you, and make my excuses.
‘I will certainly,’ said Mor, who had no intention of passing this idiotic apology on to Nan. He knew how it would be received.
‘And don’t fail to persuade her to make that little speech for us at the dinner,’ said Evvy.
‘I’ll try,’ said Mor. He put his hand up to shield his brow from the sun.
‘Well, I’m so glad you came,’ said Evvy, ‘it was so nice. Now I really must get back to my tasks. End of term in sight, you know. Good-bye, Miss Carter, we shall meet again soon - and thank you so much for coming.’ He retreated quickly into the house and shut the door.
The three guests stood for a moment undecidedly in the drive. Mor thought, if Bledyard says another word I shall crown him. Miss Carter was evidently thinking the same. She scraped the gravel with her feet and said hurriedly, ‘I must be going too. I suppose I can’t give either of you a lift back to the school?’ The invitation did not sound very whole-hearted.
Mor realized with a shock of surprise that the big green Riley which stood at the door must belong to Miss Carter. It seemed to him amazing that such a small woman should own such a large car. The next moment it seemed to him delightful.
Bledyard said at once, ‘No, thank you, Miss Carter. I have my bicycle bicycle here. I shall go on that. So I shall say good-bye.’ He disappeared abruptly round the side of the house.
Mor was left alone with Miss Carter. He thought very quickly. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a most intense wish to ride away in Miss Carter’s car. He said, ‘Yes, please, I’d be very grateful for a lift.’
He opened the door for her, and then jumped in himself on the other side. Miss Carter stowed the parcel of books in the back seat. Then she put on some dark glasses and wrapped a multi-coloured handkerchief round her head. After that she started the engine. As they began to move slowly forward a curious apparition passed them. It was Bledyard, riding his own bicycle and pushing Mor’s. He went by at speed, with head down, and turned off the drive on to the cycle track that led back to the school.
The impudence of him! thought Mor. He hoped that Miss Carter would not realize the significance of the spectacle. He feared that she would. Then suddenly he began to laugh aloud.
‘What is it?’ said Miss Carter.
Mor went on laughing. ‘What a droll fellow Bledyard is!’ he said.
The car gathered pace.
Chapter Six
THE Riley turned on to the main road.
I’m so sorry,‘ said Miss Carter, ’if I sounded rather short when I offered you the lift. I was afraid Mr Bledyard might accept. I really couldn’t have endured his company for another moment.‘
‘That’s all right,’ said Mor. ‘The first hour is the worst. One does get used to him in time. There’s something very remarkable about Bledyard.’
‘He is certainly remarkable,’ said Miss Carter, ‘but infuriating. I’m sure he isn’t mad - but he has a characteristic of mad people. He argues insisten
tly and coherently and with the appearance of logic - but somehow it’s just all wrong, there’s some colossal distortion.’
‘I know,’ said Mor, thinking suddenly of his wife. ‘Yet Bledyard commands respect. One has to ask oneself now and then whether it isn’t one’s own vision that’s distorted.’
‘Yes,’ said Miss Carter. ‘Oh dear!’ She stopped the car abruptly. They were almost outside the main entrance to the school. Do you mind if we talk for a minute or two? I seem to have brought you back already. I really feel knocked out by that conversation. It’s a great relief to be able to talk to you.
‘Not at all,’ said Mor. ‘I’m in no hurry. I haven’t anything special to do this afternoon.’ He felt pleased at what she had said.
“Well, in that case,‘ said Miss Carter, ’perhaps we could drive on a bit. I know it’s very naughty, and I ought to be working, but I really must have some air. I expect you need some too. I’ll bring you back almost at once.‘ She let in the clutch and the Riley glided off again.
Mor immediately began to feel guilty. Although he was not actually teaching, there were in fact a lot of things that he ought to be doing that afternoon. All the same, it was so delightful to fly along in the car, the still summer air changed to a warm breeze, and the noisy menacing main road to an open obedient highway that for once really led somewhere. Mor saw that they had crossed the railway bridge without his even noticing the hill. All this was good for him, he felt, after the strained atmosphere of Mr Everard’s drawing-room. It would be all right to go a little way.
‘I’m really upset by that man,’ said Miss Carter. She was very serious. It was clear that she could think about nothing but Bledyard.
‘Well then, confound him!’ said Mor, laughing, ‘if he upset you!’
‘No, no,’ said Miss Carter, ‘as you said yourself, he may be right - or rather, I don’t actually think he’s right, but it all comes as a sudden — reproach. I take my art very seriously. Indeed, now it’s all I have. I know I’m quite good. I believe I shall be better. But this man makes me feel that everything I do must be rotten. In a way it is - rotten, rotten, I know.’ She said the word as a foreigner would say it, giving it significance. She was speaking excitedly again, her small hand gesturing above the steering-wheel. And as she spoke she accelerated. The sandy edges of the main road flashed madly past and a number of cars were left behind. In a moment the speedometer was at seventy. Miss Carter seemed scarcely to notice. Mor held on to his seat.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘and do slow down. I don’t often travel in cars. As Bledyard said, each must find his own way. And as you said, his remarks are too abstract. The answer to him is the works themselves. And your answer is your work. When you’re not distracted by theories, when you’re alone with the work, you know what you have to do, and at least in what direction perfection lies.’ Mor spoke earnestly. He felt that here too was something to be taught, something to be understood. And he too had something which he must try to understand. He wanted to continue the conversation.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Miss Carter. She put the brake on, and they proceeded for a little way in silence. By this time they had reached the outskirts of Marsington. The car stopped at the traffic lights.
