Tamar had recovered from her obsessive guilt about the lost child. Magic against magic, she had been cured, relieved of evil pain, as her wizard put it, left with good pain. She had also stopped worrying about whether Jean had told Duncan or Duncan had told Jean. What did remain with her was a curious shudder which occurred whenever she saw a teapot. It was a strange feature of their recent tribulations which would have impressed her, and the priest even more, if they had known it, that Tamar, like the others, like Rose, like Gerard, like Jean, as well as of course like Duncan, felt that she had been responsible for Jenkin’s death. Each one of his friends could enact responsibility. Tamar, the last of them to see him alive, a fact known only to her confessor, could not forget that when she arrived Jenkin had been about to leave the house. If she had not come he would not have received that mysterious telephone call. But what impressed her more was the idea that she had unloaded some sort of fatal evil onto Jenkin. She recalled an awful satisfaction it had given her to ‘tell all’ to Jean, and spatter her with her own misery, and hatred, and then to run to ‘tell all’ again to Jenkin. But she had not been destined to receive the hoped-for absolution. It was as if she had spread out all that evil filth before him and as he took it up and took it upon himself, she had made him vulnerable to some force, perhaps wicked, perhaps simply retributive, which had struck him instead of her. Her priest of course found the idea interesting, but condemned it as superstitious; and her persisting grief for Jenkin gradually ceased to terrify her as she recalled the long day during which she had waited for him to come back. Tamar did not believe in God or a supernatural world and Father McAlister, who did not believe
in them either, had not troubled her with these fictions. What he had, in his fierce enthusiasm, wrestling for her soul, intended to give her, was an indelible impression of Christ as Saviour. Tamar was, in her privileged interim, prepared to wait and see what later on this radiant presence might do for her. She prayed, not exactly to, but in this reality, which turned evil suffering into good suffering, and might in time even enable her to reach her mother.
Patricia was taking pleasure in telling Rose about how Gideon had rescued Violet and Tamar.
‘You mean Violet is here, and Tamar is going back to Oxford?’
‘Yes! Gideon and Father Angus together were irresistible!’
Rose, who had never heard her parish priest called ‘Father Angus’ before, could not help feeling at once that it was all a conspiracy against Gerard! But of course it was wonderful. ‘It’s wonderful!’ she said. Her aching tooth, which had been grumbling, suddenly set a sharp throbbing pain down into her lower jaw. Rose instinctively raised her hand, closing her fist two inches from her chin, as if to catch it. ‘Pat, I think I must go, I’ve got a beastly toothache.’
‘Can I give you an aspirin?’
Conrad Lomas was telling Tamar how awfully sorry he was that he had lost her at the dance, how he had searched and searched, now she owed him a dance, they must find one to go to, he would be in London till the fall.
Tamar, leaned over by the tall American, stepped back a little and cast an almost flirtatious glance in the direction of Father McAlister. They had not attempted to approach each other. The priest, looking grave, made a very faint movement of his head and eyes, as he had done to Gideon in Violet’s flat, in the direction of her mother.
Francis Reckitt was now telling Rose that Neville, whom he admired, had decided to go into Parliament. ‘He’s a radical, you see,’ Francis, a little drunk, kept repeating.
Gideon was saying to Reeve, ‘It’s quite easy really, you get some dry white wine and mix it with bitters and not too
little rum and some white port and pile in the peel of the tangerines.’
Violet, who had drunk quite a lot of the tangerine mixture, had decided it was time for her to go upstairs and rejoin the dark figure who waited for her up there, herself. She was alone for the moment leaning against a wall, looking about with an assumed air of amused contempt. Leonard Fairfax, who of course knew ‘all about it’, was feeling it was his duty to go and talk to her. He was forestalled however by Father McAlister. The priest, with a flurry of dark skirt, as if he had just noticed Violet, advanced. He took hold of her hand and held it, while uttering a flow of talk. Tamar watched this. The priest had, in all their encounters, never touched Tamar except at their first meeting and at the rite of baptism. This had impressed her. She watched his hand holding her mother’s, wondering how long it would last. How handsome he looks today, she thought, perhaps he can put on handsomeness when he wants to! Gideon, looking over the shoulder of Rose, to whom he was now talking, also saw the hand-holding, and thought about animal magnetism. Gideon couldn’t quite make Father McAlister out – a cynical fake, a charlatan, a mad saint or what? He’s certainly a wizard, thought Gideon, I’ll keep him around, he could be useful.
