"Yes, isn"t it, we got the house for the view really."
"My house just looks on the rocks and the sea. It"s nice for swimming though. Do you swim much?"
"No, Ben can"t swim."
"I like your big window, you can see all round."
"Yes, it"s nice, isn"t it." She added, "It"s our dream house."
"Have you got electricity?" asked Fitch, who had hitherto been silent. I rated this as a definitely friendly remark. "No. You have, haven"t you, that must be a blessing. I get along with oil lamps and calor gas."
"Got a car?"
"No. Have you?"
"No. What brought you to this part of the world?"
"Well, no special reason, a friend of mine described it to me, she grew up near here, and I wanted to retire near the sea, and houses are cheaper here than"
"They aren"t all that cheap," said Fitch.
All this while my visible surroundings were, now that I was accustomed to the light, imprinting themselves upon me with the sharpness and authority of a picture. I was conscious of my awkwardly outstretched legs, my still flushed face, my fast heart-beat, the stuffy rose-scented air to which the open window seemed to have made no difference, and the fact that I felt at a disadvantage in a low chair. I took in the brown and yellow floral design on the carpet, the light brown wallpaper, the shiny ochre tiles round the electric fire which was set in the wall. Two round bra.s.s bas-reliefs representing churches hung on either side of the fire. A funny-looking s.h.a.ggy rug upon the carpet was making extra difficulties for one of the table legs. There was a large television set with more roses on top of it. No books. The room was very clean and tidy, so perhaps, except for watching television, life went on in the kitchen. The one sign of habitation was, on one of the chairs, a glossy mail order catalogue and an ash tray with a pipe in it. At the table Hartley and Fitch were sitting stiff and upright, like a married pair rendered by a primitive painter. There was something especially primitive about the clear outlines and well-defined surfaces of Fitch"s eccentric and not altogether unpleasing face. Hartley"s face was, perhaps just in my timid fugitive vision of it, hazier, restless, a soft moon of whiteness with hidden eyes. I was able to look only at her flowing yellow dress, round-necked, rather resembling a night-dress, and patterned all over with tiny brown flowers. Fitch was wearing a shabby light blue suit, jacket and trousers, with a thin brown stripe. Braces were visible through the unb.u.t.toned jacket, which he had probably pulled on when I was announced. His blue shirt was clean. Hartley patted down, then plumped up, the waves other grey hair. I felt sick with emotion and embarra.s.sment and shame and a desire to get away and a.s.sess what all this was doing to me.
"Have you lived here long?"
"Two years," said Fitch.
"Still settling in really," said Hartley.
"We saw you on television," said Fitch. "Mary was thrilled, she remembered you."
"Yes, of course, she remembered me from school, of course"
"We don"t know any celebrities, quite a thrill, eh?"
To get off this loathsome subject I said, "Is your son still at school?"
"Our son?" said Fitch.
"No, he"s left school," said Hartley.
"He"s adopted, you know," said Fitch.
Earlier on they had been fiddling now and then with their forks, pretending to be about to eat. Now they had laid them down. They were looking, not at me, but at the carpet near my feet. Fitch shot an occasional glance at me. I decided it was time to go.
"Well, it"s very kind of you to let me call. I must be off now. I"m so sorry I interrupted youryour meal. I do hope you"ll come over and visit me soon. Are you on the telephone?"
"Yes, but it"s out of order," said Fitch.
Hartley had risen hastily. I got up and tripped over the s.h.a.ggy rug. "What a nice rug."
"Yes," said Hartley, "it"s a rag rug/ "A-?"
"A rag rug. Ben makes them." She opened the sitting-room door.
Fitch got up more slowly and as he now moved, standing aside to wave me out of the room, I saw that he limped. He said, "You go first, I"ve got a gammy leg. Old war wound."
I said, as I went through the dim hall towards the glaring brightness of the oval gla.s.s on the door, "Well, we must be in touch, mustn"t we, I do hope you"ll both come over and have a drink and see my funny house and "
Hartley swung the front door open.
"Goodbye, thanks for calling," said Fitch.