‘Turn left here,’ said Mor. ‘Let’s get off the main road.’ He didn’t want to go past Tim Burke’s shop.
They turned, and in a moment or two they were in a country lane. The murmur of the traffic diminished to silence. The leaves met over their heads. Miss Carter slowed the car down. ‘This is a surprise,’ she said, ‘that to escape is so easy. I wonder if there is a river anywhere near here? I feel so hot - it would be wonderful to see some water. I suppose it’s too far to go to the sea?’
‘Oh, much too far!’ said Mor, scandalized. It’s rather a dry country about here, but I expect I could find some sort of little river for you. Let me see. Yes, if you drive on another few miles there should be one. Drive on anyhow, and I’ll recognize the way when I see it.‘
‘Are you sure I’m not keeping you from anything?’ said Miss Carter. ‘You must say as soon as you want to go back. Or perhaps I could take you somewhere, or go and collect something for you? I believe you said you hadn’t got a car.’
‘I haven’t,’ said Mor, ‘and in fact you could help me by dropping me in a little while quite near here. There’s someone I ought to see, and since we’re so close I might as well go this afternoon. It’ll save me a railway journey. But let’s find your river first. It won’t take long.’ It had occurred to Mor that since he was practically in Marsington he might call again on Tim Burke. In his exalted state of mind of the previous evening he had failed to have a sufficiently precise conversation with Tim. He ought to be, Mor thought, more fully briefed about the financial aspect of the enterprise before raising the question with either Nan or Evvy. Nan would be certain to make some objections on the grounds of finance — and in order to convince her his answers must be exact. Another talk with Tim would be exceedingly useful.
‘Good,’ said Miss Carter. The road opened before them and she let the car take it at a rush. Mor’s recent nervousness was clearly far from her mind. From the expression on her face he suspected she was still thinking of Bledyard’s reproach. He saw her eyes side view behind the dark glasses and they were large with thought. She held the steering-wheel lightly with one small hand, and the other arm lay along the edge of the window. A grove of pine trees swept past behind her head, and an odour of sand and resin filled the car. It was indeed a dry country.
It occurred to Mor that he had told Nan he would be back for tea. He said to Miss Carter, ‘Would you mind stopping if you see a telephone-box? I must just ring my wife to tell her what time I’ll be back.’
‘Certainly,’ said Miss Carter. A telephone-box appeared very soon, and she stopped the car.
Mor went into the box and fumbled for his sixpence. A curious stillness surrounded him after the sound of the engine. Out of this, in a moment or two, came Nan’s voice speaking. She always sounded apprehensive when she picked up the telephone. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello, Nan,’ said Mor. ‘It’s Bill. I just thought I’d ring to say I won’t be home for tea. I’ve got one or two things to do, and then I have to go and see Tim Burke about a Labour Party thing.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Nan. ‘When will you be home?’
‘Oh, about five-thirty, I expect,’ said Mor. ‘Maybe sooner. Cheerio.’
He put the phone down. Then he stood quite still in the telephone-box and a strange cold feeling came over him. Why on earth had he done that? Why had he told Nan a lie? Why hadn’t he said that he was out with Miss Carter in the car? He hadn’t even reflected about it, he had told the lie immediately, without even thinking. Why? He supposed it must have been because he was vaguely aware that Nan would be very sarcastic and unpleasant about his wasting the afternoon in this way. But this wasn’t a reason for telling her a lie. Anyhow, it was so idiotic. Anyone might have seen him and Miss Carter in the car together. But that wasn’t the point. He ought not to have lied to Nan. He came slowly out of the box.
‘What’s the matter,’ said Miss Carter. ‘You look very strange. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, fine,’ said Mor. ‘I’m just feeling the heat a bit. I’ll be better when the car’s started.’
Miss Carter gave him an anxious glance and they set off.
Here I am telling another lie, said Mor to himself. Suddenly he said to Miss Carter, ‘I’m sorry, that’s not true. The fact is that, I don’t know why, I didn’t tell my wife that I was with you in the car — which was very foolish of me.’
Miss Carter turned to look at him. Her eyes were hidden behind the dark, glasses. Now she’ll despise me, thought Mor. She’ll despise me for telling the lie, and she’ll despise me for telling her that I told it.
‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Carter. ‘You’ll have to tell her when you get back. She won’t mind much, will she? But I expect she’ll be cross with me.’
Mor felt a sudden relief and an enormous liking for Miss Carter. Of course, it was straightforward enough, and not much harm would be done. He would have a nasty half-hour with Nan, that was all. He was grateful to Miss Carter for the simple way in which she had dealt with it, and he was glad now that he had told her.
‘You’re perfectly right, of course,’ said Mor, ‘and naturally I shall tell her when I get back. She’ll be cross with me, quite rightly, but she won’t be cross with you - I’ll see that she isn’t. I’m so sorry about this. I really am a fool.’
The car had been speeding along as they talked. ‘Where are we now?’ said Miss Carter.
Mor wasn’t quite sure. ‘Drive on a bit,’ he said. ‘We may have missed the turning. I’ll recognize something in a moment.’ He felt that this last exchange had broken some barrier between himself and Miss Carter, and he found himself now more at ease in her presence. For a moment he was almost glad of his foolishness.