The Green Knight (54 page)

Moy and Sefton had decided after a brief conference, to wear their necklaces. They did not consult their mother. As Sefton pointed out, this was their first opportunity to thank the donor, to whom they could then explain that they would have written ‘thank you' letters only they did not know his address. On the other hand, would the donor be embarrassed if, wearing the necklaces, they thanked him publicly? Perhaps he would not want anyone to know he had given them such expensive presents, perhaps indeed, as Sefton surmised, he had simply wanted to give something to Aleph, and had included them only out of politeness? As it happened, the Clifton contingent arriving first, and being let in by Patsie who told them where to put their coats, had been welcomed profusely by Peter, who exclaimed at the necklaces, touched them, and said how well they suited their owners, and that he had chosen them with care. He seemed to be about to kiss Louise, but instead held her hand in both of his and squeezed it for some time. He said, ‘How sad about Aleph, I mean about her not being able to come, it is sad for
me.'
‘Well, indeed,' said Louise, and withdrew her hand. Emil then arrived and was introduced. Later in the evening Louise glimpsed Peter and Emil sitting together, deep in conversation in the library. Moy and Sefton had wandered away by themselves. Moy was wearing one of her long shifts, an auburn one, round-necked, upon which to show off her lapis lazuli. She had considered putting her hair up, but decided not to. It did not always stay up. Her thick blonde plait hung down to her waist. She seemed to have become a little taller and a little slimmer. Sefton was wearing a long dark green skirt, pulled firmly in at the waist, with a white blouse and a very old black velvet jacket. She nervously fingered the amber necklace, which tended to hang down invisibly inside the jacket. Her uneven reddish-brown hair was, quite by accident as she had just washed it, more orderly, fluffy, less jagged, more like a halo. She looked about her sternly, even aggressively, her mouth compressed, as if she were searching for someone, which she was not.

Clement, abandoning Bellamy who was following Peter around, set out to look for Joan, whom he had seen in the distance talking to Cora Brock. He found them still together. Cora, the only one wearing an ankle-length skirt, was a rich handsome woman of fifty, certainly eccentric and brusque, but secretly generous and yearning for friendship. She put on a bluff chatterbox manner to conceal her shyness. She was still mourning for her husband, Isaac Brock, who had died ten years ago. She was childless.

‘Hello Clement, I hear you have given up the theatre.'

‘No, Cora, the theatre has given me up.'

‘Well, it is a miserable profession. You know, this Peter Mir is attractive, you misled me, Joanie. I am looking forward to my turn to talk to him. Yet he is a bit like a schoolmaster too, don't you think? And his eyes, his eyes, those dark murky eyes, and they are quite bulging, surely he is something of a fanatic. Joan says he is religious and I am not surprised. Isn't he Jewish? He looks Jewish. I believe he is. That's good. Look how kind and attentive he is to everyone, though a little fussy too, don't you think? I'm sure you wonder how he knew that I existed, I thought Joan might have mentioned me, but, no, it seems that he asked Bellamy to gather in a few other members of
our circle.
I didn't know I belonged to a circle, but evidently I do. As Joan puts it, he just wants to enlarge his acquaintance in our milieu. Well, I won't argue with that. I gather he is a psychoanalyst, one can always do with one of those. Someone said he was just coming back to this house and that's what the party's for, perhaps he's been letting it at some phenomenal rent. You know, I let my house last year, only it wasn't worth it because the people were so awful, one has to be careful. I take it dinner is to be late, I didn't realise there was dinner. I asked little Patsie, such a charming girl, and how pretty those two younger Andersons have become, of course Aleph is dazzling, and when she is present nothing else can be seen, but those two are not at all bad-looking, Moy's plait is quite a work of art, but why doesn't she set her lovely hair free, like other girls do nowadays, whatever will happen to Moy I wonder, is she as daft as ever? And talk of daft, isn't Tessa Millen coming I'm told, I haven't seen
her
for ages.' As Cora continued Clement was trying to catch Joan's eye, but Joan kept on looking at Cora with an amused indulgent smile. Clement gave up and went to collect some more ‘special', where he saw Emil talking to Bellamy. They waved to Clement and almost at once moved away still talking. Clement realised he was drunk and sat down on a chair in the hall.

