An Unofficial rose

by Iris Murdoch

  The drawing-room door opened abruptly to admit Mildred Finch. 'Dear me! said Mildred.

  The next moment Ann was searching her pockets for a handkerchief and Douglas Swann was coughing and dusting down his coat.

  'Oh, Mildred —’ said Ann. She found the handkerchief. All her face, as she rubbed it, seemed to be wet with tears. It is astonishing how many tears can flow in an instant. The instant in any case was over and she dried her face and smoothed her hair back behind her ears.

  Mildred came round the edge of the semicircle of dolls and said, 'There, my dear; don't take on. She cast a hostile glance at Swann who was standing a few paces away and looking anxiously at Ann.

  Ann, who was fairly composed now, said, 'I'm so glad to see you» and blew her nose. 'I don't know why I broke down so stupidly. I've been quite cheerful.

  Mildred looked sceptical, and then set her feet apart in a patient yet stubborn pose which indicated with brutal clarity that she was waiting for Swann to go.

  Swann said to Ann in a voice of significant tenderness. 'Are you all right now?

  Mildred said, 'Of course she's not all right! Then she added conversationally, 'I've just walked up from the village. It looks quite like rain now. Fortunately I've got my umbrella.

  Swann looked at— Ann for another moment. Ann said, 'I'm fine.

  Thank you for being so kind, Douglas. Swann patted her lightly on the shoulder, smiled and nodded to Mildred, murmured something about having to get back and left the room.

  'Well, that's got rid of him, said Mildred.

  Ann sat down. The outburst of tears had exhausted her. She was glad to see Mildred, yet she felt a strange alarm too at the sight of her, as if her old friend were becoming, in some inadmissible way, a rather too significant, rather too menacing object.

  She said, 'Do take your coat off and stop looking as if you were going directly. You'll stay to lunch?

  'That depends, said Mildred. 'And I'll keep my coat on, I'm frozen. I can't think why you don't have a fire. There, I told you so, it's raining.

  Ann looked out. The sun had gone in, and with one of those sudden tricks of the English summer the garden was windswept and the grass and trees darkened and dripping. Ann realized that she felt cold too. She said, instantly overcome by a sense of the meaninglessness of it all, 'oh God, I'm so tired —’

  'You need a holiday, said Mildred. She stood there still, feet apart, umbrella under Ann, hands in the pockets of her blue check tweed coat, her light sandy grey hair jumbled about her kindly face which had softened rather than wrinkled with the approach of age.

  'A holiday» Ann laughed a little harshly.

  'Why not? This place could go on. Bowshott could run it.

  'No he couldn't, said Ann. 'Never mind. It doesn't matter. She seemed to be saying that all the time now.

  'I suppose there's no news from the deplorable Randall?

  'No.

  'I suppose he's going to settle down with the Rimmer girl?

  'With who?

  'Oh Lord! said Mildred. 'Have I put my foot in it? You didn't know he was having a terrific affair with Lindsay Rimmer, you know, Emma Sands' companion?

  Ann got up and pushed her handkerchief into the sleeve of her jersey. She had an immediate impression that Mildred knew very well what she was doing. She said abruptly, 'I assumed he was having an affair with somebody. I didn't know who it was. And honestly I don't care much.

  'Nonsense, child, said Mildred, after regarding her for a moment. 'Of course you care. But I'm glad that you seem to have written Randall off.

  'I haven't written him off. It's just that I'm not curious about the details. He'll come back. Ann spoke jerkily, her voice getting lower and hoarser like someone reciting a confession.

  Mildred spoke more softly and lightly now, as if managing a transition from a spoken to a sung litany. 'I don't think he'll come back, my dear.

  'Yes, he will, said Ann. She didn't want to cry again. 'Let's go to the kitchen. It's warmer, and we can have some coffee.

  'And Randall is a brute, said Mildred. 'Let us call things by their names. A brute and a cad.

  'Stop it, Mildred, will you? Let's go to the kitchen. How did you get here, by the way? You said you walked from the village.

  'Felix brought me, said Mildred. Her tone was bleak and provocative.

  Ann said, 'oh.

