‘Well, that’s that,’ he said, aware of disappointment now that the fun was over, and he thought without interest of his approaching status as representative for West Stockport in the House of Commons where he would merely be one of six hundred and fifteen members. Something to do, to do . . .
His next movement was to buy secretly a combination of newspapers including the
Daily Watchman
, the
Evening Post
and the
Weekly Gazette
.
These papers had been suffering a big drop in circulation owing to bad editorial staff work, no particular policy, and poor advertising space.
It seemed to Julius Lévy that there must be a future in journalism.
He turned the
Daily Watchman
into a twelve-sheet paper, four complete pages of advertisement, and the two centre pages given up to the latest news - the more sensational the better. People wanted sensation. They wanted thrills. They lived to read about the private lives of actresses, the intimacies of divorce courts, the feelings of murderers in condemned cells, the reaction of mothers whose children had been raped. They wanted to know the number of street accidents per day, the quantity of bargains purchasable by post, and the truth about the earl who slept with his cook.
Julius Lévy gave them all this in the
Daily Watchman
. In six months’ time, with the aid of football and racing competitions, his circulation had increased by over ten thousand. The papers were set, they had only to go straight ahead. The staff were competent and keen as mustard. The Lévy newspapers were in control like the Lévy cafés, and the Lévy factories, and the Lévy stables.
Everything was so easy. He had only to stretch out his hands.
Something to do, to do . . .
When Julius Lévy was driving home from the House of Commons on the night of his sixtieth birthday, there came to him suddenly, like a flash of light in a forgotten corner, the memory of his fiftieth birthday ten years ago.
The evening was much the same, dull and colourless, the many sounds and scents of London were unchanged; even Mander waiting for him in his purple livery, holding the door of the car, was the same silent Mander of ten years back.
Julius remembered his mood of depression, that odd blank sensation of having reached a milestone in his life. He had returned home to find Gabriel, aged fifteen, playing Paul Lévy’s flute by the open window of the study.
Ten years ago. Oh! the uncharted seas, the untrodden ways, the undiscovered paths across the mountains - yes - and the waters under the bridges since then.
‘Mander,’ he said suddenly, throwing his hat and his stick into the car, ‘I can’t make up my mind whether it makes a penny-worth of difference being sixty - or forty-five - or twenty-one.’
Mander smiled: ‘A woman is as old as she looks, a man is as old as he feels, Sir Julius. You know the old saying?’
Julius settled himself in the car, drawing the rug over his knees.
‘All damned nonsense, Mander, you poor mug. A man feels twenty one moment and eighty five seconds afterwards. Matter of temperament. Heigh-ho!’ he yawned, settling himself amongst the cushions. ‘I don’t regret a thing, Mander, not one bloody thing.’
The chauffeur waited politely, his hand on the door. ‘Home, sir?’
‘Yes.’ The door was closed, Mander climbed to his seat.
‘What does he care?’ thought Julius. ‘What the devil do I matter to him?’ He began to go over in his mind pictures of things that had happened, scenes scattered here and there across his track of memory. Gabriel in a black velvet frock coming down the stairs at Granby, Gabriel on horseback at Melton, Gabriel at Venice, Gabriel dressed as a V.A.D., Gabriel driving officers in Richmond Park - Gabriel - still, that sort of thing could go on indefinitely. ‘She was nearly twenty-five. He was sixty. H’m ... ‘Look out, Mander, you bloody idiot, what d’you think you’re doing?’ Nearly ran over that woman, silly fool. She was young and pretty too, he turned to look at her through the window in the back. Bad legs. Where was he, though? Oh yes! - ten years, fifty to sixty. Rachel, poor old Rache. Always thinking about her health those last years. Malignant, the way she had put an end to things. There might have been a nasty scandal at the time. He had been too quick, though. Gabriel in Corsica - she used to wear a pair of sailor’s trousers and a scarlet sash ... The war, you couldn’t get away from the war, thinking back. It seemed to loom over everything. It cut out the memories of the days that had gone before. Buy Lévy’s Bully Beef - and then a title on top of it. Sir Julius Lévy, Bart. No sons. Who cared? - the whole thing was just a lot of . . . Gabriel dancing at that Victory ball, she wore gold. She was best in gold, it was her colour. Vote for Sir Julius Lévy, the man who gets things done. His maiden speech, ‘one of the best maiden speeches of recent times.’ Somebody said that, didn’t he? Or was it he himself in the
Daily Watchman
? It all came to the same, anyway. Those papers were the envy of Fleet Street, the crashing answer to out-dated journalism. Give him time, he’d show the world. Show them what? Did he care? Did anything matter? He yawned once more, he was tired, he wanted to get home to supper, the comfort of a dressing-gown and slippers and a last cigar, and Gabriel coming in to chat. His sixtieth birthday. They ought to celebrate it.
