A Fairly Honourable Defeat

by Iris Murdoch

  ‘You think our planet is like that.’

  ‘I think our planet is like that?’

  ‘No redeeming grace?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘None, Simon?’

  ‘Well, only this kind.’

  ‘What do you mean, only this kind? Now, Simon, please, not just outside Rupert’s house!’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘OH HELLO MY DEARS!’ cried Hilda, jumping up.

  Axel and Simon emerged through the French windows into the garden. Simon lifted his hand against the dazzle from the flickering blue pool.

  ‘Sorry we’re late, darling,’ said Simon. ‘Here, we’ve brought you a tiny bouquet with lots and lots of love. Let me kiss you. Hello, Rupert. Whoopee and all that.’

  ‘We congratulate you on the longevity of your married bliss,’ said Axel. ‘Evening, Rupert. We meet again.’

  ‘Oh Simon, what wonderful flowers and so many of them! I don’t think anyone has ever given me such a huge bunch in my life. You’re positively staggering under it!’

  ‘Good, I hoped to break a record.’

  ‘Let me refresh them in the pool. Then I’ll find a vase directly. Axel, could you open this bottle of champagne, you do it in such a masterly way and Rupert always smashes something. I’m afraid Rupert and I seem to have drunk nearly a whole bottle while we were waiting for you!’

  ‘Very sensible of you,’ said Simon. ‘Now we must catch up. Gosh, it’s hot. We expected to find you in the pool.’

  The cork flew out and plopped neatly into the water. Creamy champagne flowed into four glasses.

  ‘Happiness, my pets!’ cried Simon. ‘Happiness!’

  ‘Happiness!’ they all said and drank.

  ‘I’ll just put these in a vase,’ said Hilda. Carrying the flowers she moved across the hot flagstones and into the darkness of the house.

  In the sudden coolness of the drawing room she paused. After the bright sun the room was for a moment almost invisible, a matrix of dusky colour splashes and points of dim light. Hilda laid the flowers down on the table. She sighed, yielding herself to float lightly in a cool murk of rich colour, spreading out her hands as if to caress velvety colours about her in the air. She thought, I am a little drunk. It’s nice.

  After a few moments the room began to assemble itself, the cloudy colours to withdraw themselves into familiar surfaces. Hilda looked into the tall round-topped segmented gilt mirror which rose above the mantelpiece to see how her make-up was competing with the sun. A gilded cupid with a ready bow, airborne at the apex, gazes silently down as Hilda burrows in a little brown silk woven vanity bag for lipstick and powder. She peers intently at the thrust out face, radiantly perky, though now perhaps becoming just a little plump. If the head is not carefully carried there is a double chin. Dark natural curls frame the face and cascade in rings to the neck. The famous angel-look. Should not this hair be dyed before the grey becomes too apparent? Prominent grey-blue eyes scrutinize the image, behind which the trinkets of the room crowd and glitter. Moist pink lipstick is quickly dabbed, orange brown powder lightly dusted onto shiny sunburnt nose and cheeks. Hilda approves herself.

  She turned again to the garden, The sharp division between sun and shade made it seem far away, separated from her as if by a proscenium arch. Axel and Rupert were talking, just inaudibly, tilting their canvas chairs forward towards each other. Simon had taken off his socks and sandals and rolled up his trouser legs and was sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs plunged in the water almost to the knee. He had plucked some camomile and was smelling it luxuriously with his eyes closed. How crumpled his trousers will be, thought Hilda. She sighed again and felt a familiar ache which made her put her hand to her breast. I’ve been so lucky all my life, she thought. It would be unjust if I were not sometimes a little intimidated by my joy. She thought then of Peter and moved her hand as if to make a sign of blessing in the air. Peter will be all right, she thought, and felt certain of it in that moment. My bond with him has never been broken. All shall be well. But there was something more than that, and almost lazily she recognized what it was that had suddenly so caught and pleased her. Morgan was coming home. Morgan was coming home for refuge and comfort and help. Hilda would pick up the pieces.

  Hilda took the flowers and went on into the little pantry where the flower vases were kept. It was so dark and cool in here that she nearly shivered. She found a big vase and filled it at the sink, letting the water overflow and run over her hot wrists. She did not trouble to undo the bouquet but just pushed up the paper a little and plunged the ends of the stems into the water. Then carrying the dripping vase she went back through the drawing room and out into the dazzling garden.

