by Iris Murdoch
‘Why, yes, of course. Look, there’s a taxi, I remember you said you could conjure them up! Goodnight, my dear dear child, we’ll be in touch, don’t be upset. Have you got enough money for the fare?’ She hugged him and kissed him twice upon his cold cheek.
Louise walked back to the house, tracking their footprints which were still clear in the thick powdery frost. She had come out without her key, but Sefton had put the door upon the latch and it opened silently at her pressure. She closed it, unlatching the lock and shooting the bolt. The kitchen was empty. Louise dialled Clement’s number again but there was no answer. Sefton appeared. ‘Sefton, come and have some supper.’
‘No thanks, I’ve made myself a sandwich. I made one for Moy too. I think she’s gone to bed. The kettle has boiled, by the way.’
‘You can’t go to bed! Come and sit with me in the kitchen.’
‘Sorry, Louie, I’m awfully tired, I’m ready to collapse with tiredness.’
Louise poured the boiling water upon the fresh tea-leaves and inhaled the calm familiar aroma. A loaf was upon the table, with some butter and cheese from Sefton’s sandwich-making, also some biscuits left over from tea-time. Sefton’s door was closed. Louise left the kitchen and began to mount the stairs. Upon the second flight she found Moy sitting and crying, still clutching her uneaten sandwich in one hand.
‘Moy, don’t grieve little one. Come down and sit with me. I’ll make supper for you. Nothing bad has happened, all will be well.’
‘Yes – I hope – oh I’m so unhappy. And I miss Anax so much.’
‘Come on down and we’ll have supper.’
‘I couldn’t eat anything. I’m just going to bed. Oh I’m – so sorry – ’ Moy rose and went on up the stairs, disappearing into the darkness at the top of the house.
Louise went back to the kitchen and poured some tea into a mug. She thought: something awful has happened and the children know it. She put away the butter. Carrying the mug she went up the stairs. The door of Aleph’s room was open. She thought, I ought to search that room. But she went into her own bedroom, and to the window where the curtains had not yet been pulled, and looked down at the place where so long ago she had seen Peter Mir standing, half expecting to see him again. She left her bedroom door open, hoping and dreading to hear the telephone. She sat down on her bed in the darkened room and sipped the tea, but it was still too hot. She thought, this is the end of happiness, darkness begins here.
‘Where’s Cora?’ said Clement.
‘Gone to bed, I think.’
‘Gone to bed? Oh I see. Leaving us alone together.’
‘So it appears, dear Harlequin. What an innocent you are!’
‘She said “a dinner-party”. Then there’s only three!’
‘And now there’s only two.’
‘And soon there will be only one, because I’m going home.’
‘No you aren’t, darling Harlequin. You are going to have some more whisky.’
Joan was right. Clement poured a small quantity of whisky into his tumbler and added a lot of mineral water. He sipped the mixture. He had reached a stage where he felt an overwhelming necessity to go on drinking. He had unsuspiciously accepted Cora’s invitation, assuming that Joan might be present among others, but not anticipating the device evidently set up by Joan and her generous match-making hostess. Not that it mattered, he would soon walk out. He drank the whisky.
Clement liked going out to dinner, really anywhere with anyone. He liked dressing-up for dinner, not just in the traditional black and white which suited him so well, but in carefully selected brightly coloured shirts and ties. He enjoyed the problem of what to wear. Tonight he had on a brilliant pink shirt with a silver bow tie and a dark blue and now very old velvet jacket. He had, as dinner proceeded, loosened the tie and undone a button of his shirt. His very dark glossy hair, disarranged during dinner by his nervous hand, now framed his face with wild locks. His lips were red, his cheeks, stirred by alcohol, were also red. His eyes seemed darker, blacker. Gazing at Joan, he drew his hand over his brow, then down the Grecian profile of his long nose. Joan was wearing a décolleté evening-dress which, as she and Cora had explained during dinner, was one of Cora’s cast-offs which Joan had altered to fit her slimmer figure. The dress was silvery grey, somewhat the colour of Clement’s tie as they had observed, made of a silky material which emulated fish scales, three-quarter length and dubbed by Cora as hopelessly art deco.
‘I like your dress.’