I was on the red tiled path and the door had closed. As soon as I was out of sight I began to run. I reached the village street panting and began to walk more slowly along the footpath which led to the coast road. As I walked I began to have a weird uncomfortable sensation in my back which, amid all the wild emotions and sensations which were rushing about inside me, I could identify as the sensation of being observed. I was about to turn round when it came to me that I was now well inside the span of the Nibletts view and within range of Fitch"s "powerful field gla.s.ses, should he care to sit on the window ledge and check on my departure. Parts of the village street were plainly visible from Nibletts, though the church and the churchyard were hidden by trees. So was that the explanation of Hartley"s uneasiness, her thought that perhaps Fitch had actually seen me meet her and lead her away towards the church? She had, I remembered, walked behind me, not with me. How odd it must have looked though, with me as a crazed Orpheus and her as a dazed Eurydice. Yet why should she be afraid of being seen to meet somebody, even me, in the street? Resisting the present temptation to look back I walked smartly on and was soon among the stunted trees and gorse bushes and rocky outcrops near to the road, and out of sight from the hill. It was still very hot. I pulled off my jacket. It was soaked under the arms with dark stains of anxious perspiration and the dye had stained my shirt.
I then began to wonder many things, some very immediate, others vastly remote and metaphysical. First there was the question I had so belatedly asked myself when I was ringing the bell. Evidently Hartley had told her husband that she knew me, but when and how, and indeed why, had she told him? Years and years ago when she first met him? After they got married? When they "saw me on telly"? Or even, when she got home this morning from our meeting in the street? "Oh, I just met someone I used to know, such a surprise." And she might then recall their having seen me on television. But no, this was too elaborate. She must have told him much earlier, after all why on earth not: did I want want her to have kept me a secret? As indeed I had so devotedly kept her a secret... Why had I done so? Because she was something holy which almost any speech would profane. In so far as I had ever mentioned Hartley to anyone I had always regretted it. No one understood, no one could understand. Better the austere sterility of silence. One of the horrors of marriage is that the partners are supposed to tell each other everything. "It"s him." They had obviously been talking about me today. I just hated the idea that, through all those years, they could have chatted about me, dismissed me, demeaned it all, chewed it all up into some sort of digestible matrimonial pabulum. "Your schoolboy admirer has done well for himself!" Fitch called her "Mary". Well, that was her name too. But "Hartley" was her real name. In choosing to abandon it had she deliberately abandoned her past? her to have kept me a secret? As indeed I had so devotedly kept her a secret... Why had I done so? Because she was something holy which almost any speech would profane. In so far as I had ever mentioned Hartley to anyone I had always regretted it. No one understood, no one could understand. Better the austere sterility of silence. One of the horrors of marriage is that the partners are supposed to tell each other everything. "It"s him." They had obviously been talking about me today. I just hated the idea that, through all those years, they could have chatted about me, dismissed me, demeaned it all, chewed it all up into some sort of digestible matrimonial pabulum. "Your schoolboy admirer has done well for himself!" Fitch called her "Mary". Well, that was her name too. But "Hartley" was her real name. In choosing to abandon it had she deliberately abandoned her past?
When I got home, although it was still very light outside, the house seemed dark and by contrast with the sunshine, cool and damp. I poured myself some sherry and bitters and took it out onto my little rock-surrounded lawn at the back and sat on the rug which I had placed upon the rock seat beside the trough where I put the stones. But it was at once intolerable not to see the water, so I climbed up a bit, gingerly holding my gla.s.s, and sat on top of a rock. The sea was now a bluish purple, the colour of Hartley"s eyes. Oh G.o.d, what was I to make of it all? Whatever happened I must try not to suffer. But in order for me not to suffer two incompatible states of affairs had to exist: I had to achieve a steady permanent and somehow close relationship with Hartley, and I had to avoid entering a h.e.l.l of jealousy. Also of course I must not disturb her marriage. And yet why "of course"...?
No, no, I could not, would not think of disturbing her marriage. It would be unthinkably immoral to try, and there was no reason to imagine that I would necessarily succeed if I did try! That way madness lay. I did not, looking at that pair, imagine that the glamour of a "celebrity" would be much to conjure with. This made me think of how Hartley looked looked, that slightly vague fey look she had always had of looking past one. I had sometimes allowed myself the luxury of brooding upon her remorse. Perhaps she had felt remorse. But nowthe person I had loved, and loved now, was not likely to be stupidly dazzled by a "reputation". So if I was searching for cracks in the fabric... Well of course I was not doing that, I was just trying to understand. I could make little, on reflection, of le mari le mari. I had expected, I now realized, an insignificant little man. I had doubtless required and wanted an insignificant little man. But Fitch was somehow, I could not quite think why, riot insignificant. What was was he like? What went on inside the sealed container of this marriage? And would I ever know? I could not help at least feeling rather pleased that t.i.tus was adopted. he like? What went on inside the sealed container of this marriage? And would I ever know? I could not help at least feeling rather pleased that t.i.tus was adopted.