  When she said no more, Mildred pursued, 'Yes, he's gone to Maidstone to pick up some new blades for the lawnmower. It's so useful having him at Seton Blaise. He's renovated all the machines. — He's so mechanical.

  'How will you get back?

  'Oh, he's coming back in an hour. I told him to look for me at the pub, or if he didn't see me there to come on up here. You might ask both of us to lunch. Or we might carry you over to Seton Blaise. Why not come and stay for a day or two and be looked after?

  Ann rubbed her mouth with her hand and pushed her hair back again. The front of her mind was composed, but in the far background there was a sense of foundering, of confused panic and flight. She said, 'I'm so sorry. I think now that I really ought to go over to Clare's for lunch. I've kept putting her off. She wants to discuss the flower-arrangement competition.

  .'But you invited me to lunch!

  'Yes, but I'd forgotten Clare. I'm awfully sorry. It would be a bit difficult.

  'Well, come to Seton Blaise tomorrow then? Felix could come and fetch you any time in the Mercedes.

  'I can't, said Ann. 'I'd love to, but I must keep things going here. It's an awfully important time of year. I must do the catalogue. There's a whole lot to be added to the proofs. We're putting some new things from Germany on the market and I've got to do descriptions and get photographs and so on. But thanks! Have some coffee before you go?

  Mildred just looked at her and said. 'Ann, Ann, Ann, Ann!

  There was a silence between them, Mildred braced and staring, Ann with bowed head rubbing her brow and eyes slowly and methodically. Then Ann said in a weary voice, 'Come on Mildred. I could do with some coffee myself.

  Mildred stood her ground. She barred Ann's way and said very quietly, 'You know that Felix is terribly in love with you?

  Ann was silent, and it seemed afterwards that she had passed a vast time in reflection. What she said and did now was crucial, not so much for Mildred as for herself. Mildred had led up to her moment of theatre, but she must be cheated of it and sent away empty. There must be no drama here, no possible foothold for the imagination. What Mildred was trying to conjure up must be made nonsense of, must be made somehow not to exist. The thing must be laughed off briskly, Mildred must be clapped on the shoulder and taken to her coffee. There must be no admission of knowledge or interest, no confused looks, nothing. Again it was no and nothing.

  'Yes, said Ann.

  A long silence ensued during which Ann lowered her head. She knew that she was blushing violently. Her head seemed like a heavy fruit about to fall from the bough.

  Mildred was tactful and merciful. She could afford to be since she was not by any means being sent away empty-handed. She said, 'Well, I won't torment you. I can see you're tired out. I won't stay for coffee, thanks. I'll improve the shining hour by buying one or two things in the village. Felix will pick me up there. Do think seriously about coming to Seton. We'd love to see you any time.

  She turned to go, and nearly tripped over the dolls. 'Isn't Miranda getting a little old for dolls? She regarded the little figures. Then she began to knock them over gently: one by one with her umbrella. As each one fell backward on the floor its waxen eyelids closed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  'I IMAGINED you were joking. You thought just now that Emma was stealing up on you with a blunt instrument.

  'Yes, said Randall. 'I'm afraid. And not only of Emma. He drew his hands now downwards from her arched shoulders along her spine to her thighs. Her elbows were planted firmly on each side of his neck: and her face hung over his, too close for him to see more than the hazy laughing glow of her expressi
on. Her dress caressed the silk beneath as his hand gently moulded her and found the warm flesh at the top of her stocking. Randall groaned softly. Their feet were together under Emma's bed jumbled with the shoes.

  'Don't be afraid, she murmured. Then she took her weight off her elbows and pressed heavily upon him while her hands fluttered about her head. The next moment something soft and cold descended and the light was blotted out. She had undone her hair.

  Randall gasped at the sudden pressure and at the soft cascade. She propped herself up again, deliberately shaking her hair forward to hide her face and shaking it into Randall's eyes. There was a great deal of it. He raised his hands awkwardly and lifted the hair back over her brow, to reveal her bland and smiling beneath. He looked up at her for a moment, straining his neck, and then with a quick movement he shifted her off on to the floor. They both sat up, breathing deeply and staring at each other like two cats.