  ‘Let me give you some more champagne, darling,’ said Simon, jumping up and scattering drops of water.

  Hilda put the vase down on the white cast iron table beside the open bottle. ‘Phew. Yes, please. I think I’ll follow your example.’ She sat down on the edge of the pool. The water, very faintly cool, encased foot, ankle, calf.

  ‘You practically sizzle as you go in in this weather. Do you know my feet are dry already and the paving stones are burning them. Here you are, Hilda dear.’

  ‘Thank you, Simon. I wanted to ask your advice about the bathroom—’

  ‘Yes, I know. I took the liberty of having a decko this morning. Now there’s a very nice steam-proof paper I saw at Sanderson’s, black with huge turquoise roses in big squares …’

  ‘I wish we’d had you in the chair,’ Axel was saying. ‘Ogden-Smith can’t keep to the point himself let alone keep anyone else to it.’

  ‘I had to be at that thing on invisible earnings.’

  ‘I hear there’s a parliamentary question about that coming up.’

  ‘It’s up! In fact it’s on my desk, for my sins.’

  ‘I’ll bring you round a sample on Monday,’ said Simon, ‘and of the Marrakesh tiles, only they are rather expensive. And you must have a turquoise bathrobe to match.’

  ‘And towels I suppose.’

  ‘I thought perhaps emerald green towels.’

  ‘I can’t understand a word they’re saying, can you? Do you think they do it on purpose to put us in our place?’

  ‘Probably! Move up, Hilda, I must get my feet back into the water. Hilda, isn’t it wonderful that Morgan’s coming back? I keep remembering it and feeling so glad.’

  ‘Yes. I’m glad she’s coming home. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being unhappy so far away.’

  ‘We must stop her from being unhappy, mustn’t we.’

  ‘I hope you’ll make a point of seeing her, Simon. She’ll need old friends.’

  ‘By the way,’ said Axel’s voice, faintly metallic, ‘I was saying to Simon, Hilda, don’t you think Tallis ought to be told that Morgan’s coming back? If he doesn’t know already, that is.’

  ‘I thought it better not to tell him,’ said Hilda. She shifted round, drawing her dripping feet from the water and tucking them under the heat of her thighs. Axel and Rupert were still leaning forward, tilting the canvas and aluminium folding chairs beside the table and nursing replenished glasses of champagne. ‘I doubt if he knows. I’m sure Morgan hasn’t written to him. I thought Morgan should be left free to decide what to do, whether to see him or not.’

  ‘What about Tallis’s freedom?’ said Axel. ‘Doesn’t he have equal rights? Shouldn’t he have the chance to decide whether to see her or not? I mean, I see your point, Hilda, but I do think Tallis—’

  ‘Which of us knows Tallis best?’ said Hilda.

  After a pause Axel said, ‘I suppose I do.’

  ‘Well, do you know how Tallis is likely to behave if he hears Morgan’s back?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’

  ‘There you are. It’s much better not to tell him. And it’s kinder too. Morgan may be going straight on to somewhere else—’

  ‘What Tallis may or may not do isn’t our affair,’ said Axel. ‘And it’s not for
us to spare his feelings, it’s an impertinence. Put yourself in his place. Suppose he finds out later she’s been in London for ages, or else was in London for a short while, and we all conspired not to tell him—Don’t you agree with me, Rupert?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Rupert. ‘I agreed with Hilda before, now I’m convinced by your arguments. It would be a deception which Tallis would be quite right to resent.’ He put his glass down, wiping the sweat from his hot plump face back into his faded pale hair.

  Hilda knew that Rupert was often nervy and argumentative when Axel and Simon were there, possibly to relieve a tension in himself caused by two-way jealousy of his brother and his friend. But this was not now her concern. Of course Axel was right in a way, it had only to be put clearly for one to see it, but all the same she did not want Tallis to be told. She wanted every possible weight and pressure to be taken off her sister, she wanted her to be left, for some time at any rate, in peace. Suppose Tallis were to come running round, demanding to see his wife, demanding her immediate return? Hilda had known Tallis longer than any of them, she it was who had introduced him to the family after she had made his acquaintance during a general election campaign. But she could not, any more than Axel, predict his reactions. He would not be deliberately unkind but he could be extremely tactless. Hilda wanted Morgan here and wanted her unmolested and with time to assemble herself. She wanted Morgan alone. ‘I think we should just wait anyway until Morgan comes. After all she’s not due for at least ten days. And she may still decide to delay longer or not to come at all.’