All this led me back to the now somehow central question: is she happy? is she happy? Of course I knew enough about the mystery of marriage to be aware that this may be a frivolous question to ask about a married person. People may be settled into ways of life which preclude continued happiness, but which are satisfactory and far to be preferred to alternatives. A small number of married couples are increasingly pleased with each other and radiate happiness. Sidney and Rosemary Ashe radiated happiness. There was certainly no such radiation up at Nibletts; though of course I must take into account the unease caused by my sudden appearance. There had been an awkwardness the cause of which was obscure. And surely, if they Of course I knew enough about the mystery of marriage to be aware that this may be a frivolous question to ask about a married person. People may be settled into ways of life which preclude continued happiness, but which are satisfactory and far to be preferred to alternatives. A small number of married couples are increasingly pleased with each other and radiate happiness. Sidney and Rosemary Ashe radiated happiness. There was certainly no such radiation up at Nibletts; though of course I must take into account the unease caused by my sudden appearance. There had been an awkwardness the cause of which was obscure. And surely, if they had had been very happy together, they would both instinctively have wanted to been very happy together, they would both instinctively have wanted to show off show off this happiness to the intruding outsider? A happy couple cannot help showing off. Sidney and Rosemary did it all the time. So did Victor and Julia. And yet this was inconclusive. What was plain, and this indeed was the thought which prevented the awful pain from beginning, was that I must soon see Hartley again, alone if possible, and get some clearer picture of the situation. this happiness to the intruding outsider? A happy couple cannot help showing off. Sidney and Rosemary did it all the time. So did Victor and Julia. And yet this was inconclusive. What was plain, and this indeed was the thought which prevented the awful pain from beginning, was that I must soon see Hartley again, alone if possible, and get some clearer picture of the situation.
As the sun began to go down and the sea was turning gold under a very pale green sky I laid my empty gla.s.s in a cranny and crawled up to a higher rock from which I could get a view of the whole expanse of water. In the lurid yet uncertain light I found that I was now suddenly scanning the scene and watching it intently. What was I looking for? I was looking for that sea monster.
The next day before nine o"clock I was entering the church. I had reached it by a roundabout route, first climbing over the rocks on the other side of the road, then veering away through the gorse in the direction of the Raven Hotel, crossing the bog on the seaward side of Amorne Farm, going through three fields and three p.r.i.c.kly hedges, and approaching Narrowdean from inland along the main road. By this method I did not at any point enter the Nibletts "view". I tried not to feel sure that Hartley would come to the church; in any case I decided that it was the only place where it was worth keeping a vigil, since it was more unlikely that she would walk out to Shruff End. Of course there was no one there, although someone had been in since yesterday and had put upon the altar a vast odorous bowl of white roses which disturbed me with all sorts of deep incoherent unconceptualized apprehensions. Time had suffered a profound disturbance, and I could feel all sorts of dark debris from the far past shifting and beginning to move up towards the surface. I sat feeling sick and reading the Ten Commandments which were almost illegibly inscribed upon a brown board behind the roses, and trying not to pay any special attention to the tenth and seventh and trying not at every moment to expect Hartley. The bright sun was blazing in through the tali rounded leaded faintly-greenish gla.s.s windows of the church and making the big room, for that after all was all that it was, feel weird and uneasy. There was a good deal of dust about, moving idly and airily in the sunlight, and the smell of the roses mingled with the dust and with some old musty woody smell, and the place seemed unused and very empty and a little mad. It seemed a suitable spot for a strange momentous interview. I felt frightened. Was I frightened of Fitch?
