An Unofficial rose

by Iris Murdoch

  Randall hated the idea of telephoning Grayhallock. He did not at that moment want to believe that Grayhallock existed. The mere notion that one could lift the telephone and conjure that whole world into being at the other end made him sweat and shiver as at some unsavoury piece of magic. Yet as soon as Lindsay had said it he saw that it was essential. It would remove from him the nightmare picture, which of all the gallery of spectres was the one which now most haunted him, of Emma quietly opening the door upon his embrace of Lindsay. He said, 'How should we manage it?

  'Easily, she said. 'You get through to the number and give me the phone. I'll ask for Emma. When she answers I'll give you the phone so that you can hear her voice. Then I'll have little conversation with her. It can be perfectly natural and plausible.

  'Do we have to have the conversation? Can't we just ring off without letting on who we are?

  'No. Then she would guess.

  'All right, said Randall after a moment. He picked up the telephone-. He said to the operator, 'Can I have Netherden 28. It's near Ashford, in Kent. Uttering the familiar number in Lindsay's presence felt like betraying a precious secret. Yet there was a certain exhilaration in it too. In the silence that followed Randall felt his heart beating, painful blow after blow, as he stared at Lindsay with widened eyes. The phone began to ring. Then Ann's voice said, 'Hello. This is Netherden 28.

  Ann. The scene before him was blotted out and he stood paralysed in the presence of that voice. Of course he might have supposed that she would answer the phone. But Ann. Ann existed now, standing in the dining-room at Grayhallock this very moment holding the telephone and waiting for him to speak. Ann and all her thoughts. Then in a second it occurred to him that simply by saying' Ann' he could make his whole palace of dreams vanish away and end the days of his soft enslavement perhaps forever. If he but spoke her name they would magically disappear, the cushions and the sherbert, the tinkling bells and the gay-plumaged birds, the golden collars and the curving blades. As if to remove a terrible temptation he slowly let the telephone fall to his side.

  Lindsay had taken it from him and was saying in her efficient secretary voice, 'I wonder if I could have a word with Miss Emma Sands, if she's with you, please?

  There was a pause. Randall began to see the drawing-room again.

  Lindsay had spoken to Ann. It was the sort of impossible event which ought to bring the world automatically to an end.

  Lindsay thrust the telephone urgently into his hand. After a moment he heard, unmistakably, Emma's voice saying, 'Hello. This is Emma Sands. And after another moment, 'Hello. Who is that speaking? He gave the instrument back to Lindsay.

  'It's me, Emma dear, Lindsay. Pause.

  'Oh, quite as might be expected. Pause.

  'Yes, as it turned out. I hope you had a comfortable journey? Pause.

  'Are you alone? Pause.

  'I wonder if you know now what time you'll be back? That's what I really rang About.

  Pause.

  'Yes, I'll do your sandwiches and milk as usual. Be well and bless me.

  Pause.

  'Good-bye, darling.

  Lindsay put the phone back and looked triumphantly at Randall. 'There!

  Randall stared at her, his big face wrinkled up in anxiety and horror.

  This latest piece of sorcery had confused him utterly. He was almost ready to believe that the sound of Emma's voice which he had heard was an auditory hallucination induced by Lindsay. And what is the significance of the telephone conversation? What had happened in the gaps? He felt obscurely that some outrage had been committed against Grayhallock and thus against himself. He said, 'What were you talking About?»

  'Well, you heard!

  'I heard your half of it!

  'She just asked how I was getting on without her and said she'd had a nice journey and that she'd be back about eight and would I do her sandwiches, and that was all.

  'Was it? said Randall. 'Did she say she was alone?

  'She said she wasn't sure.

  'Oh Christ! said Randall. He supposed by now Ann must know all about him and Lindsay, somebody must have told her. Why did Ann have to intrude on this day of all days? He simply hadn't wanted to think about whether she knew or not. And she must have guessed it was Lindsay on the telephone, even if Emma didn't tell her.

  'I feel sick, said Randall..

  'Darling, have some sense, have some backbone! said Lindsay. 'At least you know now that Emma won't walk in on us. Hasn't ringing up made everything better?