  'Well, let's complete the search, said Randall abruptly. He got up and patted the side of Emma's bed into place.

  Lindsay did not take his hand now, but led him into the last room, which was her bedroom. It was a smaller room which looked out on to the little evergreen garden. There was a narrow divan under the window, a table of light oak and a long shelf of brightly coloured paper-backs. The few objects which lay about Randall recognized as things he had given her: a paper-weight in the form of a hand, a miniature silver mirror, an Italian box with a lozenge pattern, a scratching dog of Derby china. It was as if she could not find things for herself. It was like a servant's room, simple, impoverished, and touching.

  Randall looked carefully round it. Then he turned to look at Lindsay. Her golden hair, falling in disorder, reached well below her breasts. She looked younger, smaller, wilder. With deliberation Randall ran his two hands round the front of her dress and collected all the hair into a great bunch at the back. Then he drew her head 'It's hard to believe she's not here, said Randall.

  He was standing in the drawing-room of Emma's flat, holding Lindsay by the hand. The tape-recorder was there, and the smell of tobacco, and the little table with the strewing of Gauloises, but the big armchair was empty. Emma Sands was at Grayhallock..

  'If you'd like to make sure you can search the flat! said Lindsay.

  'I know it's Absurd, but I think I will, said Randall. He made for the door. Then he said to Lindsay, 'You lead the way.

  Lindsay took his hand again and drew him through the hall. There was the kitchen, he knew that. Often enough he had carried tea-trays to and fro. There was the bathroom. He knew that of course. There was the dining-room, where he occasionally dined with them on treat days, such as Emma's birthday. On ordinary days Emma worked all the evening and had a sandwich supper. There was the spare bedroom, which was partially furnished and used as a box room. Emma never had guests. There was Emma's bedroom. Here Randall paused. It was a big Italianate room, airy, like something out of a painting by Carpaccio, and somehow attentive, significant. One expected to see out of the window a clear vista of a distant campanile, and not, through net curtains, the near-by railings. He had never seen this room before. A sweet herbal scent seemed to emanate from the old velvet hangings and from the double bed whose fringed red coverlet swept the floor.

  'Perhaps you'd like to look under the bed? said Lindsay jauntily. Randall knelt down arid lifted the coverlet. His heart was beating violently as if he really expected to see the form of Emma crouching in the darkness. There was nothing there except several pairs of shoes and a suitcase. He began to rise he received a sudden blow on the shoulder. He spun round on one heel and over-balanced backwards on the floor with an unplanned exclamation. The next moment Lindsay was lying full length on top of him. 'It's only me! she said.

  'As the iceberg said to the Titanic! He clasped his hands in the small of her back, breathing deeply.

  'Why, Randall, I believe you really are frightened! said Lindsay. 'I imagined you were joking. You thought just now that Emma was stealing on you with a blunt instrument.

  'Yes', said Randall. 'I'm afraid. And not only of Emma. He drew his hands now downwards from her arched shoulders along her spine to her thighs. Her elbows were planted firmly on each side of his neck and her face hung over his, too close for him to see more than the hazy laughing glow of her expression. Her dress caressed the silk beneath as his hand gently moulded her and found the warm flesh at the top of her stocking. Randall groaned softly. Their feet were together under Emma's bed jumbled with the shoes.

  Then he drew her head right back with one hand and laid his other hand flat on her cheek. He saw with pleasure a momentary look of alarm. He said 'Since we've had this seductive routine am I to understand that you're changed the order of the programme you announced to the other day?

  Lindsay's chin now pointed at the ceiling, her mouth gaped a little.

  But she kept her hands down loosely at her sides like a hanged girl. She said, 'What will you do if I tell you that the programme is unchanged?

  'I shall probably beat you and certainly rape you, said Randall. He gradually released his grip on her hair.

  She drew her head forward again about her brow, massaging her scalp with her fingers. Then she said in a small voice, 'Well, I shall have to change the programme, then, won't I?

  'Oh Lord! said Randall. 'Let's go back to the drawing-room. I want a drink.

