Dusty Answer

by Rosamond Lehmann

  The fireworks became more and more splendid. Long crystal-white cascades broke and streamed down to the grass. Things went off in the air with a soft delicious explosion and blossomed in great blazing coloured drops that lingered downwards like a drift of slow petals.

  ‘Oh Roddy, if only –! They’re so brief. I wish they were never quenched but went on falling and falling, so lovely, for ever. Would you be content to burst into life and be a ten seconds marvel and then vanish?’

  But Roddy only smiled. On his face was the mask behind which he guarded his personal pleasures and savoured them in secret.

  Suddenly the willow-trees were revealed cloudily in a crude red light, – and an aching green one, – then one like the concentrated essence of a hundred moonlights. The three men on the lawn were outlined in its glare, motionless, with their heads up. She heard Martin cursing. Something was a complete failure: it spat twice, threw a thin spark or so and went out. Then the big rocket took wings with a swift warning hiss, left in its wake a thick firefly trail and broke at a great height with a velvety choke of fulfilment and relief, bloomed rapidly in perfect symmetry, a huge inverted gold lily, – then started dropping slowly, flower unfurling wide from the heart of coloured flower all the way down.

  ‘Roddy, look at that! Honestly, you feel anything so lovely must be made by enchantment and thrown into the air with no cause behind it except the – the stress of its own beauty. I can’t connect it with Bryant and May, can you?’

  Then all was gone. There was a splash. A swan drifting near the canoe shook itself and swirled sharply, with puffed wings, into the shadows. Roddy picked a charred stick out of the water and held it up.

  ‘Signs and wonders!’ he said. The swan had a revelation too. Here’s a remedy against fancy, Judy. Wouldn’t you like to keep it?’

  ‘Throw it away at once.’

  He flipped it over his shoulder, laughing.

  The fireworks were over, and the three men were coming down towards the water’s edge.

  Roddy whispered:

  ‘Shall we escape?’

  ‘Oh …’

  It was too late.

  ‘Hullo! Hullo!’ called the cheerful voice of Martin. ‘Did you enjoy my fireworks?’

  All at once there was much laughter and talk and greeting, and she was drawn out of their exquisite aloofness into the voluble everyday circle. Martin stretched an eager hand and out she stepped from the canoe among them all. Half-dazed, she saw shadows of men standing round, appearing and fading as in a dream, felt dream-like touches of men’s hands; heard unreal voices bidding good-evening to Judith; was conscious of dim confusion of movement towards the house. Did her own face rise so wanly against the darkness, deep-shadowed under the features, a firm-cut austere mask? Beneath the masks the hidden eyes held now and then a straying gleam from the fairy-lanterns. It was all so nearly a sleeper’s dream that to speak audibly seemed a vast effort.

  Roddy strolled up from the river’s edge, having made fast the boat. He came close and stood behind her shoulder, just touching it; and at once the dream broke and every pulse was alert.

  They went into the house for supper.

  Tomato-sandwiches and cake, fruit-salad and bananas and cream, lemonade and cider-cup loaded the table. Martin had prepared the whole thing himself with a passion of judicious greed.

  Tony Baring sat opposite and stared with liquid expressive blue eyes. He had a sensitive face, changing all the time, a wide mouth with beautiful sensuous lips, thick black hair and a broad white forehead with the eyebrows meeting above the nose, strongly marked and mobile. When he spoke he moved them, singly or together. His voice was soft and precious, and he had a slight lisp. He looked like a young poet. Suddenly she noticed his hands, – thin unmasculine hands, – queer hands – making nervous appealing ineffectual gestures that contradicted the nobility of his head. She heard him call Roddy ‘my dear’; and once ‘darling’; and had a passing shock.

  There was a submerged excitement in the room. Mariella’s absence had noticeable effect: there was a lightness of wit, an ebullience of talk and laughter; gay quick voices answering each other.