Emil said to Bellamy as they ascended the stairs, ‘The noise down there is dreadful. But fortunately this house is crammed with rooms. Let us sit in here, I imagine it is a servant's bedroom, no, Bellamy, not on the bed. Here are two chairs, draw yours over. I want to give you a lecture. But first of all let me say how impressed I am by your Peter Mir. He can have a serious conversation instantly and then proceed at once to chat. He is good-looking too, a spiritual man I should say. Of course such a man could not be a criminal or a thief, he has taken it all very well, and he looks the picture of health, God be thanked. Such a pity Lucas is not here, but there, we know what Lucas is like! But is not this an odd sort of evening, why are we, who all know one another, the guests, has he no other friends? Perhaps he has quarrelled with his friends and decided to collect some new ones, why not! And his library, have you seen it? I had a quick look, there seem to be no medical books, or scientific books unless you count books on agriculture, perhaps as he is so rich he has somewhere a toy farm? There are also some Russian books, my Russian is poor, but I see Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Pushkin, in fine old editions, he is of course a cultured man – but otherwise in English, detective stories, Conan Doyle, Thomas Hardy, Kipling. Well, I had only a glance, and no doubt he keeps his medical textbooks at his consulting rooms. Or perhaps this is his consulting rooms. Or perhaps this is only one of his many houses! But now I must lecture you. I have been hearing about you, living in the cold room in the East End and visiting that monastery.'

‘I haven't been to the monastery lately.'

‘But you plan to go, you hope to go, I tell you not to. It is not for you.
Experto crede.
I had such thoughts when I was young. That path is for very few. Most tragic of all are those who are silent prisoners of an asceticism which for them is pure hell. Thus whole lives can rot away. Indeed, Bellamy, it is a way to hell, believe me, for such as you it is. You have a warm heart, you must work in the open with people, aid them as you used to do, be with ordinary men. I think that deeply you see this and believe it, you need only someone to shake you, to beat you a little, to pull you out of that miserable dark dead end. You are a romantic, you must follow your heart. Come back to your flat – '

‘I have sold my flat.'

‘Then come and stay with me. Be brave and make the break. Come to me, and
recover.'

Clement had at last cornered Joan, running after her up the stairs and pursuing her along the landing. They paused.

‘Joan, I'm so sorry, forgive me – '

‘What for? You're drunk.'

‘About on the telephone – I was awful – it's just that I can't bear it – I just couldn't – I must be alone – '

‘You are afraid of being alone with me.'

‘Yes, I suppose so. No, it's not just that. I can't stand anyone. Please forgive me, you do, don't you, I'm just Clement, your old friend.'

Joan said, ‘Let's go in here. Why are all the doors open?'

‘Our host wants to prove he has nothing to hide.'

‘Well, let's close this door.'

They went into a small room filled with cupboards, evidently a dressing-room. Joan closed the door. Clement hugged her.

‘Harlequin, will you marry me?'

Clement, not expecting this question, released her. He answered instantly, ‘No, I can't, I
won't,
I mean it won't do, I'm very sorry – '

‘But why – is it because you think I belong to someone else? I don't, I swear I don't!'

‘No, I don't think, I don't think anything about you, I – '

‘Don't say that. You do think about me, you do love me, I know it. I'm still Circe, you are Harlequin. It's still like that – oh let that be – let it be forever – remember Vercingetorix – '

‘Dear Joan, please don't ramble on about the past. Of course I care for you – '

‘You are unhappy. I can make you happy. We were so happy once together, have you forgotten? You can transform me. I can transform you. Only I know you, only I understand you – '

‘Joan, please don't
bother
me, I have troubles, I don't want to marry you or anybody, please shut up and leave me alone – '

‘I know you have troubles, I want to share them, I want to help you, I can help you, I love you. Don't you think this night is somehow enchanted? It's a sign. We are all changed into our real selves, we are all beautiful, we are saved, you are beautiful, I am beautiful – '

‘Darling, you are drunk!'

‘You see, you call me “darling”. Tonight it's like being in a fairy palace where everything is lit up and beautiful and everything is understood and forgiven and truth is told and love declared – and as you said, there is nothing to hide! Oh don't you feel this, this liberation, something is offered to us, given to us, something we must take and hold in this magic time which brings us together – '

‘Dearest Circe, it's no good – '

‘You love me, Clement, I know you do – '

‘It's no good, we are old friends, we must just go on being old friends – '

‘Yes, make each other happy, be together – that's called marriage – oh be brave! Rescue me, I am desperate.'