  When they reached the drawing-room Lindsay produced a decanter of whisky, two glasses and a jug of water which she had evidently had in readiness. Randall drank some of me whisky neat. Then he took to staring at Lindsay. She had somehow thrust all her hair down the back of her dress and looked demure and boyish. Ht would never understand her.

  'Well, said Lindsay, 'are you satisfied that she isn't there?

  It still seemed to Randall eerie and almost incredible that Emma was not in the flat. She hardly ever left it, and the only time he had seen her away from it was at his mother's funeral. He said, 'I suppose I'm satisfied that she isn't here now.

  'You mean you think she might have laid a trap for us?

  'Yes, said Randall. He thought: or you might both have laid a trap for me. Why, after all, had Lindsay so firmly refused to come to Chelsea? Now that he was passing, as he thought, out of fantasy into reality, the real world seemed a region even more fantastic than the dream palace he had inhabited before. He felt like a favorite slave who bas been kept on cushions and fed on sherbert and who is suddenly put at the gate and told is free. Such stories end with the sword.

  Lindsay was very quiet. She stood with her hands behind her, head bent slightly forward. She wore a plain unbelted dress of brown linen which looked like some charming uniform. Her hair still held in the neck of the dress, was beginning to fall forward in two heavy loops on either side of her face. She seemed some young exotic general planning the order of battle. She said, 'Suppose we were to ring up Grayhallock. Would you be satisfied then?

  'Oh God! said Randall. He began to pace up and down. He found the idea of Emma at Grayhallock very hard to tolerate. He had been surprised both at her wish to go and at the ease with which she had persuaded his father to take her. Randall, with an eye to his own interests, was of course by no means opposed to, though he was also irrationally disturbed by, a renewal of friendship between his father and Emma. But he was unnerved that the first rite to be celebrated in this revival should comprise a visit to his home. He could not think what it meant. He felt sure Emma was up to something, and, which he felt was indeed irrational, he resented goings-on between his father and Emma the significance of which he was not a party to. He felt himself unjustly robbed of the role of patron; and it was almost as if he were jealous, though quite of whom was not so clear. More simply and immediately he feared and detested the idea of Emma's visiting Grayhallock in his absence or indeed at all; and the thought of her presence there wrung from him a cry of: but those are my people!

  It was important that Emma should be guaranteed to be far away.

  It was also important that Emma
should not know of Randall's visit to the flat. Here he had had to rely on Lindsay. When it emerged that Emma was going to be a. way for a whole day, without Lindsay in attendance, Randall's mind had jumped at the obvious conclusion, only to fall away baffled. There was, to begin with, Lindsay's 'programme'. Randall was quite unsure how far this piece of blackmail would stand up, if they were given a glorious field of hours in which to disport themselves together alone. He knew, confidently, with satisfaction, how much he was desired. But there was another difficulty. He could not bear to go to bed with Lindsay with Emma's permission. To go to bed with Lindsay; without Emma's permission was of course most hazardous and alarming, and the idea of it affected him with a guilty thrill. But to do it with her permission struck him as nauseating; and he had a fear, which increased within him now as he pondered the significance of Lindsay's abandonment of her 'programme', that they had decided between them that he was to be 'brought on'.

  It had been essential that Emma should be deceived, and this he had impressed upon Lindsay. They had agreed that Emma should be told that Randall was out of London visiting a dangerously ill friend, how unfortunately, on the very day when Emma was to be at Grayhallock. When forming this plan it had seemed to Randall more than a little unlikely that Emma would believe him capable of putting even the last farewells of a close friend before the pleasure of a day with Lindsay; but Lindsay had apparently produced an extremely circumstantial account and Emma had seemed to be convinced. It occurred to Randall later that Emma's ingenious mind, professionally so used to devising stratagems within stratagems, might, even if she thought the story false, imagine that it covered up, not a day with Lindsay, but a day of snooping about Grayhallock spying on her own activities. Finally he decided there was no knowing whether she believed the story or not, but it was just enough for his purposes that she was not certain he was with Lindsay. With all this the terrible and humiliating suspicion remained that they were both in league against him.