Rose would have been happy in these days, for she believed, having seen them together, that Jean and Duncan would be ‘all right’, had it not been for her anxiety about Tamar. Jenkin had of course not divulged to anyone what Tamar had told him. Gerard, after a cautious enquiry, sheered off the subject which was evidently secret, and he said nothing to Rose about Tamar’s extraordinary arrival at Jenkin’s house. Rose knew that Tamar had been ‘in a state’, had run away from home to stay with Lily, and was now back with Violet. Rose had written to Tamar asking her to lunch, but had had no reply. Gerard and Jenkin seemed to have nothing to say on the subject of Tamar’s troubles. Neither had Lily, whom Rose had rung up. Violet’s flat was not on the telephone. Rose had been making up her mind to write to Violet, or else to appear unexpectedly at her flat one evening, when the drama of Jean’s accident took her to Boyars. On her return to London there was still no letter from Tamar. Rose had written to Violet but had had no reply.
Now it was Tuesday, and the bell at Rose’s flat had rung punctually at ten. Crimond had come up the stairs and was in Rose’s sitting room.
Rose’s first surprise was the extraordinary effect upon her of Crimond’s presence in the room. It seemed like some fault of nature. How could
he
be
here?
Of course she had seen him not long ago at Gerard’s and had, even more lately, been alone with him in his house. But to find him standing there in her own room, waiting for her to ask him to sit down, was positively weird. She felt the electric field round about him and it made her twitch.
He had left his overcoat in the hall, the door was shut, the electric fire was on. Outside the sun was shining on the white stucco fronts of the houses opposite. Crimond was wearing a black jacket, perhaps the one in which she had last seen him, and a clean white shirt and a tie. The jacket was visibly frayed and worn, but he looked, for him, quite presentable. On the last occasion he had resembled a priest. This time he looked more like a penurious young writer, tired, rootless, clever, frail. He gazed at her with a sad look, then looked around at her room. He said, his first words, ‘I’ve never been here before.’
Rose said ‘Yes’ to this evident truth. She noticed, now more particularly, his accent, which sounded rather affected, Scots overlaid with Oxford. She felt awkward, had not planned where they were to sit, had somehow imagined that their brief colloquy could take place standing up. She decided it would be more business-like, less like a social scene, to sit at the table in the window. She motioned him to a chair and they both sat down.
Rose said quickly and abruptly, ‘What do you want? Is it about Jean?’
Crimond had undone his jacket and put his forearms on the table, stretching out his long hands which were covered with fine red hairs. His nails were carefully cut but imperfectly clean, and the cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned. He considered Rose’s words and said, as if replying to some theoretical or academic question, ‘The answer is no.’
‘What is it then?’
Crimond made his thin mouth even thinner, looking first at the table and then at Rose. ‘That will take a little time to explain.’
‘I haven’t got much time,’ said Rose. This was not true. As Crimond continued to be silent, frowning, his pale blue eyes gleaming at her, she said, ‘I think I must tell you that Jean has returned to her husband.’
Crimond nodded, then looked away and took a long controlled breath, not quite emerging as a sigh.
Does he want me to
sympathise
with him! thought Rose. She said, ‘Is it about Gerard?’
‘Is what about Gerard?’
‘Your visit! You wrote saying you wanted to discuss an important matter! I’m waiting to hear what it is!’
‘No, it’s not about Gerard.’ He added, looking at her again and smiling faintly, ‘Don’t be impatient with me!’
I must be
polite
, thought Rose, it may be a ‘thank you’ visit after all. She said in a more conciliatory tone, ‘So the book is finished.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t say earlier that it was nearly finished. I didn’t intend to mislead you all. It was just psychologically difficult to say so. Perhaps I was superstitious, yes, I was superstitious, about the book. I thought I might never live to finish it.’
‘It has certainly taken a long time, you must feel quite lost without it.’ Rose and Gerard had of course discussed how, and whether, the break with Jean connected with the completion of the book, but had reached no conclusion. Perhaps the ending of his long task had disturbed Crimond’s reason. His appearance and his manner struck Rose as extremely odd, and she wondered again if he were actually mad.
‘Yes, it’s like death.’ He spoke solemnly, gazing at her intently. ‘It is – a bereavement.’
Rose looked away, looked at her watch. ‘Perhaps you will take a holiday now?’