‘It’s one of Cora’s, well we told you that, didn’t we. I’m getting drunk too. Cora is getting fat, poor girl.’
‘You are as slim as a dolphin.’
‘Aren’t dolphins rather plump, the dear things? You are drunk, my sweet, my beautiful.’
‘Yes. I must be. Your eyes are flashing like neon signs.’
‘Read the signs, my angel. At least in this dress I can show my legs. Legs are forever.’ Turning sideways she pulled up her skirt. She had grown her dyed dark-red brown hair longer than usual, and allowed it to fall in curling gipsy tangles. Her eyes, prominent in the dark circle of her make-up, sparkled at him, her long eyelashes flickered.
‘I must go,’ said Clement. But he stared at her and did not move.
‘Clement, may I show you something? You won’t have to go far. You can walk can’t you?’
‘Of course I can walk.’
‘It’s just out here.’ Joan sprang up. Clement detached himself from his chair and followed her, holding onto his glass of whisky. Following her, he crossed the hall and mounted the stairs. Joan threw open a door and Clement found himself in a bedroom.
‘Well, what was it you wanted to show me? Then I must go.’
‘Oh you poor slow beast! To start with, look at this, it’s Spanish.’ She pointed to the huge magnificent bed, its dusky headboard painted with swirling roses. The sheets had been pulled back.
‘All right. Joke over. I’m going home.’
‘No, you’re not. I’ve locked the door and hidden the key.’
‘Oh Joan, don’t be so boring. I don’t want to be nasty to you. I’m tired and I’ve got a lot of troubles. Just don’t play these silly fruitless games, you ought to know by now – ’
‘Indeed, dear Harlequin, you must not be nasty to me, you must not, because then I would cry. Just let us talk for a little bit.’
‘Well, first of all put the key back in the door.’
‘I didn’t lock it, I just said that, the door has no key, look – ’ She swung it open, then closed it again. ‘Now do let’s sit and talk, where shall we sit, say you there and I here.’ She pulled two big chairs, evidently also Spanish, away from the wall and set them closely opposite to each other. Clement sat down. Joan sat down, her knees just touching his.
‘Was this little dinner joke your idea or Cora’s?’
‘Oh, both – you know Cora has such a big heart, I think it’s something to do with not having children, and she mopes for Isaac all the time, and she loves looking after people.’
‘Yes, she’s kind, but you are naughty.’
‘Oh Clement, how delightful!’
‘What – ?’
‘You calling me naughty! It’s such a sweet endearment! Yes, that’s just what I am, naughty! Oh how sweet you are!’
‘I didn’t mean it as any sort of compliment. Joan, please learn to leave me alone.’
‘I can’t. You say that, and you come to dinner. Why not face the facts? You can’t leave me alone! Oh, Harlequin, don’t look at me like that!’
‘I’m sorry if I have misled you. I cannot love you in the way that you require.’
‘How pompous you sound, it’s the drink. But then you do love me in some other way. You imply that, don’t you? So can we not teach each other how to love each other, since we are so close? We are close, really we are closest – you do love me, old friend, you do – don’t you?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’
‘What an old miser you are. And I am so humble
I can be pleased by your grudging words! But seriously, we are very old friends, aren’t we?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then call me “Circe” like you used to.’
‘Oh wicked Circe, you turn men into pigs. You have turned me into a pig, and now you complain about my piggishness!’
‘So, maybe I do turn men into pigs, yes, perhaps I do, considering most of the men I’ve got to know. Perhaps automatically turning men into pigs was a curse laid upon poor Circe by the gods. Whenever she ran into some nice man he instantly turned into a horrid pig! Oh Harlequin, my heart is so heavy.’
‘So is mine. But there’s nothing to be done about it. We must each carry our heavy hearts along our separate roads.’
‘You want to marry Aleph. But you are afraid to ask her. Maybe you think she’ll run away and join you one day! So why not ask her, I dare you to!’
‘I’m not in love with Aleph.’
‘Clement, I know that you desire her, any man must. Peter Mir desired her. How that man has stirred us up, I think he’s liberated us somehow! I feel liberated.’
‘I don’t.’
‘I feel good. I mean goody good. I suddenly have confidence in my goodness, I have faith in it. I can’t think why all these years I’ve thought I was bad, everyone has told me I was bad, you have, even Harvey has.’
