by Iris Murdoch
Axel laughed. ‘Of course you’ve known Simon for ages. You probably met him before I did.’
‘When did we first meet, Simon?’ said Julius. ‘It was at Rupert’s, wasn’t it?’
It was Simon’s first direct entry into the conversation. He conjectured a year.
‘Yes, that was just before I met him,’ said Axel.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Simon. ‘You met me before that only you didn’t notice me.’
‘Well, he’s noticed you now!’ said Julius.
They all laughed, Simon a little uneasily.
‘Have some more cheese,’ said Simon.
‘Thank you. I can’t tell you how glad I am to be away from American food.’
‘Weren’t there any decent foreign restaurants?’ asked Axel.
‘Not in South Carolina! I’ve been to San Francisco actually for the last month and there are excellent Chinese restaurants there. I love Chinese food.’
‘We must take you to our local Chinese restaurant,’ said Axel. ‘I think it’s good.’
‘I don’t!’ said Simon.
‘Then you and I will go,’ said Julius to Axel.
‘One never knows what to drink with Chinese food,’ said Simon.
‘Lager,’ said Axel.
‘Tea,’ said Julius.
‘Even lager isn’t strong enough for Simon,’ said Axel. ‘He’s become quite a toper. I am going to have to take a strong line with his drinking habits!’
‘Let me fill your glass, Julius,’ said Simon.
‘No, thank you. I’m not much of a drinker. I have to watch my inside. Rupert’s looking terribly fit, isn’t he? No stomach ulcers for him!’
‘Rupert thrives. I gather you had lunch with him at his club?’
‘Yes. I adore English clubs and seeing Rupert putting on his English act. He is absurdly English, isn’t he?’
‘Why don’t you join a club, Julius?’ said Simon.
‘He is a little tease, eh, Axel? Clubs are not for such as me. It would spoil the charm if I even thought they’d have me!’
‘Are you still at the Hilton?’ said Axel.
‘No. Big hotels give me migraine. I meant to tell you, I’ve just moved into a most luxurious little flat in Brook Street. You must come and see it, both of you. Here, I’ll write the address down.’
‘Have you seen Hilda?’
‘No, Axel, I haven’t. As they have Morgan at the house I haven’t been invited and of course I’m keeping clear. Do you think I’m mal vu by Hilda at the moment?’
‘No, no. I wouldn’t say so, would you, Simon? Hilda is terribly rational. Much more so than Morgan actually.’
‘I’d like to see Hilda, but I expect it’s not the moment. Port, Simon? No, certainly not. A little whisky with plenty of water in it.’
‘Did Rupert talk to you about his book?’
‘He mentioned it. I think he wanted me to question him closely but I just didn’t feel strong enough. I fear we shall all be rather embarrassed by that book!’
‘Exactly what I think, my dear,’ said Axel.
Simon flushed and spilt some whisky. Then he felt Axel’s foot pressing against his under the table. He retired to the kitchen to get a mopping up cloth and in order to conceal an idiotic smile which he seemed to be unable to control. He must be getting a little tipsy. He took a quick drink from the secret bottle of whisky which he kept concealed in the kitchen cupboard. When he came back they were talking opera again.
‘I doubt if you’ll get into Fidelio,’ Axel was saying. ‘I’m going on Friday and I booked ages ago and couldn’t get a decent seat then.’
‘What’s on at Glyndebourne?’
‘They’re doing Purcell.’
‘How delicious! Could I get tickets? Let’s go, all three!’
‘I have some pull at Glyndebourne,’ said Axel. ‘I think I can get us in. Only Simon hates opera.’
‘Then once again, we two must go! I’m desperately hungry for opera. You can imagine how much decent opera I’ve seen in the last couple of years.’
‘I can’t understand why anyone goes to Glyndebourne,’ said Simon. ‘It always rains and you have to picnic in the car, and if it’s not raining you’re certain to meet some ghastly person you know beside the lake and have to give him half of your champagne and chicken pie.’
‘There is music involved, dear boy,’ said Axel. ‘Glyndebourne isn’t just champagne and chicken pie.’