I waited in the church for more than an hour. I walked up and down. I read all the memorial tablets carefully. I smelt the roses. I read pieces of the horrible new prayer book (no wonder the churches are empty). I inspected the embroidered ha.s.socks wrought by the local ladies. I climbed onto the pews and looked out of the windows. I thought of poor Dummy lying out there in the churchyard, scarcely more speechless now than he ever was. At about twenty past ten I decided that I had to get out into the air. It was all a great mistake, hiding in the church when Hartley might be walking openly about the streets. I wanted to see her so much that I was nearly moaning aloud. I ran out and went down through the iron gate and sat on a seat where I could see quite a lot of the little "high street", but without being visible from the hillside. After a few minutes I saw a woman who looked like Hartley creeping along by the wall on the far side of the street, going in the direction of the shop. I say "creeping along" because that was part of my first vision of her as an old woman, before I knew who she was, and it was this "old woman" image that I was seeing now. I jumped up and set off after her. As she crossed the road she turned slightly and saw me and increased her pace. It was Hartley all right and she was running away from me! She did not go into the shop, but whisked round into what I called Fishermen"s Stores Street. When I reached the corner running, she was nowhere to be seen. I went into the Fishermen"s Stores, but she was not there. I wanted to howl with exasperation. I ran along to the end of the street where it petered out in a few derelict cottages and a five-barred gate and a large meadow fringed by trees. She could not have crossed that meadow. Had she gone into one of the houses? I ran back; then I saw a little alleyway leading off the street, a narrow sunless fissure between the blank sides of two houses. I ran down it, stumbled over a strewing of pebbles, and turned a sharp corner into a square enclosed s.p.a.ce between the low whitewashed walls of backyards, where there were a number of overflowing dustbins and old cardboard boxes and an abandoned bicycle. And there, standing quite still in the middle of this scene, was Hartley. She was standing just behind a low outcrop of the sparkling yellow rock which surrounded my house. She looked at me out of a sort of resigned trance-like calm, staring and unsmiling, and yet I could see that inwardly she was trembling like a quarry. The dark shadow of a wall fell across the yard, dividing the rock and somehow composing the picture, covering Hartley"s feet as she stood there holding a basket and her handbag. She was wearing a blue cotton dress today with a closely packed design of white daisies, and a loose baggy brown cardigan over it, although the day was already hot. I ran up to her and seized hold not of her arm but of the handle of her shopping basket. This chase, this catch, had frightened us both. "Oh Hartley, don"t do it, don"t run away from me, it"s mad, thank G.o.d I found you, if I hadn"t I"d have gone crazy! I must talk to you. Come to the church, please."
I pulled at the handle of the basket and she walked in front of me down the narrow alley.
"You go to the church. I"ll follow you after I"ve shopped. Yes, I promise."
I went back to the church. After that chase, after that awful enclosed s.p.a.ce with the dustbins and the rock and the bicycle, I too was trembling. She came in ten minutes. I went to take her heavy basket from her. I simply did not know how to behave to her, there was some profound awful barrier of what I felt as embarra.s.sment, though it was also dread. If only some touch of grace could turn all this pain into communication and the gestures of love. But grace in every sense was lacking. I felt now a frantic desire to touch her, to hold her, but I could think of no way of achieving this, as if it would have been an amazing physical feat. We sat down where we had sat before, she in the pew in front, turning round to me.
"Why did you hide hide? I can"t bear this. We mustwe must somehow get a grip grip on this situationI shall go mad" on this situationI shall go mad"
"Charles, please don"t be soand please don"t call round unexpectedly like that "
"I"m sorrybut I"ve got to see youI still care about you. What do you expect me to do? At least we"ve got to be friends, now we"ve got this chance tothis chanceOf course I won"t do anything you don"t wantPleaselook, couldn"t you and your husband come round and see me, come round for drinks tomorrow at six, well at five, at seven, any time that suits you. Come to funny old Shruff End, I want you to see the house. Why not?"
Hartley was hunched up, her head shrunk into her neck, the rumpled collar of her blue dress cupping her hair. She was looking down, almost hidden by the pew. "Please don"t expect anything of us, I mean don"t call on us or ask us towe don"t go to parties"
"It"s not a party!"
"It"s not necessary for us to be like that just becauseAnd please don"t run after me in the street, people will notice."
"But you ran away from me, you hid"
"Where we live people don"t sort of entertain because they"re neighbours, they keep themselves to themselves."
"But you already know me! And there needn"t be any "entertaining" if you mean ridiculous formalities, I hate that anyway. Hartley, I won"t put up with this. Can"t you just explain explain?"