  'No, it's made everything worse, said Randall. He went over to the window and looked out. The sun shone on the dusty twisted group of evergreens, huddling together like captives.

  There was a silence. Lindsay said harshly, 'Don't think I don't perfectly realize that you can drop me at any minute you please and go back to your snug cosy set-up at Grayhallock. Your dear dutiful wife is waiting for you. Why don't you go?

  'For Christ's sake, said Randall, 'don't torture me. I love you to distraction. You know that perfectly well. He turned and came down the room towards her. She was leaning back in Emma's chair and had drawn out a long tress of hair and was pulling it through her fingers. The hem of the brown linen dress skirted her knees.

  Randall dropped on the ground before her. He did not touch her.

  He said, 'Listen, Lindsay, I absolutely beseech you not to persecute me now. I've been under the most terrible strain.

  'All right, she said. She looked at him coolly and began to loop the tress of hair round her wrist. 'But you've so long been shouting that you wanted me. And now when I positively offer myself you seem to be thinking better of it. I'm not sure how long the offer will remain open. So you'd better watch your step. That's all.

  'I'm not thinking better of it! said Randall frantically. 'I'm —’ How could he explain? He was terrified of making some dreadful irreparable blunder. 'It's not that I believe that Emma really arranged all this —

  'What do you mean, that Emma really arranged all this? Are you mad?

  'I'm saying I don't believe it—

  'Well, why mention it then? Randall, you're beginning to rave. She pushed him aside as he now ineffectually clasped at her knees, and stood over him.

  'Help me, Lindsay.

  'You don't deserve it, she said. 'For being so abject you deserve spurning, you deserve whipping. However, I'll do one more thing for you, one last thing. Get out of the way.

  Randall removed himself on hands and knees and then got up. Lindsay went on, 'You said once you'd like to know what we were like when you weren't there. Well, now I'm going to show you. Randall watched her open-mouthed, his hands hanging. He was prepared for anything, for a strange darkening of the room and the appearance in luminous effigy of a magical Emma and Lindsay.

  Lindsay pulled the tape-recorder out from where it was nestling under the frill of Emma's chair. Crouched above it she examined it and adjusted the tape. Then she set it going. With hypnotic slowness the two wheels began to revolve. She turned her eyes, sombre and stern upon Randall. After a moment the silence of the attentive room was broken by Emma's voice.

  'If you're going to do it it's got to be now. There's no time for theory now, no time for ifs and buts. You're in the dark, and you must go forward in the dark. »

  'Look here —’ said Randall.

  •'That's the novel, you fool, said Lindsay. 'The real bit comes in a minute.

  'God! said Randall. He wiped his face all over with a handkerchief 'She» didn't know you were recording it, the real bit?

  'Of course not. Otherwise what would have been the point? I fiddled with the machine and pretended to switch it off but didn't.

  Emma's voice continued. 'As he debated, his hand was already cur ling round the gun in his pocket. He who hesitates is lost and Marcus Boode had no intention of being that. Reason and hope of support lay behind him. Before him, somewhere in that uninviting labyrinth, was the murderer of Sebastian Leech. He shrugged, and glided on to the head of the downward-plungin
g stairs.

  There was a pause during which the tape-recorder murmured quietly. Then in another tone Emma' spoke again. 'Lord, what stuff —

  Lindsay's voice said, 'You're tired, my dear. Don't forget you're going to Kent tomorrow. Time to knock off, yes? Would you like some whisky in your hot milk? Lovely whisky, yes?

  'No, darling, no whisky. Well, perhaps a little. I hope you'll be all right here all alone.

  'I hope you'll be all right. It's a long time since the old mole left its burrow. I shall be fine. Really, darling, you can't look after me all the time!

  'Mmm. Can't I? Ah well. It's hard luck on young Randall that he's got to be out of harm's way. He might have given you lunch and spoilt you a little. Or is it just as well, eh, little fox?

  'There you go! Yes, poor Randall was nearly in tears about it.

  'We'll deal with Randall, we'll cheer him up when I get back. He'll be all right, oh yes, Randall will be all right.

