Evening might have found me there still, sitting on
my heels in front of an empty suitcase,
had the telephone not rung. I ignored it,
thinking it might be Betsy, to whom I was not ready
to speak. But it sounded authoritative, as
unanswered telephones do, and it occurred to me that
it might be my mother, that something might be wrong.
(my father I kept in reserve; his health might
concern me at a later date.) With a sigh I
got to my feet, stumbled on cramped legs to the
living-room.
“
Elizabeth Wetherall,
”
I
said. There was a sound of a throat being cleared, almost
a sigh that responded to my own.
“
Hello?
”
“
Nigel Ward here. You very kindly gave me
your number.
”
“
Mr Ward. How nice to hear from you.
”
“
I am going to be in your neighbourhood this
evening ...
”
“
But you must come for a drink.
”
I looked at
my watch.
“
Any time from six, if you
can manage it. I should be delighted to see you.
”
Another sigh.
“
Would six-thirty be
convenient?
”
“
Of course. I look forward to it.
”
I replaced the suitcase in the cupboard.
Since I had all the time in the world to plan my
journey I decided there was no rush. But I should
leave, no matter who sought to detain me.
“
You walked here, I imagine?
”
“
Oh, yes. I walk everywhere. I find
it's the best way of ensuring a good night's
sleep.
”
“
How far was that? Your walk, I mean.
”
“
My flat is in Bedford Way. Not that I
spend much time there. My days are organized around
the students. It's important to keep them
occupied. Most of them are far from home, you see
...
”
“
Yes, I remember you saying that.
”
He looked far from home himself, lost, rather
alarmed to find himself drinking a glass of white
wine in a strange woman's house. I wanted
to put him at his ease, but was aware that I must not
alarm him further. What he might have wanted was
not apparent. I did not entirely believe his
explanation for his presence
—
that he was to be in the
neighbourhood
—
but this may have been the truth. He
did not look the sort of man given to lame
excuses. A rather frightening rectitude emanated
from what was an elegant if mournful appearance:
even seated he seemed excessively tall,
taking care to fold his long legs out of the range of
any furniture they might encounter. I
registered the fact that his head was
well-proportioned, that he might be considered
good-looking. He had a stern nineteenth-century
face that put one in mind of incorruptible
officials in a world long since faded. I did
not quite see how he fitted into our shabbier times.
No doubt consorting with young people afforded him a
certain amount of company, even of comfort. I thought
him lonely. Certainly he seemed unattached.
Why else was he here?
“
Have you always done this kind of work?
”
He smiled. At least he was not so
inexperienced that he could not recognize a
woman's curiosity.
“
In a sense,
though not in the way I intended. I find I am
happiest in a student atmosphere, no doubt
because I was so happy as a student myself. I am
no doubt arrested at an early stage of my
development. That's what Freud would say,
anyway.
”
“
You seem quite normal to me. One imagines
Freud dealing with something more dramatic.
”
“
Those were his women patients. Women had a
hard time of it then.
”
Still do, I thought.
“
What arrested your
development, then? Can I give you some more
wine?
”
“
Thank you. Oh, I can time it pretty
well. I was in my last year at Oxford.
Magdalen. I was doing well; everyone seemed
pleased with me. I was being encouraged to think of an
academic career, a fellowship, even. And I
had already met my future wife, a fellow
student. We were unrealistically happy, in a
way that never comes again.
”
“
Why do you say unrealistically?
”
“
Because we were escapists, or I was. I was
warned about neglecting my work but took no
notice of the warnings. We planned to marry as
soon as the summer term ended. I had sailed through
Finals, convinced that nothing could go wrong. I was in
a sort of euphoria, madness, even.
”
“
What happened?
”
“
I got a Third, instead of the First everyone
had so confidently predicted. My tutor was
furious. It put an end to my proposed
academic career. I had a wife, no job,
no home of my own, and a mother whom my father had
entrusted to my care before he died. We had no
choice but to live with her, while we both looked
around for work.
”
“
How did that work out?
”
“
Not well. Oh, everyone was very civilized,
but my mother was more keen on a career for me than on
my status as a new husband. Widowed mothers have a
tendency to infantilize their sons. Not so my
mother. She really wanted me to be her own age,
or older, able to look after her, even to be a
sort of consort. She regarded my wife rather as
if she were someone I had brought home from school for
tea, no more serious than a childhood friend whom
I should now put away in the interests of my new
seniority. Which she had imposed on me.
”
“
And your wife?
”
“
She was bewildered. We agreed that she should
live with her parents until I got a proper
job, when we'd start our life again. But it took
too long, and she was lonely.