Hartley now looked at me properly. I noticed that today, she was wearing no lipstick, and this helped me to read her, to read her young look into her old look. Her tired pale wrinkled soft round face now looked very sad, with a kind of resigned sadness, as I had never seen it then, even when she was leaving me. But her sadness was resolute, almost wary, and she was entirely attentive, the vivid eyes no longer vague. She revealed her red slightly swollen hands, and clawed ineffectually at her rumpled collar.
"What is there to explain, why should I ?"
"You mean I"m not behaving like a gentleman?"
"No, noLook, I must go to the hairdressing lady."
"I behaved like a gentleman then and look where it got me! I never pressed you. I believed you when you said you"d marry me. I loved you. I love you. All right, you said then that you couldn"t trust me, you thought I"d be unfaithful and so on, oh G.o.d! Perhaps you feel something like that, that you couldn"t trust me nowBut believe me, there are no women, no one with me, I"m alone, really alone. I want you to know that."
"There"s no need to say, it doesn"t matter"
"Yes, don"t misunderstand me. I just want you to know it"s simply me, and I"m like I always was, so there"s nothing to worry about."
"I must go to the hairdresser."
"Hartley, please pleaseOh all right, why indeed should you explain? Do you want me to go away now and never try to see you again?"
Of course I did not intend her to say yes, and she did not.
"No, I don"t want that. I don"t know what I want."
The desolate sound of this, the sound of need at last, made me feel much happier and much more clear-headed. "Hartley darling, you"ve got to talk to me, you know you have. After all there"s so much to talk about, isn"t there? I won"t do you any harm. My love for you then was mixed up, with all sorts of conflicts which don"t exist now, so it can all be better and we"ve sort of got it back again after all. Don"t you see? We can be real friends. And I do want to get to know your husband." I then felt bound to add, "I did like him so much, by the way." This rang false. Hartley had hunched herself up again behind the pew.
"Anyway we must talk. There"s so much I want to tell you before it"s too late. And I want to ask you hundreds of questions. I don"t mean about what happened then. I mean about you and how you"ve lived and aboutoht.i.tus. I"d love to meet him. Perhaps I could help him."
" Help Help him?" him?"
"Yes, why not? Financially for instance, orI know a lot about the world, Hartleyabout some worlds, anyway. What does he want to do, what is he studying?"
Hartley gave a deep sigh, and then rubbed her cheeks with her red hands. She produced her handkerchief, still stained with lipstick. Tears had risen into her eyes.
"Hartleydear"
"He"s gone, he ran away, he"s lost, we don"t know where he is. We haven"t heard anything from him for nearly two years. He"s gone away."
"Oh G.o.d" So cunning and vile is the human soul that I felt instantly glad that Hartley had this understandable cause of grief and had told me about it and was weeping about it in my presence. Suddenly there was sympathy, communication.
"I"m so sorry. But can"t he be found, have you told the police? There are ways of finding people. I could help there."
Hartley mopped her face, then took a mirror and powder compact out of her bag and dabbed powder round her eyes. I had seen so many women powder their faces. I was seeing Hartley perform this little ritual of vanity for the first time. She said, "You can"t help and please don"t try to. Better to leave us alone and"
"Hartley, I"m not going to leave you alone, so you must make up your mind to that and invent some humane way of dealing with me! Are you just afraid of falling in love with me again, is that it?"
She stood up, lifted her shopping basket, which was beside me, and dropped her handbag into it. I came round into her pew and put my arms firmly round her shoulders. It still felt like doing the impossible. For a moment she bowed her head and rolled her brow quickly to and fro against my shirt, and I felt the blazing warmth of her flesh against mine. Then she pushed past me and began to walk to the door. I followed.
"When shall I see you?"
"Please don"t, you"ll worry us, and please don"t write."
"Hartley, what is it? Let go. Let yourself love me a bit, there"ll be no harm. Or do you think I"m such a grandee? I"m not, you know. I"m just your oldest friend."
"Don"t do anything, I"ll write to you, later."
"You promise promise?"
"Yes. I"ll write. Only don"t come."
"Won"t you explain?"
"There"s nothing to explain. Stay here please." And she went away.
Dearest Lizzie, I have been reflecting on what you said in your sweet and wise letter, and what you said also when we met at the tower. I have to ask your pardon. I think perhaps that you are right after all. I love you, but it may be that my rather (as you say) "abstract" idea of our being together is not, for either of us, the best expression of that love. We might just create confusion and unhappiness for both. Your "suspicions" of me may indeed be just, and you are not the first one to express such doubts!