  The polished table was blotted over with pools of red candleshade, and pale pools from the white tulips picked in honour of the guest. The great mirror opposite reflected the table with all its muted colours; reflected too the back of Tony’s broad head and a bit of Roddy in curious profile, and her own face, lustrous-eyed, dark-lipped, long of neck and mysterious. When she looked at it she thought it was transfigured; and she knew who made the electric feeling.

  It was time to go home.

  But Roddy got up and started the gramophone; then caught her by the hand and led her out on the verandah.

  ‘One dance,’ he said.

  ‘And then I must go.’

  ‘You dance better than ever tonight.’

  ‘It’s because I’m so enjoying myself

  He laughed and tightened his arm round her.

  ‘Judy –’

  ‘Yes? Oh Roddy, I do love it when you say “Judy.” Nobody else says it like you.’

  He bent his face to look into her lifted one with a soft hidden smile.

  ‘What were you going to say?’ she asked.

  ‘I forget. When you look at me with your enormous eyes I forget everything I mean to say.’

  The gramophone stopped abruptly, with a hideous snarl; and the form of Julian darted forth like a serpent upon them.

  ‘You’ve waked the boy with that damned noise,’ he said. ‘I knew you would.’

  He was gone; and in the succeeding shock of quiet the wail of Peter floated down to them. Quick footsteps sounded in the room above; and suddenly there was silence.

  ‘He was cross.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Roddy indifferently. ‘He’s fussier than twenty old Nannies. The brat’s nurse has gone to see her sister buried, so he’s looking after him.’

  ‘It’s funny how Julian seems to take charge of him, rather than Mariella.’

  ‘Oh, Julian’s always got to know best. I expect he told her she couldn’t be trusted with him. I believe they had words, – I don’t know. Anyway she went off to London this afternoon to a dog show or something, and left Julian triumphant.’ Roddy chuckled. ‘God, he’s a peculiar man.’

  ‘I never can believe that baby belongs to Mariella – and Charlie.’

  But he gave her no response to that; although, as she spoke the name, with stars, lights, voices, music, his shadowed face, all that was lovely life around her, the pathos of that death struck her so wildly it seemed he must feel it too and draw closer to her.

  How he watched her!

  ‘Roddy, what are you thinking about?’

  She pleaded silently, suffocated with strange excitement: ‘Let us be frank. There’ll never be another night like this and soon we’ll be dead too. On such a night let us not miss one delight, let us speak the truth and not be afraid. Tell me you love me and I will tell you. You know it’s true tonight. Never mind tomorrow.’

  But he shook his head slowly, smiling.

  ‘I never tell.’

  She turned to go into the house.

  ‘Nor I. But I think one day I will, – tell somebody, one person, something – the truth, just once, – just to see how it feels.’

  He followed her in silence into the house.

  Martin and Tony were lying in arm-chairs, looking sleepy.

  ‘Poor things – longing to go to bed. It’s all right, I’m going now. I want to say good night to Julian.’

  On such a night Julian must not be left angry, alone. There must be no failure on her part at least.

  ‘He’s with Peter.’

  ‘In his old room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I know. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  She ran up the stairs. Dimmed ligh
t streamed through a door ajar in front of her. It was the room where Julian and Charlie had slept years ago. Softly she pushed the door open.

  Julian sat by the window with the child on his knees. He had thrown a shawl over his head and out of its folds the pale face peeped, owl-like and still. In his little night-suit he looked absurd and touching.

  Julian raised a face so haggard and suffering that she paused, half-ashamed, uncertain what to say or do.

  ‘Come in, Judith,’ he said.

  ‘Only for a minute … Won’t he sleep?’

  ‘No. I think he’s feverish. He got a fright, waking up alone. He’s very nervous.’

  He bent over the child, rocking him, patting his shoulder.

  ‘I expect he’s just playing up. You ought to put him back in his cot.’

  ‘No. He’d cry. I couldn’t endure it if he cried any more. I’ll keep him till he’s asleep.’