‘No, no. Forgive me.' He opened the door and drew her out onto the landing.

Harvey had brought his mother to Peter's house by taxi. He was not looking forward to the evening. Peter, who had greeted him rather briskly, had spent a little more time with Joan, during which Harvey had retired and hidden himself in the library. When he emerged he saw Joan talking to Cora. Pretending he was going somewhere, he limped about holding a drink, then made for the kitchen where Patsie and Mrs Callow kindly enquired about his ‘disability'. After he left them a few people, Emil, Sefton, Mrs Adwarden, waved to him but did not approach him. He thought, I hate this party, I hate everybody here, I want to leave, but I can't without
her.
I suppose we'll get a lift from someone. But they'll all stay for
hours.
I have to go to the hospital tomorrow. Why do I have to go there? Just because it's something to do. We're broke, we have no money. I'll have to support
her.
I'll have to give up the university. She keeps on hinting about suicide. She's sure to get drunk, I'll have to keep an eye on her. I'm getting rather drunk myself. Where is she now? She's not with Cora, Cora's talking to that man from the pub. I'll have a look in the drawing-room. The drawing-room was a huge magnificent white and golden room with a high ceiling, much grander even than Emil's drawing-room. One long wall at the far end was covered by a tapestry depicting the return of Odysseus, which Sefton was explaining to Moy. Jeremy Adwarden, always said to have been sweet on Louise, was sitting next to her on a sofa. Louise was wearing the pink blue and white silk evening-dress, she looked flushed, animated and young. She and Jeremy waved to Harvey. Sefton said, no she had not seen Joan lately. Moy said she really must go and find a lavatory. Emil, looking in from the hall, beckoned to Sefton, he had always liked her, they sometimes had serious discussions about the future of Europe. Harvey turned away toward the stairs and began to mount them slowly. Now he must search the bedrooms, expecting to find his mother lying drunk upon a bed. He looked into one bedroom, where Connie Adwarden was admiring herself in a long mirror. Harvey was feeling very tired. With self-punishing slowness he mounted the next flight of stairs to the top floor. He just needed, for a short time, to be absolutely alone. He opened two doors. One of the rooms was like a little study, with a table and two chairs. Perhaps a place where some servant or bursar had added up accounts. Harvey came in, closing the door and dropping his stick on the floor. He sat down. He put his hands on the table, he laid his head on his hands and fell asleep.

Louise, before being led into the drawing-room by Jeremy, had not failed to notice Clement pursuing Joan up the stairs. She had been unexpectedly shocked by Harvey's casual remark that his mother ‘was going to move in with Clement'. She thought that Harvey must instantly have noticed her reaction. She herself had been surprised by it. Yet why was she surprised, had she not always known the irrational jealousy of her disposition, her quiet possessiveness which she hid, she imagined, so well? How easily one is hurt. Or is it only I who am so stupidly vulnerable. Oh if only Teddy were still here, his great wise being solved all problems – oh Teddy, my love, my darling. Now I am all wounds. Yet even in this perhaps I deceive myself – I am all selfishness, all ingratitude. The girls are wonderful. They will go, but that all mothers suffer. I love Harvey with a secret locked-up passion which I conceal with a coolness which must gradually lose him. I hugged and kissed him when he was a child. Now I am distant, matronly, old. Once I wanted him to marry Aleph so that he could be my son. But he will not marry Aleph. He is already slipping away. He would not even come in time to talk to her before she left. They are fated to be brother and sister, but at an increasing distance. The bond will snap. My God, what these next few years will bring me – and I am one of the luckier ones. And I have carelessly, wantonly, stupidly lost Clement. Have I only just, now, realised how much I love him and how much I need him? I
need
him, and that need has made me take him for granted. When Teddy died I was grateful for Clement's love which he could not conceal from me – but for so long I was paralysed as if asleep, and when I woke up Clement had become used to me as a sisterly friend. I put up with his actresses, he told me about them, I was sympathetic, and so I have become not just a sister but a mother. I have made it my task to be passionless. My path is a quiet one now, on into the decent solitude of old age.