  Lindsay switched the tape off and rose to her feet. As if automatically overbalanced by her movement Randall sank into a chair. Hands on hips she looked down at him with an air of scornful triumph. 'You see how well I look after you!

  'You could have faked that, said Randall.

  'Oh, break it up, boy! said Lindsay. She kicked his ankle hard.

  'I don't know. I'm going crazy, said Randall. He supported his head in one hand and rubbed his ankle with the other. Once the possibility that Lindsay, even though through some kind of hideous tortuous benevolence, were deceiving him had been admitted to the extent of seeking proofs of her innocence, her innocence became so precisely unprovable that he was prepared to believe himself the victim of some unimaginably motivated hoax. Lindsay might have faked the tape, putting together remarks which belonged in other conversations. It was apparently quite easy to do this. Or she might really have had this conversation with Emma — and then told Emma afterwards that Randall was not in fact going away. Or they might cold-bloodedly have play-acted the scene together, laughing about it afterwards over their whisky. There were dozens of possibilities. After all, Lindsay had cooperated cheerfully for nearly a year in Emma's play of making a lap-dog of him. But then after all so had he!

  'Come. You'll have to start trusting me somewhere, said Lindsay more gently.

  'I know, he said. 'The trouble is if I don't trust you from the start I can't trust you at all.

  'Well, trust me from the start then.

  Randall got up slowly. Lindsay's hair had begun to escape from inside her dress and was lying on her shoulders in wide tangles and scatterings of gold. He was moved by how young she looked, how waif-like, a little waif out to make her fortune, a Dick Whittington of the passions.

  'I will, he said humbly. It was a gesture of surrender.

  Lindsay took him by the hand. She was all kindness now. 'You know, she said, 'I always thought this scene would be you seducing me — but it's turned out to be me seducing you! I've had to fight every inch of the way. Aren't you a perfect disgrace?

  'You've imagined this scene? said Randall, gratified. 'A thousand times.

  He was delighted and yet terrified, and as they reached the door of her bedroom he had a certain foreboding.

  Lindsay pulled the curtain and turned the light on. She undid her bed. The room in the red glow from the reading-lamp seemed suddenly small and desperate. A line of strange daylight showed beyond through a chink in the curtain. Randall closed the door and leaned against it. He felt exhausted.

  Lindsay turned to face him, twisting her hair together and throwing it back over her shoulder. With a half-shadowed face she looked like a figure on a playing card. She said in a cold murmur, 'Just one last thing, Randall. I may have changed the order of the programme, but I haven't changed the items. Don't forget your practical thinking.

  'No dough, no go. She began to take off her dress.

  Christ, what a girl, thought Randall. He worshipped her. At the same time he felt paralysed with fear. He wondered now whether his crazy imaginings about Emma's complicity had not perhaps been devices designed by himself precisely to prevent his ever arriving at this moment. He watched her.

  Lindsay pulled the brown dress over her head and shook her hair, free of it. She was wearing a very brief petticoat underneath. She put the dress aside and stood now looking at him, gathering her hair once more with a hand that shook slightly.

  'Oh God, Lindsay —’ said Randall. She looked so strangely pathetic, yet why was he so strangely afraid? She looked like a poor condemned whore taken to execution in' her shift. Yet his knees trembled.

  'Come, come, she said very softly.

  'Come, Randall. She bent and began to take off her stockings.

  Randall fumbled with his tie. He seemed to be tightening the knot rather than loosening it.

  Lindsay had removed other undergarments but not yet the petticoat. She came to him now and began to help him with the tie, murmuring 'Dear, dear, dear. He felt the warmth of her Anns. He got the tie off and took off his jacket and waistcoat and put them on the chair. He kicked off his shoes. Then he leaned back against the door panting for breath. By now he could hardly recognize Lindsay.

  She regarded him with a tender irony. 'Would you like to go home now?

  'Oh God, Lindsay, said Randall again, and he fell on his knees, grasping her about the legs. Her legs were infinitely warm and soft. As she began to pull the petticoat off he laid his head against her thigh. He could feel her trembling violently. He gave long sighs.