Clement laughed. Joan’s knee pressed his, then retreated. ‘Dear Joan, I’m glad that you have discovered your goodness! I wish I could discover mine. I just feel hopelessly morose at present.’
“Morose” is a fine word. I think your trouble is that you’re in love with Louise, you know that Louise is dowdy and spiritless and dull, but for some reason you feel you have a duty to love her. Perhaps you think the shade of Teddy has commanded you to love her. But, Harlequin, can’t you just get out of it? Peter has moved everyone but you! Look how Bellamy and Emil have shacked up! No sooner is Clive gone than Emil grabs Bellamy.’
‘I don’t believe in your conversion to goodness. What you say about Louise is mean and spiteful and untrue.’
‘All right, I know it is, I was just trying to provoke you and make you reveal your feelings! And think how close you and I are to each other so that we can talk in this way, we are free beings together, we get on together, we tell each other the truth, isn’t that so?’
‘In a way, yes.’
‘And how rare that is. Dear Clement, I love you, I’ve always loved you, you know that. Listen, listen. I want to marry you, I want to be your wife and to be with you always and forever. And I’ll be a good good wife, I’ll learn to cook, I’ll look after the house and your clothes and everything and be your secretary and I’ll learn to use a computer and I’ll serve you and do all the little jobs that you feel waste your time and every night in bed we’ll hug each other and make love and then if we wake in the night we’ll each know the other is there and we’ll reach out and hold hands and in every way we shall keep each other safe, and live happily and simply and truthfully with each other, oh Clement, that’s what I have always wanted and dreamt of, please please marry me, I love you so much – ’
Tears were streaming down Joan’s face. Clement, reaching out to her, said, ‘Joan, do stop crying, or else I shall start to cry too.’ For a moment she clutched his hand. Then Clement pushed his chair back, releasing her hand. ‘Please don’t be so upset, please try to understand, I just don’t want to marry you, I don’t love you enough, we don’t suit each other, we could not live together, it wouldn’t do, it’s out of the question, please don’t imagine it as possible – ’
‘You think I’m bad, you think I’m promiscuous, and wouldn’t be faithful to you, but I would be, I’d want to be with you all the time, if I had you I wouldn’t dream of anybody else – ’
‘It’s not that, I’m sure you’d be faithful, I just don’t want you! Now do stop crying please!’
There was a silence. Joan dried her eyes on the silvery sleeve of her dress, Clement pushed his chair further back, then got up and stood behind it.
Joan said huskily, not looking at him but at her soaked sleeve. ‘You said that at the end of the world you would take me in – ’
‘Maybe I did, but – ’
‘Well, now it’s the end of the world.’
‘No it isn’t, and don’t threaten me with “Humphrey Hook”, Harvey told me all about “him”!’
‘But, Clement – ’
‘You won’t hang yourself or take to drugs, you’re far too sensible, you love yourself too much, you love life, you’ll always find a way – Look, if you need money I can give you some, don’t say no, money always helps – don’t be angry with me, Joan, I am still your old friend if you will let me be – ’
Joan stood up and began trying to pull her tight-fitting dress off. She managed to pull the top part down as far as the waist. She sat down awkwardly upon the bed. ‘Come to me, Clement, stay here tonight, just for this night, I know you want to, be with me, like we once were, remember, in the rue Vercingetorix, oh please do stay, my Harlequin, my darling, just give me this night – ’
Clement turned and ran from the room. He hurried down the stairs, found his coat, and let himself quietly out of the front door. Oblivious of the freezing air he walked all the way back to his flat, moaning quietly to himself. When he got back he took a sleeping-pill and fell into a deep slumber. He was wakened the next morning by his telephone and Louise telling him that Aleph was lost.