‘I’m afraid I am incapable of taking a holiday.’ There was a slight pause, during which Rose tried to think of some suitable
commonplace. He went on, ‘I like your dress, it’s the same green as you wore at the dance.’
Rose, annoyed by his remark, said, ‘I didn’t see you at the dance.’
‘I saw you.’
That sounds like ill luck, she thought, if the wolf sees you first! Perhaps he really does want to talk about Jean? I certainly don’t propose to sit here making polite conversation! ‘You said you wanted to talk about something particular. Perhaps you could now say what it is?’
Crimond, who had been staring at her, looked away and again drew a long deep controlled breath. He looked about the room and seemed for a moment at a loss. ‘It’s something personal.’
‘About you –’
‘About me. Also about you.’
‘I don’t see how it can be about me,’ said Rose coldly. She felt a tremor of fear, and all sorts of horrible crazy possibilities suddenly made their appearance. She thought, he’s going to blackmail me – yet how can he – to get Jean back – or else it’s something against Gerard – or – she hoped she was not displaying her emotion. ‘Does it concern Gerard too?’
‘No,’ said Crimond, in a sharp peevish tone, ‘it does not concern Gerard, Why do you keep dragging him in?’
‘I’m not “dragging him in”!’ said Rose, beginning to get annoyed. ‘You’ve been so mysterious and sort of menacing. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I think you are full of ill-will towards us.’
‘You are very wrong,’ said Crimond, looking intently at her. He seemed now collected and very tense.
‘You ought to be grateful to us.’
‘I am grateful. But –’
‘But what?’
‘That’s what I came about.’
‘Well, then, what is it?’
‘I want to know you better.’
Rose was amazed. ‘You want all of us to be your friends again, after everything that’s happened, after –?’
‘No, not all. Just you.’
‘Why just me?’
‘Perhaps I had better be more frank.’
‘Perhaps you had.’
‘I came here to ask if you would consider marrying me.’
Rose flushed scarlet, and pushed her chair back. She felt almost faint with a mixture of anger and amazement. She could hardly believe that she had heard rightly. She said, ‘Could you say that again?’
‘Rose, I want you to marry me. Of course this must seem to you premature –’
‘
Premature
–!’
‘It would have been possible for me to proceed more indirectly, asking you out to lunch and so on, but such – gambits – would have been in the nature of subterfuges. I thought it better to announce my – my wish – at once, and let the other things follow from that.’
Rose clutched the collar of her dress and shrank back in her chair. She felt very frightened. ‘Mr Crimond, I think you are mad.’
‘Please, if you will, don’t call me “Mr Crimond”. I would like you to call me “David”, but if at the moment you cannot, I would rather you just called me “Crimond”, as other people do. I know that I am sometimes thought to be mad, but you must surely, and surely
now
, see that I am not.’
‘This must be some sort of awful joke,’ said Rose, ‘or else a wicked premeditated
insult.
’ She felt angry, she felt cornered. The electrical field, perceptible when he had first entered the room, increased in intensity, surrounded her and made her tremble, almost shake.
Crimond, now a little more relaxed, said in an explanatory tone, ‘You know that I am not joking or trying to insult you. A proposal of marriage is not usually regarded as an insult.’
‘But – you must be totally out of touch with reality! I can’t understand how you can suddenly say this! It can’t be anything to do with
me
! You must be doing it as a sort of crazy revenge, against Gerard, or against Jean, to hurt them – except you can’t – it’s something horrible –’
‘Rose,’ said Crimond, ‘it’s not horrible, and it’s not any of the things you say –’
‘You can’t imagine that I could take such a “proposal” seriously! Are you so impertinent – or so naive? I don’t know you, I don’t like you. You have wantonly damaged the life and destroyed the happiness of my best friend, whom you appeared to be so madly in love with! And now you come to me with this insulting nonsense!’
‘I can imagine,’ said Crimond, ‘that you may resent the proximity of my relations with your friend –’
‘I don’t “resent the proximity” – really, you are outrageous! I cannot interpret you except as false and wicked – there isn’t any – any
context
– which could make what you say otherwise!’
‘You argue well –’
‘I’m not
arguing
!’
‘What you say, and what you imply, deserves an answer. And this is just what I want to offer you. Of course I was in love with Jean. But my relation with her was an impossibility – we twice tried to live it, and proved it twice impossible.’