Perhaps I am by now too much of a restless Don Juan. So let us play it differently. This is not necessarily a sad conclusion, and we must both be realistic, especially as someone else"s happiness is also at stake. I was very touched and impressed by the spectacle of your relationship with Gilbert. It is an achievement and must of course be respected. What does it matter what people exactly "are" to each other, so long as they love and cherish each other and are true true to each other? You were so right to emphasize that word. You doubted my capacity to be loyal and I am near enough to sharing your doubts to be anxious for us not to take the risk. It is just as well that we never defined what we expected. We are both fortunate in being happy as we are, and we can simply count our old affectionate friendship, now so happily revived, as a bonus. We don"t want, do we, any more anguish or muddle. You are quite right. I shall respect your wisdom and your wishes and the rights of my old friend Gilbert! It is, as you said, important that we all three like each other; and let us, as you urged, enjoy a free and unpossessive mutual affection. So please forget my original foolish letter, to which you so bravely and rationally responded, and also my somewhat bullying tactics at our last meeting! I am lucky to have friends such as you and Gilbert and I intend to treasure them in a sensible and I hope generous way. I shall look forward to seeing you soon in London where I shall be arriving shortly. I will let you know. Accept, both of you, my affectionate best wishes and, if I may belatedly offer them, my congratulations. to each other? You were so right to emphasize that word. You doubted my capacity to be loyal and I am near enough to sharing your doubts to be anxious for us not to take the risk. It is just as well that we never defined what we expected. We are both fortunate in being happy as we are, and we can simply count our old affectionate friendship, now so happily revived, as a bonus. We don"t want, do we, any more anguish or muddle. You are quite right. I shall respect your wisdom and your wishes and the rights of my old friend Gilbert! It is, as you said, important that we all three like each other; and let us, as you urged, enjoy a free and unpossessive mutual affection. So please forget my original foolish letter, to which you so bravely and rationally responded, and also my somewhat bullying tactics at our last meeting! I am lucky to have friends such as you and Gilbert and I intend to treasure them in a sensible and I hope generous way. I shall look forward to seeing you soon in London where I shall be arriving shortly. I will let you know. Accept, both of you, my affectionate best wishes and, if I may belatedly offer them, my congratulations.
Be well, little Lizzie, and remember me.
Your old friend, Charles.
This was the letter, partly disingenuous, partly sincere, which I wrote to Lizzie on the afternoon of the day when I saw Hartley in the church for the second time. I returned home in a frenzy of misery and indecision, and after a while spent fruitlessly wondering what to do next, I decided that one sensible thing at least which I could do to pa.s.s the time would be to get rid of Lizzie. This involved no mental struggle and no problem except the labour of writing a suitable letter and concentrating upon Lizzie long enough to complete it. How totally in every atom I had been changed was shown by the fact that my "idea" about Lizzie now seemed to me an insane fancy from whose consequences I had been mercifully saved by Lizzie"s own common sense; and for this I blessed her. A flame had licked out of the past and burnt up that structure of intentions completely. What had been made clear in the last two days (which seemed like months) was how far I had been right in thinking that there was only one real love in my life. It was as if I had in some spiritual sense actually married Hartley long ago and was simply not free to look else where. Of course I had really known this all along. But on seeing her again the sense of absolute belongingness had been overwhelming; in the teeth of our fates" most exquisite cruelty, in the teeth of all the evidence, we belonged to each other.