On the next day, Clifton was like a besieged encampment. There was intense chaotic activity but no good news. Well-intentioned people kept turning up and departing. The telephone was in constant use. Something seemed to be happening in every room. Clement arrived first, coming round immediately after Louise’s early phone call. By then the meagre post had been scrutinised. Bellamy then arrived, followed soon by Emil. Sefton left early, saying she must go to a library. Harvey then arrived and sat in the kitchen. Kenneth Rathbone, informed by telephone, arrived with a case of lager, which he thought might help, and stayed a little, also sitting in the kitchen and drinking the lager and talking to Louise, who, assisted by Moy, was continually making tea and coffee. It occurred to Clement that he ought to ring Cora and tell her to tell Joan. Cora was a bit stiff with Clement, said she would certainly come round (though Clement had not suggested it since she had no helpful information) but that she would not bring Joan. Bellamy, in the kitchen, tried to console Harvey, who was taciturn, while Emil, with a cup of coffee, went up and sat by himself in the Aviary. Louise rang up the police and received the same friendly courteous reply, and yes the hospitals had been checked too. She rang the clinic and was told that the doctors were busy and she should arrange an appointment. When Bellamy later went up to find Emil Louise suggested to Harvey that he might like to sit in Sefton’s room, but he declined. Kenneth Rathbone left. Tessa Millen, whom they had failed to reach by telephone, arrived accidentally, wishing to introduce Louise to her friend Pamela Horton, who was to be the new director of the Refuge. Tessa also, it was evident, wished, after her dubious role in the matter of Peter’s arrest, to reinstate herself in the affections and respect of the Cliftonians. Told of the situation, she suggested that Aleph’s room should be searched for clues, perhaps an address or telephone number. Tessa and Pamela set about searching the room, opening drawers, shaking out garments, undoing the bed, even lifting the carpet. Harvey left the kitchen and went up to the Aviary, but finding Emil and Bellamy in conference, went to sit on the stairs. Then Connie Adwarden arrived, accompanied by Nick and Rufus who (released at half-term) could scarcely conceal their enjoyment of the whole scene. Connie announced that she had discovered in Rosemary’s room the addresses and telephone numbers of two hotels in France. She had not attempted to ring them herself as she wanted Louise to be with her. They hurried to the telephone and in fact, at the second attempt, actually located Rosemary. Connie handed the phone to Louise. But all that she could establish, on a bad line, was that Rosemary had taken Aleph to somewhere in central London (
near Harrods, Rosemary said) and dropped her there at Aleph’s request, since Aleph said she wanted to buy something, and that was the last she saw of her. Cora arrived by taxi and joined Louise and Connie in Sefton’s room.
By now it was nearly lunchtime. It was raining. Tessa and Pamela reported that they had found nothing, and after many expressions of goodwill and hopes for further meeting, departed. Emil told Bellamy he was hungry and took Bellamy away. Jeremy Adwarden arrived with his car to pick up Connie and the boys, and offered a lift to Cora who accepted it. Miss Fitzherbert arrived, also by accident, bringing a small canvas she wanted to give to Moy. Clement asked where one could buy canvases, she told him and departed with a rather confused impression of the scene. Clement and Louise, thinking they and Moy now had the house to themselves, discovered Harvey sitting in the Aviary. Louise asked him to stay to lunch but he said he was going away but would come back later. Lunch was a miserable affair, indeed it scarcely existed. Louise had laid the table, Clement, leading Moy by the arm, took her to see the little canvas which Miss Fitzherbert had brought and which had been put into Sefton’s room. Moy shuddered. Clement picked up the canvas and put it on the stairs. He tried to lead her gently into the kitchen but she resisted, glaring up at him like a wild animal. Louise had made sandwiches. Moy accepted one and ran away up the stairs picking up the canvas on the way. In the kitchen the sandwiches had established some kind of momentary reality and rational calm. Louise ate one. Clement ate several. They sat in silence. Louise made some tea. The telephone rang but it was only Emil who, guilty at having taken Bellamy away, was asking for news. Louise rose saying she was going to rest in her bedroom and disappeared up the stairs. Clement opened a tin of Kenneth Rathbone’s Australian lager but decided not to drink any in case his breath should smell of alcohol. He opened the front door and breathed in the bitter foggy air and watched the cars passing. He closed the door and found that he was muttering aloud. He returned to the kitchen and washed up two plates. The tea, which he had refused, was now lukewarm. He stood beside the sink, murmuring softly, ‘Oh, oh, oh – ’ An awful solitude swept over him like the cold air. Whatever had happened, some great finale was taking place. He went softly up the stairs and knocked on the door of Louise’s bedroom.