‘Remember when we went on your birthday,’ said Simon, ‘and there was a thunderstorm and the car was leaking and we got a flat tyre on the way home.’
‘You deserved to suffer,’ said Axel, ‘for reasons which you know of.’
‘Why did he deserve to suffer?’ asked Julius, twinkling.
‘Oh just a little suppressio veri. A little suggestio falsi.’
‘I think I’ll cook salmon trout and almonds again for your birthday dinner this year which thank God we’ll have at home. And we’ll try that hock with it instead of the white Burgundy.’
‘Have you an imminent birthday, Axel?’ asked Julius.
‘Yes. I wish Simon wouldn’t fuss about it. I’m not ten years old.’
‘I love birthdays,’ said Simon, ‘and anniversaries and celebrations of all kinds.’
‘Any excuse to get drunk, in fact!’ said Axel. He began to finger the lobe of his right ear.
Simon poured himself out another stiff whisky.
‘When is your birthday?’ asked Julius.
‘The twentieth.’
‘So you’re under Cancer. I’m Leo. What are you, Simon?’
‘Sagittarius.’
‘So you know all that stuff too, do you? Simon always knows everybody’s sign. He’s a great believer in the stars.’
‘Morgan’s Gemini,’ said Simon, ‘Rupert’s Cancer, Hilda’s Virgo, Tallis is Capricorn, Peter is Aquarius—’
‘Oh I’m a great believer in stars too,’ said Julius. ‘I’m terribly superstitious. I believe in the iron hand of destiny. I wouldn’t dare to have my horoscope cast.’
‘I don’t believe in destiny,’ said Axel. ‘I just believe in trying.’
‘Trying for what? What do you want out of life, Axel?’
‘I want to do my work and have innocent friendships with gentle intelligent people.’
‘You are delightfully unambitious. Isn’t he, Simon?’
‘I think it’s a lot to ask from life,’ said Simon. Axel’s foot touched his again.
‘I think I want a good deal more than that,’ said Julius.
‘What? Fun? Power?’
‘Not fun. Power perhaps. And what are these friendships of yours to be like, eh, Axel?’
‘Just friendships. “Love which can’t be classified is best.” Wittgenstein.’
‘Have a chocolate peppermint cream,’ said Simon.
The door bell rang.
‘Who the devil can that be?’ said Axel, ‘calling on us so late at night. Go and tell them to go to hell, Simon.’ Axel detested droppers in.
Simon got up and left the dining room, half closing the door after him. The light was on in the hall revealing the highly polished oak chest, on which Simon had placed a copper bowl of white roses, and the big mirror with the marquetry frame which had belonged to Axel’s family. Simon quickly adjusted his hair at the mirror and went to open the door. He peered out.
The visitor was Tallis.
Simon’s immediate instinct was to shut the door, then to come outside himself and close it behind him. He hesitated, began to push the door to, then darted out through the crack, holding the handle on the outside and making Tallis step back.
‘Sssh!’ said Simon.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Tallis in his ordinary voice.
‘Sssh! We’ve got Julius King here, and—’
‘What’s going on?’ said Axel’s voice behind him. ‘Who are you whispering to in this conspiratorial way?’ Axel pulled the door open. ‘Oh!’
Tallis began to ex
plain. ‘I’m very sorry to call so late, Axel, I know you hate late callers, but the fact is—’
‘The fact is, Julius is here,’ said Axel.
‘Oh that’s what you were saying,’ said Tallis to Simon. ‘I couldn’t hear what you were saying. I think I must be getting a bit deaf.’
‘You’d better come in and meet him,’ said Axel. ‘I don’t approve of whispering on doorsteps.’
‘Tallis wasn’t whispering,’ said Simon.
‘Well, I didn’t hear what you said,’ said Tallis.
‘Come on then,’ said Axel. ‘Unless you’d rather not?’