I did in fact manage to think quite intensely about Lizzie while I was writing the letter, and to think of her with a kind of generous resigned affection. I saw her laughing radiant face as it had been when she was younger, when we used to laugh so much about her loving me. In spite of the incredible gaucherie gaucherie of my "idea" it was possible that I had, quite accidentally, acquired Lizzie as a friend whose affection and loyalty might even one day be of value. But now the decks must be cleared. There must be absolutely no problem, no "interesting connection" involving discussions or letters or visits. I had no time and no strength for any such muddle and it would be criminal to risk one. My hint about coming to London was of course simply a ploy to keep Lizzie there. I could not have endured the arrival of an emotional Lizzie on my doorstep now. There had been a slaughter of all my other interests, and upon the strange white open scene of the future only one thing remained. So let little Lizzie remain safely in storage with Gilbert; I could now even feel benevolent towards him. Was this new detached generosity, I wondered in pa.s.sing, a first symptom of that changed and purified form of being which the return of Hartley was going to create in me? Was Hartley, seen not touched, loved not possessed, destined to make me a saint? How strange and significant that I had come precisely of my "idea" it was possible that I had, quite accidentally, acquired Lizzie as a friend whose affection and loyalty might even one day be of value. But now the decks must be cleared. There must be absolutely no problem, no "interesting connection" involving discussions or letters or visits. I had no time and no strength for any such muddle and it would be criminal to risk one. My hint about coming to London was of course simply a ploy to keep Lizzie there. I could not have endured the arrival of an emotional Lizzie on my doorstep now. There had been a slaughter of all my other interests, and upon the strange white open scene of the future only one thing remained. So let little Lizzie remain safely in storage with Gilbert; I could now even feel benevolent towards him. Was this new detached generosity, I wondered in pa.s.sing, a first symptom of that changed and purified form of being which the return of Hartley was going to create in me? Was Hartley, seen not touched, loved not possessed, destined to make me a saint? How strange and significant that I had come precisely here here to repent of my egoism! Was this perhaps the final sense of my mystical marriage with my only love? It was an extreme idea, but it had its own deep logic, and flourished somewhat upon the absence of alternatives. There was, for me, surely no other move? to repent of my egoism! Was this perhaps the final sense of my mystical marriage with my only love? It was an extreme idea, but it had its own deep logic, and flourished somewhat upon the absence of alternatives. There was, for me, surely no other move?
I was of course aware that one point of the "extreme idea" was that it consoled me with an offer of happiness, though of an extremely refined and attenuated sort. Other, prospects, more closely related to the horror of recent events, were less vague and less pleasing; and I had an urgent dark desire to act act which was not illumined by my aspirations to sanct.i.ty. But what could I do? Start looking for t.i.tus? My central question at least was now answered: Hartley was unhappy. But this brought forward a further central question. which was not illumined by my aspirations to sanct.i.ty. But what could I do? Start looking for t.i.tus? My central question at least was now answered: Hartley was unhappy. But this brought forward a further central question. Why was she unhappy? Why was she unhappy? Was it simply because her son had vanished or were there other reasons? Why would she not let me help her, why would she not let me Was it simply because her son had vanished or were there other reasons? Why would she not let me help her, why would she not let me in in? Or was it naive to expect confidences from a woman I had not seen for more than forty years? I had kept her being alive in me, but "to her I might simply be a shadow, an almost forgotten school-boy. I could not believe this. Was she perhaps on the contrary still so much in love with me that she dare not trust herself to see me? Did she imagine I had smart handsome mistresses of whom she would be miserably jealous? What had she been doing down on the sea road when Rosina"s headlights suddenly revealed her to me? Had she come to spy, to find out?
She had promised to write, but would she write, and if she did would she "explain"? Could I, was I capable of it, simply wait, and perhaps wait and wait, for that letter, and, obeying her, do nothing? I so intensely wanted to "explain" myself, to pour out everything I felt and thought, and which in those miserable sc.r.a.ppy encounters L had not managed to say. Should I write her a long letter? If I did I would certainly not entrust it to the post. That brought me back again to le mari le mari. Why was she unhappy? Was it because he was jealous, a tyrant, a bully, who never let anyone come near her? Was that it? And if so... How my mind leapt forward at this thought, and how many lurid vistas and fiery hollows were suddenly opened up. At the same time I knew that sanity, and a faithfulness to Hartley which must be kept untainted, forbade this kind of speculation.