‘Rose, don’t go, I want to tell you my new idea, a
Tamargesellschaft!
‘A what?’
‘I met Joel Kowitz in New York, we were talking about Crimond’s book, and I thought, well now that’s over, why not let’s have a regular whip-round for Tamar, to see her through Oxford, Joel said he’d contribute, she can’t live on that grant, she must have money to travel, to sail to Byzantium –’
‘Oh I’ll join,’ said Rose, ‘she must – yes – sail –’
Gideon, happy, was at his prettiest in a strawberry pink shirt, his dark curly hair cut short, shining with bronze and golden lights, his girlish complexion glowing with health and youth, his finely manicured fingers moving appreciatively over his delicately flushed cheeks and exquisitely smooth chin. He looked as young as his tall athletic son.
There was a sudden commotion near the door, laughter and something like a cheer. Lily had arrived accompanied by Gulliver Ashe. Lily, dressed in blue silk trousers and a golden jacket, was explaining to Conrad, and now to Gideon who had pushed his way towards her that, yes, Gull was back and he’d got a job, he’d met a man. ‘Oh Rose, Rose, dear, he’s back, he’s back, it’s all all right, I was such a misery about it, I’m so sorry, but everything is all right now!’
Rose kissed her and held her hot clutching hands, she kissed Gull. So Lily had got her man back after all.
‘Rose, we’re going to get married.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad!’
‘They’re going to get married,’ shouted Gideon.
Tears were in Lily’s eyes. Tears flooded into Rose’s eyes. Others pressed forward and she stepped back still sidling toward the door. Suddenly Reeve and Neville and Gillian were beside her. ‘What’s that about?’ said Gillian.
‘We haven’t fixed about tomorrow,’ said Reeve. ‘We’re off too actually, we’ll take you.’
‘They’re going to get married,’ said Rose, ‘I always hoped they would.’ Fumbling for her handkerchief she couldn’t stop the tears. She said to Reeve, ‘Oh, it’s so touching, I’m so happy for them!’ She felt, thinking of their joy, such a great shaft of sorrow which came down on her as if she had been struck from above, she almost reeled, she dropped her handbag. She had found her handkerchief and put it to her mouth.
Reeve held on to her, Gillian picked up her bag, and Neville patted her shoulder. ‘Here’s a map,’ said Reeve, ‘I’ve written it all down. We’ll meet you at the flat at twelve thirty, and then we can have lunch after. Gillian, put it into Rose’s bag.’
It was at that moment that Gerard appeared. The triumphant rout surrounding Gull and Lily had moved further into the room, leaving Rose at the doorway surrounded by her family. For a second Gerard found himself confronted by the Curtland phalanx.
He had left his coat outside near the front door and was neat in a dark suit, but he looked to Rose’s eye very strange, very tired, a little mad. His hair hung in limp ringlets, his mouth
drooped sulkily, his face looked puffy and soft, his glittering blue eyes glared down almost fiercely upon the group before him. At the next second all was adjusted. Reeve removed his hand from Rose’s arm, Neville his from her shoulder, Gillian handed her her handbag into which she had thrust the instructions for tomorrow. Gerard’s face reorganised itself into its usual set of hard surfaces and expression of pensive irony, and then relapsed into his usual inane disconcerting grin. They all moved out into the hall.
‘Hello, Reeve,’ said Gerard. ‘What a row in there!’
Reeve, rather formal, said, ‘How nice to see you. These are my children Neville and Gillian. I think it’s some years since you’ve met them.’
‘They’ve certainly grown!’ said Gerard. ‘Glad to meet you.’ He held out his hand to Gillian, then to Neville. The children murmured something gracious.
‘Well, we’re off,’ said Reeve. He turned to Rose. ‘Can we drop you where you’re going?’
‘No, thanks, I can walk. I just want a word with Gerard.’
‘See you tomorrow then.’
‘Yes, tomorrow,’ said Rose.
Neville, who had been smiling subtly throughout this encounter, said, ‘We’ll take you to Yorkshire.’
With waves they receded, leaving Rose and Gerard beside, now outside, the drawing room door. These two stood in silence not looking at each other while Reeve and his offspring disappeared into the dining room to find their coats. They emerged, looked back, waved again, and vanished through the front door.
Gerard said to Rose politely, ‘Can I get you a taxi for your next appointment?’