  ‘Well, I vote for truth-telling. I hope your book deals with this sort of thing, Rupert. I’m most impatient to see it. I expect to be told how to live, my dear fellow. I shall take it as my guide to behaviour and follow it slavishly.’

  Hilda knew that Axel was sceptical about the value of Rupert’s book. We’ll show him, she thought.

  ‘I’m afraid if you want a guide to behaviour you’ll be disappointed, Axel,’ said Rupert smiling. He too was aware of Axel’s views but appeared to be unresentful. ‘No philosopher ever did produce a guide to behaviour, even when he thought that that was what he was doing.’

  ‘So you admit to being a philosopher at last?’

  ‘No, no, I mean even philosophers are ambiguous so a fortiori I am. The thing is just a meditation on a few concepts.’

  ‘The relation of love to truth and justice and some small matters of that sort, I gather.’

  ‘Some small matters of that sort! But the application must remain for the individual to decide.’

  ‘Poor individual. No one ever really looks after him. Now what I want is a sort of case book of morals like a guide to etiquette.’

  ‘Well, I think we shouldn’t tell Tallis,’ said Hilda, speaking at the same time. ‘What do you feel, Simon?’

  ‘Morgan will need time to rest and think things out.’

  ‘Precisely. You do see my point. I don’t want her bothered.’

  ‘Ordinary people can’t apply philosophy anyway. I doubt if even philosophers can.’

  ‘People can use moral concepts, as you used the concept of truth just now to persuade me. Anyone can do this.’

  ‘Maybe. But I think moral philosophy is something hopelessly personal. It just can’t be communicated. “If a lion could talk we would not understand him.” Wittgenstein.’

  ‘Oh Hilda! Axel, look! There’s a hedgehog. He’s just peeping out from behind that delphinium, you can see his nose! A hedgehog!’

  ‘Yes, Simon,’ said Rupert. ‘We meant to tell you about the hedgehog, since you’re so fond of our dumb friends.’

  ‘Isn’t he sweet? Can you see him Axel?’ Simon was kneeling on the flagstones beside the delphinium. The hedgehog was still, hunching its back, peering shortsightedly and wrinkling up its black moist nose. ‘Do you think he’d mind if I picked him up?’

  ‘They’re covered with fleas,’ said Axel.

  ‘Just for a moment. He’s got such a soft furry underside. Now he’s trying to curl up, but they never really do it properly, they’re such defenceless beasts. Ouf, he is prickly.’

  ‘Put him back behind the plants,’ said Axel. ‘You’re frightening him.’

  Simon lifted the hedgehog carefully and put it down out of sight at the back of the flowerbed.

  ‘Mind my galtonia candicans, Simon.’

  ‘Oh Hilda, how marvellous to have a hedgehog. Do you often see him? Do you feed him?’

  ‘We put out bread and milk and assume it’s him who eats it. I’m terrified he’ll fall into the pool.’

  ‘They’re incredibly stupid animals,’ said Axel.

  ‘I’m sure he’d have more sense,’ said Simon.

  ‘Simon is so sentimental,’ said Axel, ‘he even feels himself bound to rebut a slur upon the intelligence of hedgehogs.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure he has more sense. You are lucky. I do wish we had a proper garden. You really should get a cat, Hilda. Think how happy a pussy would be here. Axel won’t let us have a cat—’

  ‘Please be exact, Simon! We agreed that it just wasn’t practicable for us to have a cat.’

  ‘Well, all right. But I wish you’d have a cat, Hilda, and I could come and visit it. A Siamese perhaps.’

  ‘I think I’d prefer a plain tabby.’

  ‘Or perhaps a black and white cat. A black cat with white paws.’

  ‘And a white face and a white tip to its tail—’

  ‘No, just white paws, and—’

  ‘Good God!’ said Rupert.

  There was a moment’s silence. Hilda turned to follow his look. A figure had emerged from the drawing room and was standing regarding them across the pool. It was Morgan.

  Hilda began to struggle to her feet.