  Solemn in his shawl, Peter bent his too-brilliant gaze upon her as she stooped to touch his cheek. He never smiled for her; but then neither did he greet her as he greeted most people with a clear: ‘Go ’way.’ He accepted her with grave politeness.

  ‘Do you like holding him?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said simply.

  He was holding the child to comfort himself.

  ‘He’s very nice,’ she said. ‘What a different sort of childhood he’ll have from yours, with the others always round you! He’s likely to be the eldest of the next generation by a good deal, isn’t he?’

  ‘I should say so,’ he said bitterly. ‘I don’t mind betting not one of us provides a little cousin for him. I don’t see us breeding somehow. Unless possibly Martin …’

  Not Roddy. No …

  ‘Well, you mustn’t let him be lonely.’

  ‘That’s her affair.’

  ‘Is it? She seems to let you take charge. Julian, does she love him?’

  He was silent for a moment before answering: ‘I think she does.’ He put his hand to his head and said suddenly, very low: ‘Oh God, it’s awful! You know I quarrelled with him – Charlie – over that marriage. I never saw him after it – we were never reconciled. But after the child was born, she wrote and told me he had said in his last letter to her that if anything happened to him he would like me to be the child’s guardian … So I suppose he forgave me.’

  ‘Of course, of course, Julian,’ she said, half-weeping at the look of his bowed head.

  Was this the canker that gnawed Julian, – interminable thought of Charlie dead like that, without a reconciling word?

  ‘I blame only myself,’ he said, still in the low voice. ‘She has been very good. Never a word of – anything. Always that sweet empty unresentful way, – like a child. Sometimes I think she never knew – or never understood, anyway. I think she can’t understand that sort of thing. It’s a sort of insensitiveness. She might hate me over Peter, but she doesn’t seem to. Why doesn’t she?’

  The expression she had surprised on Mariella’s face came back to her, still undecipherable.

  ‘I almost wish she would,’ he went on. ‘I wish I was certain she was jealous or even critical of me. I haven’t the least idea where I am.’ He rubbed his eyes and forehead wearily. ‘It’s odd how her presence affects me. She gets on my nerves to a degree! Nothing but this sweet blank passivity … You know I like people with spikes and facets, people who thrust back when I thrust, brilliant, quick glittering people. And I like people who are slow and deep and warm; and I think you’re one of that sort, Judy. But what is she? Sometimes I think she’s watching me intently but I don’t know where from, and it makes me irritable. She’s got quality, you know, – incredible physical and moral courage. I think that must have been what Charlie loved in her. But cold, cold and flat – to me.’

  He sighed and shivered.

  ‘Oh Julian, you’re very tired, aren’t you? There’s nothing to worry about. You’ve got things on your mind because you’re so tired. Does your head ache?’

  ‘Yes. No … I’m in a bad mood, Judith. You’d better leave me.’ But he spoke gently and raised his face to smile at her. It was then she saw that he had been crying.

  ‘I will leave you, Julian. I only came to say good night. And to say I was sorry I made you angry. I wouldn’t have waked him for the world.’

  ‘It’s all right. I’m sorry I was angry. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Good night, Julian.’

  ‘Good night, Judith … You look so lovely –’

  She thought: ‘I shall never see him like this again. I must remember …’

  They looked at each other deeply, and when she turned silently away she had in imagination stooped and kissed his cheek.

  As she opened the door, laughter and talk came suddenly to her from below, – a faint roar of male voices that struck her with strange alarm, and seemed to threaten her. She took a step back into the room again, listened and whispered:

  ‘Julian, who is that, Tony?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t talk to me. He writes verse I believe. He’s just bringing out a book. I gather from his conversation he is quite the thing at Cambridge – in certain circles.’

  ‘Is Roddy very fond of him?’

  ‘Oh Roddy! Fond of him! I don’t know.’

  ‘He seems to be very fond of Roddy.’

  ‘Yes, it looks like it.’ He glanced at her sharply.

  She knew then she had dreaded that he would answer in that way, give her just such a look. She remembered that Tony had been suddenly hostile; his eyes, stony and watchful, had fastened on her when she came in from the verandah with Roddy.