‘Because she was married –’
‘No, that was nothing. Because of the peculiar, the particular, intensity of our relationship. I could explain this at more length –’
‘Please do not!’
‘We attained an apex – after that we were bound to destroy each other. We both realised it. I was devouring her being and making her less. And after a time, she would have hated me. It was better to leave it behind as something perfect, and finished with. It was doomed.’
‘So you parted by agreement – it was not just that you left her?’ Rose could not help asking that question. In the midst of her fear and anger she could not help feeling a stirring of curiosity. It was all so extremely unexpected.
Crimond said thoughtfully after a moment, ‘Essentially it was mutual. I thought there was a certain solution. I expect she has told you.’
‘She has told me nothing.’
‘I will tell you perhaps later on.’
‘Mr Crimond,’ said Rose, ‘there is no later on. I want you to go away and I won’t see you again.’
Crimond ignored this. ‘My feeling, my love for Jean has nothing to do with what I want to discuss with you. Of course this shock tactic – I admit it is a shock tactic – needs to be talked over, to be understood –’
‘I do not know what to think about you,’ said Rose. ‘I am now again inclined to think you are mad, unbalanced anyway. There is something vulgarly called being on the rebound. I think you are in a state of shock because of the ending – if it is the ending – of your long involvement with Jean. This together perhaps with finishing your book has temporarily unhinged you – this is the most charitable explanation of your tiresome and upsetting approach to me.’
‘I did not mean to upset you – or rather I did – but not in an unpleasant way. I have always had a unique feeling for you, a unique sense of your being. Only two women have ever interested me. Jean was one, you are the other. I saw you before I saw Jean. I loved you before I loved Jean – No, let me go on. Of course this was a silent captive love, something inward and abstract. I had at once assumed you to be unattainable. Perhaps I was wrong –’
‘Really –’
‘I had the impression that you liked me. But I had not the courage to speak to you. I never expressed my love in any way. I regretted this later. I regret it now. Much later on I loved Jean, imagining that to be the only real love of which I was capable. Again I was wrong. My love for you had not died in captivity. But I never thought I could release it – until now – when I am brave enough to appear before you and ask you to believe me. Surely you can understand such a thing?’
‘Please don’t give me these explanations,’ said Rose. ‘You are half out of your mind because Jean is gone, and you want me to console you because you think you remember something you felt when you were twenty! A proposal of marriage in this situation is senseless.’
‘I thought,’ said Crimond, looking at her intently, ‘that you were then, and are not now, indifferent to me.’
‘I was, I am!’
‘I thought this at our last meeting.’
‘Our last meeting? You mean when I came to your house to find out –?’
‘To find out if I was still alive. You were relieved.’
‘Yes, but because of Jean, not because of you! And of course I didn’t want to find you dead on the floor. I never cared for you, I find your ideas abhorrent –’
‘Oh my ideas – but my person –’
The word ‘person’, sounding suddenly so archaic, almost made Rose laugh. ‘Your
person
– are you suggesting –?’
‘I mean my whole being. Look, Rose, don’t be angry with me, and please forgive me for the suddenness, the shock – I couldn’t do it any other way. We have neither of us been married, nothing prevents us from thinking in these terms. Love has to be awakened. I want to awaken yours. I think you are capable of loving me.’
There was a moment’s silence. Rose said, ‘I don’t believe this stuff about the past, it’s a fantasy, which occurred to you a few days ago, it’s part of your own state of shock, and I’m sure, whether you admit or not, that this visit is really a revenge on Jean, and an attack on Gerard.’
They were silent for a moment, staring at each other across the table. Rose saw her hands trembling, and hid them on her knees.
Crimond murmured, ‘It isn’t so, it isn’t so –’ He went on, ‘I felt it necessary to say what I have said. I hope you will, when you reflect, see how utterly serious it is, and must be. Naturally I don’t expect any clear response from you now. Let us wait a while and talk of it again. I said at the beginning simply that I wanted to know you better. And I felt in honesty that I couldn’t say just that without saying all the rest as well. But now that the rest is said, and I certainly do not and will not unsay it, let us return to that first idea. Please, let us know each other better.
That
cannot be an offensive idea. I suggest that we meet again in a week or so –’