I had no heart to cook lunch. I fried an egg but could not eat it. I drank some of the young Beaujolais which had been delivered from the Raven Hotel. (I found the wine, Beaujolais and some Spanish stuff, outside the door when I got back from the village.) Then I occupied myself by writing the letter to Lizzie which I have copied out above. After that I thought it might do my soul some good if I went swimming. The tide was in and the sea was very calm, and clearer than usual. Looking down from my cliff before I dived in I could see tall dark trees of seaweed gently waving and fishes swimming between them. I swam about quietly, looking at that special "swimmer"s view" of the sea, and feeling, for the time, possessing and possessed. The sea was a gla.s.sy slightly heaving plain, moving slowly past me, and as if it were shrugging reflectively as it absent-mindedly supported its devotee. Some large seagulls with the yellowest conceivable beaks gathered to watch me. I felt no anxiety about getting out, and when I swam back to my cliff face I was able quite easily to cling on to my handholds and footholds and pull myself up out of the water. In fact the little cliff is not in itself very hard to climb, it is just that, as I explained, if one is being constantly lifted up and abruptly dropped again by the movement of the waves, it is impossible to keep one"s fingers and toes in place long enough to get a proper grip. When I was in the sea I thought to myself how little it mattered to me that Hartley was no longer beautiful. This seemed a good thought and I held on to it and it brought me, together with tenderness, a little calm. After that I stupidly sat in the sun but it was too hot and my immersion had after all brought me little wisdom. Perhaps I had not been wrong in thinking of the sea as a source of peace, but it was an ineffective medicine thus taken in a gulp. It required a regime. I walked about, scorching my feet and looking into one or two of my pools but the pleasure had departed and I could no longer concentrate upon those brilliant lucid little civilizations, although in the Strong light the coloured pebbles and the miniature seaweed trees looked like jewels by Faberge. I watched a dance of prawns and the progress of a green transparent sea-slug, and saw again the long coiling red worm which had somehow reminded me of my sea serpent. Then I noticed to my annoyance some tourists from, I suppose, the Raven Hotel who were actually standing on my land and inspecting the tower. I went into the house with burning shoulders and a splitting headache.
It was now obvious that I would soon have to do something, to perform some ritual act which would relate to my situation and perhaps alter it. What I wanted to do, of course, was to run straight to Hartley. I had not even kissed her yet. How timid and feeble I had been this morning in the church. But I would have "ingeniously" to find some subst.i.tute for this headlong rush. Like the deprived addict I found ordinary diversions useless. Everything I did now had to relate to the one world-centre. I decided, just in order to keep moving, to walk down to the village and post the letter to Lizzie. Of course I hoped to see Hartley, but I did not really imagine that I would. It was now late afternoon, the kind of vivid light which would have made me want to shout with joy a little while ago. When I had crossed the causeway I saw some letters lying in my dog kennel and I picked them up. One of them was from Lizzie. I tore it open and read it as I walked along.
My darling, of course the answer will have to be yes. My fears were foolish and unworthy, please forgive my confused response to your wonderful offer. I am your page, as I always was, and shall I not come to you if, even for a moment, you need me? I haven"t said anything to Gilbert yet and I don"t know how to. When we meet will you please be gentle and help me about this? I can"t just abandon him. There must be some way of not hurting him too much. Please understand. And let me see you soon, I want to say so many things. Shall I come to you, or will you be in London? I wish I could telephone you. (Don"t ring here because of Gilbert.) By the way, I told Gilbert I was writing to you because he asked, and he says will you have dinner with us here Monday of next week if you"re in town? I pa.s.s this on, but I imagine in the circ.u.mstances you won"t want to. I love you so much.
Lizzie.
I am so frightened that you are angry with me. Please rea.s.sure me soon.
I sighed over this rather shifty missive, which gave me so little pleasure. What was this "offer" I was supposed to have made her? She almost made it seem as if she was endeavouring to oblige me. I noted that she had not yet told Gilbert, and showed no signs of leaving him. But I felt no urge to reflect upon the state of Lizzie"s mind, it did not matter now.
I hastened my steps and reached the Post Office just before it closed. I posted my letter to Lizzie and sent her a telegram which ran as follows. Your first idea was right. See my letter which crossed with Your first idea was right. See my letter which crossed with yours. In London soon and gratefully accept dine you and Gilbert. Love Charles. yours. In London soon and gratefully accept dine you and Gilbert. Love Charles. That should make the situation sufficiently clear and also keep Lizzie in London. I had of course no intention of dining with them, and would send a cancellation at the last moment. That should make the situation sufficiently clear and also keep Lizzie in London. I had of course no intention of dining with them, and would send a cancellation at the last moment.
I emerged into the street where it was still sunny, and the evening light was making even the slates on the roofs cast little shadows, and the whitewashed walls were silver-gilt. I walked up to the church and looked inside. It was empty and already in shadow and full of the smell of the roses which were a white blur in the hazy dusty air. I came out into the light and spent some time looking at the various sailing ships on the tombstones which the slanting illumination had brought out in strong relief; walking back down the street it occurred to me that the Black Lion was open and I went in. There was the usual sudden hush.
"Seen any more ghosts?" said Arkwright, as he served me with cider.