  ‘Morgan!’ cried Simon, simultaneously with Hilda’s cry.

  Morgan was wearing a light grey mackintosh and carrying a blue canvas travelling bag which she now slowly put down at her feet. She stared rather blankly across the pool.

  Hilda reached her and uttering a low ‘ooh!’ threw her arms round her sister’s neck. She drew Morgan against her and pressed her cheek against Morgan’s, closing her eyes. ‘Oh thank God you’ve come home—’

  Morgan remained completely stiff, then jerked her head away. With a firm pressure of the hand she terminated Hilda’s embrace.

  ‘You’ve got a swimming pool.’

  ‘Yes, it’s new.’ Tears flooded into Hilda’s eyes.

  ‘Morgan—darling,’ said Simon. He took hold of her hand which was hanging limply by her side. He seemed about to kiss her cheek but kissed her hand instead. He kissed it several times.

  ‘My dear,’ said Rupert. ‘Welcome.’ He took hold of Morgan’s other hand and pressed it.

  ‘Hello, Morgan,’ said Axel. He was fingering the lapel of his jacket.

  Morgan drew her hands away. She looked round at them all with vague eyes. She wore oval steel-rimmed spectacles which she now removed and began to clean with a rather dirty handkerchief.

  ‘Let me give you some champagne,’ cried Simon. ‘Don’t bother, Hilda, she can have my glass.’

  Morgan put the spectacles on again, still standing rather stiffly and frowning against the sun. She looked at the champagne, the flowers. ‘Something’s going on. It’s someone’s birthday—’

  ‘Our wedding anniversary, darling.’

  ‘I didn’t expect—a lot of people—a party—’

  ‘It’s only us, Morgan,’ said Simon. ‘Here.’

  ‘No, thank you, Simon. I don’t want any champagne. I think I’ll take this coat—off.’ She twitched her shoulders and the grey mackintosh fell to the ground. Simon hastened to pick it up.

  Hilda, the sudden tears abating, gazed at her sister. Morgan was wearing a very brief very crumpled blue cotton dress. Her straight dark hair was cut boyishly but not very short. Narrow brown eyes and long nervous nose. Her face was bony gaunt and tired. Her figure long-legged and slim. In a sudden quick vision Hilda understood. They had reach
ed an age where the years told. How that gaunt thin look became her. Even the tiredness was a grace. Even the steel-rimmed spectacles were an adornment. Morgan was the handsome one now. ‘Oh my heart!’ said Hilda. She hugged her sister for a moment about the shoulders.

  ‘We weren’t expecting you for another ten days,’ said Rupert. ‘Look, won’t you sit down?’

  ‘No, thanks. I know. I decided to fly after all and let the luggage follow. I’ve just come now straight from the airport. Once I decided to come it was agony to stay another hour.’

  ‘I can imagine that,’ said Hilda. ‘Thank God you have come, my darling. I was terrified you’d change your mind.’

  ‘Morgan, I do wish you’d have a drink,’ said Simon. ‘It would do you good. Let me get you some whisky.’

  ‘I hope you’re going to stay with us a good long time,’ said Hilda. ‘You’re not just going on somewhere else, are you? What are your plans?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ said Morgan. ‘I don’t know where I’m going. I have no plans. I have no intentions. I have no thoughts. I have just got off a jet plane and I feel crazy.’ She turned round towards the drawing room.

  ‘Of course, of course!’ cried Hilda. ‘Come upstairs this minute, you poor sweet. The spare room is all ready. You must rest at once. Rupert, carry her bag, would you. Give me the coat, Simon. Come along, my own darling girl, home at last.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘WHICH ROOM AM I IN?’

  ‘Here—’

  Hilda pushed open the door and Morgan went in followed by her sister and brother-in-law. Rupert put the bag down, hesitated, and then, obeying a signal from Hilda, withdrew. Hilda closed the door.

  Morgan looked at the bed which was covered by a heavy green silk bedspread. She slowly pulled the bedspread off onto the floor. She took off her glasses, laid herself carefully face down upon the bed, buried her face in the pillows, and, just as Hilda started to say something, burst into streams of silent tears.

  There was a soft dragging sound as Hilda moved a chair across the carpet to the edge of the bed. A moment later she laid her arm across Morgan’s heaving shoulders.