”
“
You, too, I imagine.
”
“
Yes.
”
There was a silence.
“
Forgive me,
”
I said.
“
I'm asking too many questions.
”
He smiled.
“
There aren't many more that I can
answer. I took various tedious courses, all
very far removed from the classics I still longed
to study, and eventually became the bursar of a
college of higher education. I took early
retirement
—
mistakenly
—
found I had too little
to do and thought voluntary work might be the answer.
That's what I do now.
”
“
And your wife?
”
“
We divorced. Or rather she divorced me.
We stayed married but separate for a long time.
Then she met someone else.
”
“
And you?
”
“
No. In a sense I remained true to her.
To our early promise. It was hard to recover from
that.
”
“
What a strange story.
”
“
It ruined my life, of course. My mother
became ill and begged me not to leave her. My
wife reproached me, quite justifiably. But
really what had happened was that we had been forced
to grow up, face reality.
”
“
Like Adam and Eve.
”
“
I've always been on their side.
”
“
At least you had your time in Eden.
”
“
Yes, I had that.
”
Again, silence fell. I had not been prepared
for this operatic confession. In fact I
suspected I was being given an edited version of a
much longer story, one that he thought he should offer as
explanation for himself: his calling card, as it were.
These were confessional times, all discretion gone.
Also I suspected an analyst somewhere in the
background, either in the past or perhaps still on the
job. There was probably more: a breakdown at some
point. I hope I gave no hint that I
suspected this. My role seemed to be one of
contained listener, like the presumed analyst, in
fact. But the analyst always has the excuse of
being allowed to indicate when the session is over.
I had none. Besides, I was getting hungry. I
had no food in the house. I had done
no shopping. The whole day had been wasted, and as
well as wasted, spoiled. I warned myself to stick
to the present circumstance and not to drift off again
into my own preoccupations.
“
You must be hungry after your long walk,
”
I said.
“
I'd love to offer you something to eat, but
I've nothing suitable.
”
I thought this would give him a chance to invite me
out to dinner. Instead he got to his feet, thinking
he was being dismissed.
“
Please don't go,
”
I said.
“
There's a
small restaurant round the corner where my
husband and I used to go. That might be the answer.
I'm really ashamed of my lack of
preparedness.
”
“
That would be very pleasant.
”
“
It's an Italian menu,
”
I said.
“
I'm sure you'll find something you like.
”
No further conversation was forthcoming on the short
walk to the restaurant, for which I was grateful.
The evening was so benign that it shed its aura in a
way that was almost abstract. I had been too long
deprived of normal conditions not to marvel at their
apparent availability. In this early dusk,
dissolving only gently into a night that promised
restful sleep, it was easy to remain in the
present, to accept this inconsequential companion
as an appropriate traveller on the same
route as I had long schooled myself to undertake, and
which I now saw as one of intolerable loneliness. That
acceptance of friends, of lovers, that burden of their
subsequent loss, seemed to relegate me to a
sub-species of those without either, although I knew that
to acquaintances, to strangers, even to this particular
stranger I appeared a competent,
self-sufficient, even unsympathetic person
who had no need of close attachments. I was,
I saw, too proud, or too ashamed (they are
the same thing) ever to have confided, to have confessed in
any company. The strain was great, but I knew no
other way of behaving. That was why the idea of
flight had presented itself, and why flight seemed
to be the next logical step. I envied the
silent Mr Ward his young companions, most of
all the trust he must inspire, for I could see that
this was a man with elevated standards, however bleak
these had proved to be. He would conduct himself
well, that was clear. I envied him his discipline.
At the same time these qualities seemed too
harsh to offer any emotional or even
spiritual relief. Virtue, being its own reward,
rarely if ever compensates those who possess it.
The atmosphere eased slightly when we were
seated in the restaurant, surrounded by the low
murmur of discreet fellow diners. It was still too
early for the young people who would surely arrive later.
Our present companions were presumably on their
way home, or perhaps going to see a film at one
of the local cinemas. We surveyed the menu,
although I knew it by heart.
“
Are you brave enough to eat seafood?
”
I
asked.
“
I believe it's good here, although I've
never liked it. I once had a bad experience with
dressed crab.
”
“
Lasagne,
”
he said, laying the menu
aside.
“
I am not an adventurous eater.
”
“
I'll have the same.
”
Something simple
seemed indicated, in deference to the tentative
nature of our association.
“
You came here with your husband,
”
he stated.
It was not a question.
“
He died.
”
“
I'm sorry.
”
“
I don't know how one deals with loss,
”
I said.
“
I think I've made a poor job
of it.
”