‘I have no appointment,’ said Rose. She felt she was going to cry again, and walked past him to the dining room, picked up her coat, came out and began to put it on. Gerard helped her on with her coat.
Rose said, moving towards the front door, ‘Goodbye then. By the way, Gull and Lily are getting married. They’re in there.’
Leonard Fairfax came skidding out of the drawing room holding a glass which he put into Gerard’s hand. He had adored Gerard all his life. ‘I thought I heard your voice. I’ve been
panting
to see you.’ Leonard resembled his father, with the same close-curling hair and pretty red-lipped mouth, but was taller and thinner.
‘Hello, faun,’ said Gerard. ‘So you’re going to the Courtauld, I’m so glad.’
‘Just off, Rose?’ said Leonard. ‘Lovely to see you. Violet has gone upstairs with your parson!’
‘Thanks so much,’ said Rose. She opened the door. The new
art nouveau
lantern which Pat had installed illuminated the steps.
Gerard handed the glass back to Leonard. ‘I’m just going to see Rose along.’ He picked up his coat which he had thrown down in a corner by the door.
‘Don’t be long!’ Leonard shouted after him. ‘Dad wants to see you. Peter Manson’s coming, he rang up looking for you. And I want to fix lunch with you tomorrow!’
Rose and Gerard walked away along the road. A slight unconvincing rain was falling, slanted by the east wind. Rose began to cry again, silently, covertly into her hand-kerchief.
Gerard said, ‘Oh – damn –’ Then, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Oh nothing. I’ve got toothache.’
‘I’m sorry. Will you see the dentist?’
‘Yes. Look, don’t let me keep you.’ She checked her tears and began to walk faster.
‘So you’re off again to Yorkshire tomorrow.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘I thought Neville said so.’
‘No. I’m having lunch with them. They’ve bought a flat in Hampstead.’
‘How nice. So they’re Londoners now.’
‘Do go back, everyone’s longing to see you. I can walk from here. I’ll get a taxi in a moment anyway.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Home. Look, there’s a taxi. I’ll say goodbye.’
‘Oh, all right.’ Gerard flagged down the taxi and opened the door.
Rose got in. ‘Nice to see you. I’ll give you a ring sometime.’
‘What the hell’s the matter with you?’ said Gerard. ‘Are you ill?’
Rose began to cry again. Gerard got into the taxi and slammed the door and gave the taximan Rose’s address. He patted her shoulder but did not put his arm round it. They rode in silence. When they reached Rose’s flat and Gerard had paid the driver they mounted the stairs in silence.
They dropped their coats, Rose pulled the curtains and put on the electric fire. She said, ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sherry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Anything to eat?’
‘No thanks.’
She poured out two glasses.
‘What
is
the matter, Rose?’
‘Nothing’s the matter! Perhaps I should ask you what the matter is! You disappear for weeks. When I ring you say you can’t see me, then you don’t answer the ’phone, or else you’re away God knows where and it hasn’t occurred to you to let me know. Well, why should you let me know. I’ve got no special rights, I’m not part of your family –’
‘And I’m not part of your family, if it comes to that. You’ve evidently decided to live in the north and be a mother to those bright young things! Well, why not. Blood is thicker than water.’
‘That’s what Reeve says.’
‘You make it clear that you’ve got a home elsewhere!’
‘Well, it doesn’t affect you. I’ve never had a home here.’
‘That’s not true. It depends on what you call a home.’
‘Yes, indeed! I never thought I’d see you being jealous and vindictive –’
‘I never thought I’d see you behaving like a silly petty female! I’m not jealous. Why the hell should I be?’
‘Why indeed. I realise that you have quite another life into
which I don’t enter and when it suits you you vanish. How’s Derek Wallace?’
‘
Who?
’
‘Derek Wallace. That boy who brought that – that proof copy – from Oxford.’
‘Rose, are you crazy – or bloody-minded – or what?’
‘What do you expect me to do when you disappear – or am I supposed not to think about you? If you
want
me not to think about you you’re certainly going the right way about it.’
‘Rose, do you really imagine –’
‘Of course it’s not your fault, it’s my fault. You’ve always taken me for granted, that I’ll always be there to be kind and useful. I shouldn’t have hung around. Plenty of people advised me not to.’
‘Well, why did you hang around?’ said Gerard. ‘I didn’t demand it. Of course I took you for granted. I don’t see what you’re complaining about or why you’re suddenly so angry with me.’