‘No, no, of course I’ll come in, I quite see, I quite understand—’
Tallis followed Axel and Simon into the hall, blinking against the light. Tallis was a rather short man with short jagged ginger hair and bushy orange eyebrows. He had a shiny bumpy forehead and very wide apart very light brown eyes and a short shiny nose and a small and slightly prissy mouth. He stood awkwardly in the hall, half took off his shabby mackintosh and then pulled it on again, until Axel took him by the arm and propelled him in through the door into the candle-lit dining room where Julius was sitting alone on the other side of the table.
‘Julius, we’ve got a visitor. This is Tallis Browne. Julius King.’
Julius rose. He was considerably taller than Tallis.
Tallis stared at Julius and visibly shuddered. Then he took a step forward and held out his hand. ‘Hello.’
With a marked raising of the eyebrows Julius took the proffered hand. ‘Good evening.’ Julius sat down.
‘Have a drink, Tallis,’ said Simon desperately. He liked Tallis, whom he had never regarded as a menace. He felt terrible embarrassment on his behalf.
‘Do sit down,’ said Axel. ‘Or must you rush away?’
Tallis sat down in Simon’s place opposite to Julius and Simon drew up another chair. ‘What’ll you drink, Tallis?’
‘I’ll have some beer,’ said Tallis. ‘Oh sorry you don’t keep beer I remember. Anything will do. Sherry. Yes, some white wine is fine, thank you, Simon.’
Simon and Axel sat down, Simon sitting a little away from the table behind Tallis, his arm on the back of Tallis’s chair. Julius, who had pushed his chair back as if to have a better view, was regarding Tallis with a slightly sardonic and yet friendly air, the corners of his long mouth quivering very slightly and turning upward. Axel was frowning and showing his teeth as he did when he was anxious. Tallis drank some of the wine out of Simon’s glass as if this were a grave almost ritualistic action, his eyes lowered and his attention fixed upon the glass. He had long orange eyelashes. There was a short silence which Julius was very evidently enjoying.
Simon and Axel spoke simultaneously. Simon said, ‘How did you get here, by bus or by tube?’
Axel said, ‘What did you want to see us about?’
Tallis said to Simon, ‘By tube,’ and to Axel, ‘About Morgan.’
Axel said ‘Oh’ and began fussing with the whisky bottle. Julius was raising his triangular eyebrows once again. Simon said, ‘Oh Tallis—’
‘Is Morgan in England?’ said Tallis. He looked first at Axel and then at Julius.
After a moment’s silence Julius answered him. ‘Yes. She arrived several days ago. She is staying with Rupert and Hilda.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tallis. He rose to his feet. ‘Sorry to have barged in, Axel.’
‘How did you know or suspect she was here?’ said Axel.
‘Peter kept dropping hints. But he wouldn’t tell me anything outright.’
‘We ought to have told you,’ said Axel. ‘I apologize, Tallis.’
‘Don’t worry.’
‘Hilda persuaded us not to,’ said Simon. ‘She wanted Morgan to have time to recover sort of.’
‘I understand—I won’t go round there—If she doesn’t—’ Tallis stopped for a moment. Simon put a hand on his sleeve. ‘I won’t go round.’ With a wave of farewell which vaguely embraced the room Tallis disappeared into the hall and opened the front door.
Simon ran after him and followed him down the steps into the street. ‘Tallis, she isn’t with Julius. They came separately. She’s not seeing Julius. Can I give her a message from you?’
The lamp post was distant and it was hard to see Tallis’s face. ‘No, thank you, Simon. But thank you for thinking of it. Good night.’
Simon ran back again into the dining room.
Axel had covered his face with his hands. Julius was smiling and tilting his chair back. ‘Well, well, well,’ said Julius.
‘Oh God!’ said Axel, running his hands back through his hair.
‘What a very strange little person,’ said Julius. ‘He ought to be sitting on a toadstool.’
‘He ought not to have taken your hand,’ said Simon. He felt suddenly very upset, filled with pity for Tallis.
‘I agree,’ said Axel.
‘And I agree too,’ said Julius. ‘In fact it was he who offered the hand and I think he didn’t really intend to. He stretched it out instinctively. He’s obviously an extremely nervous man.’