  'Now, now, now —’ said Lindsay. She was kneeling beside him and unbuttoning his shirt. He touched her breasts. He remembered her breasts. Then his searching hand was jerked upwards by Lindsay pulling his shirt and vest over his head. And now she was unbuttoning his trousers.

  'All right, all right, said Randall. 'I'll do it. He sat on the floor and took off the rest of his clothes.

  Lindsay was lying full length on the undone bed. Randall knelt and looked. Then he looked into her face. It was as if their eyes had become huge and luminous so that when they gazed they were together in a great cavern. Slowly he pulled himself up to sit upon the edge of the bed. Then he turned away from her and hid his face in his hands.

  'What is it, dear, dear? murmured Lindsay. She caressed his back.

  'I'm not going to be any good, said Randall. 'God! I was afraid of this.

  'It doesn't matter. Embrace me.

  He stretched himself out almost stiffly and buried his face against her. His Anns pinioned her with violence.

  After a little while she said again, 'There. Relax. It doesn't matter.

  'It does. I wish I hadn't talked so much about Emma. I'm poisoned.

  'Emma's not important here. She's not important any more.

  'Ah — not important anymore. You know, Lindsay, I don't think I really like Emma.

  'I don't think I like her either. In fact I think I dislike her.

  'I dislike her too.

  'In fact I think I detest her.

  'And I detest her. Oh Lindsay —’

  It was a few minutes later that he said, 'Do you know, I think it's going to be all right after all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  'SOME more coffee? Another biscuit? said Ann. 'Thank you, my dear, said Emma.

  It was nearly lunch-time, but she was still at it. She seemed to have been eating ever since she arrived, as if she had been starved before. Or as if, it occurred to Ann, she wanted to eat up the whole scene.

  Ann had been surprised, even shocked, when Hugh had announced that he was going to bring Emma Sands to Grayhallock. It seemed a little soon after Fanny's death. However, her sense of the visit as improper soon merged into her sense of it as a perfect nuisance. Nancy Bowshott was ill, or pretending to be, and Miranda, in quarantine for German measles, was at home the whole week. It was as much as Ann could do to keep her outfit going at all, without having to cope with state visits. The house had become dusty and untidy and it had taken her several days of getting up half an hour earlier to
put it into tolerable order. She refused Clare Swann's offer to do the flowers for her, and then regretted it. By the time her guests actually arrived she was in a state of irritated exhaustion.

  Emma too had behaved in an odd and not very reassuring way. Instead of wandering about with Hugh, leaving Ann free to deal with the lunch, she had attached herself to Ann. She had installed herself in the drawing-room, beside the window, smoking innumerable Gauloises and eating cakes at the same time, and had there positively summoned for interview all the available inhabitants of Grayhallock, not even excluding Bowshott. She devoted particular time and attention to the children. During the actual interviews Ann had absented herself to put in some feverish work in the kitchen, only to be summoned from there by the outgoing interviewee. It was like having a government inspector in the house.

  The only person banished from her presence was Hugh. This unfortunate was to be seen outside on the sunny lawn, walking up and down in front of the beech trees, biting his nails and casting aggrieved glances at the windows; while like personages in a play the other members of the household came and went at the double on errands connected with Emma. Miranda at this moment was crossing the lawn in a series of leaps, armed with secateurs, dispatched to the rose slopes to cut a bunch of gallicas for the distinguished visitor. Penn ran along, behind her like a starling after a blackbird.

  Ann was walking up and down the room in the haze of Gauloise smoke. Emma affected her strangely, with a sort of easy restlessness. She had felt previously no particular hostility towards her father-in-law's mistress, merely a certain curiosity; and she had expected the day to be for herself a tiresome and un-noteworthy business of rushing about in the background. She was surprised to find that, on the contrary, she was to occupy the centre of the stage. She was even more surprised to find herself invigorated by, positively enjoying, the atmosphere of relaxed drama which surrounded Emma. It was as if Emma made her exist more, and cast upon her, out of her own more vivid personality, a certain light and colour.