  The voices came up to her again, like a reiterated warning. ‘Keep away. You are not wanted here. We are all friends, men content together. We want no female to trouble us.’

  Better not to go down among them all, safer to stay here in the quiet with Julian. She lingered, looking back in doubt and loneliness; but this time he did not tell her to stay. The muffled shining of the lamp filled the room, flowed over his form, his forehead bowed, drowsy and meditative, one great shoulder curving forward to support the white bundle lying against it. His pose suggested the something in him which it was hard to name, – a kind of beauty and nobility a little twisted. Close beside his narrow bed stood Peter’s cot, and Peter’s two plush animals lay upon the pillow.

  Softly she closed the door upon that strange pair. If Mariella had seen them, would her face have changed?

  Downstairs again.

  It would not be Roddy who would offer to take her home. She saw in one glance that he had finished with her for tonight: he leaned against the mantelpiece, and Tony, beside him, had an arm about his shoulders; and Tony’s eyes, coldly upon her, said he was not for her. Something licked sickeningly at her heart: it was necessary to be jealous of the young poet Tony; for he was jealous of her. To her good night Roddy replied with chilling mock-formal politeness, bowing his head, laughing at her. Martin put her cloak about her shoulders with reverent hands, and they went out.

  The night was dark. All the blossoming things of earth were hidden, and the fragrances abroad seemed shaken from the stars that flowered and clustered profusely in the arching boughs of the sky. They were back at her garden-gate. Above it rose a faint broken shadow where, by day, lilac and laburnum poured over in a wild maze to the lane. But when they came to the cherry tree they found it still glimmering faintly, – a cloud, a ghost.

  Judith stretched up a hand and picked a scrap of cherry and held it out to Martin.

  ‘That’s the secret of it all, I do think. Cherry blossom grows from the seeds of enchantment. Keep it and wish and you’ll have your heart’s desire. Wish, Martin.’

  He snatched it and her hand with it. They waited. He held the spray and clutched her hand, sighed and said nothing. Their forms were shadows just outlined against the lumin
ous tree.

  ‘What were you going to say?’ she whispered.

  ‘I – don’t know.’

  ‘No wishes?’

  ‘Too many.’

  He was lost, – caught away, spell-bound, lost

  ‘What a night! Isn’t it Martin?’

  ‘It’s the very devil.’

  ‘I don’t feel a bit like myself, do you? There’ tome sort of strangeness about, – magic. Or is it just being young, do you think?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Don’t let’s ever be old. Could you bear it?’

  ‘I shouldn’t like it.’

  ‘Well wish that. Wish never to be old.’

  Silence.

  ‘No,’ he said at last. He held her hand still and bent his head, twisting his bit of cherry. His voice came huskily: ‘I’ve wished something else.’

  Gently she drew her hand away. She must run away quickly from whatever was happening: no emotional conflict with Martin must thrust across and confuse the path where all was prepared for one alone.

  ‘Don’t go in,’ implored Martin. ‘Can’t we walk?’

  ‘Oh I must – I must go in.’

  ‘Oh Judith!’

  ‘I must, Martin. Thank you for bringing me home. I must fly now. It’s so late –’ she said in panic.

  ‘When shall I see you again?’

  ‘Soon – soon.’

  He was speechless. She called a soft good night and left him and the darkness swallowed him up.

  As she went towards the solitary light burning for her in the hall she thought with a sudden fear that he had implored her for assurance just as she mutely implored Roddy every time he left her; and she had answered – not, surely not, as Roddy would have answered?

  ‘Roddy, come out of your dark maze and make me certain!’

  She must warm herself with the remembrance of the first part of the evening, ignore the little chill of those few last minutes. What were his eyes telling her when he bade her good night? Surely they were whispering: Take no notice. We know what has passed between us, we know what must come. Though we must keep our secret before others, we do not deceive each other.’

  Yes, that was it.