‘Tallis is a marvellous person,’ said Simon. He poured himself out some more whisky.
‘I have no doubt,’ said Julius. ‘I have only first impressions which I am not likely to improve upon. Well, Axel, I think I must be going. I’m an early bedder, as you’ll probably remember. I have my newly hired car outside so I won’t be running the risk of meeting your orange-haired friend at the railway station.’
Julius rose and they moved out into the hall. ‘Your coat’s upstairs, isn’t it,’ said Axel. ‘Stay there, I’ll get it.’ Simon and Julius were left standing together.
Julius smiled down at Simon. Then he leaned forward and put a hand upon Simon’s shoulder. Simon shivered, unable for a moment to interpret the gesture. He said in a whisper into Simon’s ear, ‘Come round to my flat next Friday evening at eight. Don’t tell Axel.’
The door closed upstairs and Axel reappeared with Julius’s coat.
‘Well. Thank you, Axel, very much, and thank you too, Simon. There, you see my car is just outside. A British car you’ll be glad to see. Rupert would approve! Good night, my friends, good night.’
Simon closed the door and followed Axel up to the drawing room. He was completely stunned by Julius’s invitation. What could it mean? ‘Don’t tell Axel.’ Why? Should he not tell Axel at once?
Axel had sat down beside the gas fire and was taking off his shoes. Simon began automatically to collect up the ash trays. What ought he to do? It was extremely odd.
‘Well, that was unfortunate,’ said Axel.
‘Tallis didn’t seem to mind,’ said Simon.
‘Who knows what Tallis minds and what he doesn’t mind?’ said Axel. ‘He looked pretty sick when he clapped eyes on Julius.’
It then occurred to Simon what the meaning of Julius’s words must be. Friday was a few days before Axel’s birthday. Axel would be at Fidelio. Julius was wanting Simon to help him to plan some pleasant surprise for Axel. That was what it was, it must be. And in that case of course it was quite all right not to tell. Simon felt a curious thrill of excitement and uneasiness.
He paused in front of Axel, looking down at him. The lamp beside the fireplace shed a bright diffused light upon his friend’s face which was looking stern and tired and rather sad. Behind Axel’s head upon the wall hung the photo of the tall slim long-nosed Greek kouros from the National Museum at Athens, the tutelary deity of their love.
‘Apart from the finale, I think the evening went quite well, don’t you?’ said Axel. ‘Julius didn’t eat you! I could see you were nervous beforehand.’
‘I’ve been nervous for days, actually.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me, you little ass!’
‘I know, I should have done. Somehow the idea of Julius is a bit frightening. But now that I’ve seen him it’ll be all right. He is so awfully nice. Isn’t that stammer charming?’
‘Yes. I must confess, I was a little ner
vous too.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I have my dignity to keep up.’
‘Have I no dignity?’
‘None. Come here. On your knees. No, I’m not going to beat you, even though you did ignore my signal, I just want to put my arms round your neck. Good heavens, I see you’ve removed those plastic bulrushes.’
‘Well, you said you didn’t like them.’
‘You mustn’t let me influence you so much, dear boy. I can be wrong too.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘MORGAN, you look a different person.’
‘I’m feeling so much better, Rupert. So rested. You and Hilda have been angelic.’
Morgan and Rupert were sitting in Rupert’s study. The evening sun was shining in and making the room tingle with soft lustrous light. There was a smell of tobacco and roses. Rupert was sitting at his desk and Morgan in an armchair, with her feet propped up on another chair. She was rolling her dark boyish head about, smelling the glazed cretonne of the chair and gently agitating some whisky in a cut glass tumbler. She looked indeed much better and, Rupert thought, distinctly handsome in a short silk shirt-looking dress with blue and white stripes and little blue flowers on the white stripes which she had bought that day in the sale at Marshall and Snelgrove. Her face was lean and sun-burnt and with dark roses in her cheeks. She was, Rupert thought, wearing no make-up.
‘Rupert, are these chair covers new? I don’t remember them.’
‘Yes, they’re just new.’