Home again, and the door opening, and the car driving away, walking upstairs slowly, because his back was aching and there was something wrong with his right knee, he must see Isaacson about it, and so on into his suite of rooms, supper all ready for him.
‘Clear out, I’ll wait on myself. Where’s Miss Gabriel?’
‘I couldn’t say, Sir Julius.’
‘Well, go and find her.’
That’s better, dressing-gown and slippers, a glass of champagne, cold salmon, early strawberries from Granby.
‘Miss Gabriel is not in, Sir Julius.’
‘Oh, very well.’
Damn her, where to now? Dancing again, always this infernal dancing. What in the world did she see in it? Silly business - jigging about. Bored him stiff. What energy she had, never still a moment. Always on the go. He had been the same at her age. Her age, that’s bad - twenty-five, sixty. He must be tired to keep thinking of that. Funny how one changed; one didn’t care to do the same things as one did ten years back. This was good, lounging in a chair in front of the fire; it was cold for May, one needed a fire, and he was enjoying his supper. Why didn’t Gabriel come, though? Midnight, one a.m., two a.m., might as well wait and ask her where she’s been. But weary, damn weary, head nodding slowly, the paper falling from his hands, mouth open wide, a long spluttering snore . . . Hullo - waking with a start, the sound of a car below in the square. God damn and blast the girl, it was four a.m. He rose from his chair, his legs stiff, he crossed to the window and looked from behind the curtain at a small, closed car drawn up in front of the house. That was she, he could see the glimmer of her white cloak. Why the devil didn’t she get out? Was she talking or what? Two minutes, three minutes, five minutes, eight minutes - damn her, damn her, what were they doing in the car, why didn’t she get out? Why didn’t she get out? His hands had gone clammy cold, his fingers twitched at the curtain. He kept passing his tongue over his lips, and then swallowing. The door of the car opened at last and Gabriel stepped out on to the pavement. He couldn’t see her face. Some fellow with her - never mind about him, though. He didn’t count. At the bottom of the steps Gabriel turned, catching her cloak round her, and then the fellow leant forward and took her face in his hands and kissed her. Julius saw this quite plainly. He saw Gabriel throw back her head and laugh, and reach out her hand to the fellow’s throat and draw him towards her and kiss him. Then they disappeared under the pillars of the porch, he could not see them from his window any more.
Julius crept from his room and crossed the corridor to the head of the main stairway. If they came in he would be able to watch and listen from the head of the stairs. There were no servants about. He understood now, they probably had their orders. They were used to this. Once more he swallowed and passed his tongue over his lips. He heard the key in the lock of the front door. He crouched back in the shadows, his eyes fixed upon the dark hall below, his mouth open so that he should hear better.The door slammed. Gabriel had come in alone.There was the sound of the fellow starting up his car, Julius backed away from his cramped position, and reached out for the switch. In a moment he had flooded the hall with light. Gabriel looked up, startled, she was fiddling with her bag. Her hair was untidy, and her cloak was slipping off one shoulder, a shoulder strap of her dress showed. He saw all this in a glance.
‘Hullo! - it’s you,’ said Gabriel. ‘Why such a scene with the lights? You gave me a shock.’
He did not answer, he stared down at her, white and trembling in his dressing-gown.
‘Darling, are you ill?’ she said. ‘You look terrible - what’s wrong? Why aren’t you in bed?’
He looked her all over as though fearful that something should escape him, and when she joined him at the head of the stairs he spoke:
‘You bitch!’ he said. ‘You bitch!’
For a moment she gazed at him, thinking he must be mad. ‘What on earth . . .’ she began. He did not give her time to continue.
‘I saw you,’ he said. ‘I saw you from the window. Out in the square with some fellow. You were in that car eight minutes. I timed you, eight whole minutes, and then you got out and I saw him kiss you. You bitch!’
She burst out laughing.
‘Good God, was that all? I thought you were in terrible pain. Your silly face is grey, darling. Go along to bed and don’t be so absurd.’
‘You can’t make a fool out of me,’ he said, and he reached out his hand to her arm, and shook her.
She wrenched herself away.
‘Don’t do that,’ she said. ‘Are you drunk, or what? I’ve never heard such bloody nonsense in my life.’
‘Come along to my room,’ he said. ‘I’m not joking with you.’ She followed, shrugging her shoulders, switching out the lights in the corridor.
‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘I’ve been dancing since ten this evening. I’m not going to stay.’
He dragged her inside his room and shut the door.
‘How long has this been going on?’ he said.
‘What the devil d’you mean by “this”?’ she said. ‘Why so melodramatic?’
‘Don’t talk like that to me,’ he said.
‘I shall talk as I damn well please,’ she said.
He took hold of her wrists.
‘Why did you let that fellow kiss you?’
‘Because I like it,’ she said.
‘Has he done it before?’
‘No - as a matter of fact. No. I only met him to-night.’
‘You let him do that, and you’ve not met him before?’
‘Yes - darling.’
‘Do other men kiss you?’ he said.
‘Yes. If I’m attracted by them.’
‘On the mouth?’
‘Good heavens, where else do you suggest?’
‘Don’t play with me,’ he said. ‘How long have you let men kiss you?’
‘Oh, darling, I really can’t remember. I suppose it started during the war.’
‘Those fellows you danced with?’
‘Yes.’
‘Whenever you go out, do you always let them kiss you?’
‘It depends - please don’t be so damn idiotic. I want to go to bed.’
‘Do they only kiss you, or do you let them do other things?’ he said.
‘What d’you mean by “other things”?’
‘You know,’ he said.
‘Oh! I don’t sleep with them, if that’s what you’re getting at,’ she said.
‘D’you expect me to believe you?’
‘Yes.’
‘How can I?’
‘Because I wouldn’t lie to you,’ she said.‘If I ever want anyone, I’ll tell you. As it happens, I’ve never felt like wanting anyone up to date.’
‘You bitch!’ he said.
He sat down, passing his hand over his mouth, his hand trembling.
She looked at him thoughtfully.
‘Why should you mind?’ she said.
He brushed the remark away.
‘How do you think I’m going to live if I’m never to be certain of you, day or night?’ he said to her.
She shrugged her shoulders.
‘It’s not my affair if you choose to make a fool of yourself,’ she told him.
There was a pause and then she said: ‘You might have known this would happen. I’m nearly twenty-five, my life’s my own, after all.’
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘No, that’s not true.You have no right to say that. You’re part of my life.’
‘Don’t shout, the servants will hear,’ she said. She picked up her bag from the table.
‘I’m going to bed, all this is very boring.You’ve probably had a tiring day and will feel better to-morrow.’
She went to the door.
‘Gabriel,’ he said. ‘Gabriel ...’
She glanced at him over her shoulder and shook her head.
‘No,’ she said.
He gazed at her sullenly, gnawing at his finger-nails, hating her.
‘I’ll stop you going to places,’ he said. ‘I’ll have you watched, I’ll see that you aren’t left alone with anyone - you needn’t imagine you can fool me, nobody has ever fooled me yet. Take care.’
She considered him a moment, her eyes narrow, making a study of him in her mind as he crouched in his dressing-gown, biting his nails, his shoulders hunched, his neck bulging over the collar, his white hair rumpled.
‘You know what’s the matter with you, you’re getting old,’ she said. Then she went out of the room.
Julius sat in his chair staring at the closed door; and as he waited there numbed and cold, too weary to drag himself to bed, it seemed to him that he could see faces watching him from the shadows, and could hear voices whispering in the corners and he was no longer Julius Lévy, but a traveller who had reached the summit of a mountain and must now go down into the dark valleys below. The white clouds had passed from his reach, the music of the heights was lost to him, and the gates of the secret city were closed.