by C. P. Snow
I said: ‘There are plenty of other people you could talk to, aren’t there?’
‘Albert Hart would give you a pretty sensible judgement,’ said Charles. ‘If ever you’d like me to introduce you–’
‘I’m not prepared to go on my knees except for a very good reason.’
‘I should feel exactly the same,’ said Charles. ‘But still, that never prevents one, does it, from pointing out that someone else is doing too much for honour.’
Ronald laughed. After his first remark, he seemed surprised that he was actually liking Charles’ company.
‘Ah well, my boy,’ said Ronald, ‘I might stretch a point some day. But I insist on tapping my own sources first–’ Then he turned to Ann: ‘I’m going to take you home soon, aren’t I?’
‘Yes,’ said Ann.
‘Are you ready to come now?’
‘I think I’d like to wait half an hour,’ said Ann.
‘You’ll be ready then? You’ll remember, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Ann.
His masterfulness had dropped right away; suddenly he asserted himself by saying to me in a loud voice:
‘Well, my lad, I’m going to take you away and give you some advice.’
We went to the study, where whisky bottles and glasses were laid out. Ronald said: ‘Now you must develop a master plan too. Of course, you can’t expect it to be on such a scale as mine, but I’m damned if we can’t work out something for you. We must use some of my connections.’
He was at home, now he was giving help instead of taking it. His smile became domineering and good-natured; he could even put aside his obsession with Ann while he was giving me advice. Yet, though his connections were genuine enough, the advice was vague; his voice was throaty with worldly wisdom, but he was really an unworldly man. He was far more lost than Ann believed, I thought.
In time he left off advising me, took another drink, put an arm round my shoulders as we stood by the mantelpiece, told me a dirty story, and confided his ambitions. ‘It’s incredible that they shouldn’t recognize me soon,’ he said in his masterful tone. Those ambitions, like the advice, turned out to be quite vague; he was forty, but he did not know what he wanted to do. When I enquired about details his manner was still overbearing, but he seemed to be longing for something as humble as a respectable status and a bare living at the Bar.
Soon he said, with a return of anxiety: ‘We’d better be making our way back, old boy. Ann wants me to take her home tonight.’
When we returned to the dance-room, Ann and Charles were standing together. Ronald said to her: ‘Do you feel you can tear yourself away yet?’
‘I’d just like the next dance with Lewis,’ said Ann.
Ronald gave an impersonation of nonchalance, heavy and painful.
‘In that case I can use another drink,’ he said.
He went away before the band began to play.
Neither Charles nor Ann spoke. When she looked at him, he gave her a smile which was intimate but not happy. Then Charles’ gaze was diverted to the other end of the room, where his aunt Caroline had just buttonholed Mr March. He watched them walk up and down, Caroline protruding her great bosom like a shelf as she inclined her less deaf ear to catch Mr March’s replies. Charles had no doubt that she was catechizing him about Katherine.
‘I was afraid that they wouldn’t leave him in peace,’ he said.
As Ann and I were dancing, I asked her what Mr March would be forced to do. But she was scarcely attending: her mind was elsewhere: all she said was: ‘Charles has too much trouble with his family, hasn’t he?’
We danced round, the conversation ground to a stop. Then, to my surprise, she settled more softly in my arms, and said: ‘I shan’t be sorry when tonight is over.’
‘What’s the matter?’
She looked straight up at me, but slipped away from the question.
‘I always used to dread meeting people till I got in the middle of them, didn’t you?’
‘Not much,’ I said.
‘Don’t you really mind?’
‘I’m nervous of lots of things you’re not,’ I said. ‘But not of that.’
‘Do you know,’ said Ann, ‘I used to make excuses to stay by myself. Not so long ago, either. As a matter of fact, last summer, I very nearly didn’t go to Haslingfield.’
As we danced on, she said in a low voice: ‘Yes. I very nearly didn’t go. That would have altered things.’
I asked again: ‘What’s the matter?’
After a pause, she replied: ‘You’ve seen Ronald now, haven’t you?’
Then I guessed that all night she had been screwing herself up to make the final break. This was the night when she had to tell him that he had no hope.
I said that she should never have come with him at all.
‘Perhaps,’ said Ann. ‘I’d better get it over.’
Then she softened again, and as she spoke of Charles she pressed my hand. ‘I shall have to go off with Ronald now. I shan’t be able to talk to Charles. Will you tell him that everything is well? You’ll remember, won’t you? I don’t want him to go home alone without being told that.’
Ronald came to Ann as soon as we left the floor. She went to say goodbye to Herbert March’s wife: Ronald and I walked into the hall, where we met Getliffe on the point of leaving. Before he saw us, he was trying to smooth down the fur of his old top hat. He said to me: ‘As soon as my wife comes, I depart from the shores of Canaan. But I must say they’ve done us pretty well.’ Then he noticed Ronald. ‘Why, I didn’t realize it was you. It must be years since we met. Though I’ve always wanted to keep in touch with you. Everything satisfactory with the job?’
‘It’s been a complete success,’ said Ronald. ‘I’ve never regretted going out east for a minute.’
‘I’m very glad to hear that,’ said Getliffe earnestly. ‘Look here, if you’re not ashamed of your old friends, we ought to get together some time. Why, I’ve scarcely had a glass of water with you since we used to tune up the old Feathers – I don’t believe you’ve forgotten the place.’
They fixed nothing, but Getliffe shook hands with both of us, though he was bound to see me the next morning, and said: ‘The best of everything. Pleasant dreams.’
The Getliffes had gone when Ronald and Ann had finished their goodbyes. Charles and I waited with them in the hall while someone moved a car. At last they went out into the road, and Ann said to Charles: ‘I shall see you soon.’ Charles watched her climb into Ronald’s car and draw her coat round her shoulders; she was talking to him as they drove away.
We went back to the dance for half an hour, and it was strange, after breathing the heavy air that descends sometimes on to any passion, to be making conversation to young girls – young girls pleased to find a partner, or else proud that they had not missed a dance all night.
One or two, as they noticed their cousin Charles dancing with Ann, must have wondered if they were in love: but they would have been surprised if they had known the pain and decision that had been going on under their noses in this house.
The dance was almost over when Charles and I began to walk the few hundred yards to Bryanston Square. It had been a wet day; the pavements were glistening, though now the rain had stopped. After the ballroom the air was cool on our cheeks.
Charles said that he was worried about Mr March and Katherine. He questioned me on what Caroline had said. But I saw that he was distracted, and he soon fell quiet.
When I gave him Ann’s message, his face lit up.
‘Life’s very unfair.’ He smiled. In a single instant he had become brilliantly cheerful. ‘If I’d been capable of more civilized behaviour, she’d never have needed to think of me.’
‘You made Porson feel flattered,’ I said. ‘I thought that was rather gallant.’
‘No,’ said Charles. ‘I was behaving with the sort of excellence when I could almost see myself shine. And it’s easy to take in everybody except oneself and the person to
whom it matters most.’
Suddenly he said: ‘It’s ridiculous, you know, but I’m jealous of him. Though she’s never loved him in the slightest. Still, I was jealous when I met him. Ann knew that from every word I said. That’s why she sent me that message. She wanted to save me from a dismal night.’
He took my arm, and broke out with a warm, unexpected affection.
‘I wish you’d been saved more, Lewis. You know so much more about that kind of suffering than I hope I ever shall.’
We had reached Bryanston Square. Mr March was long since home, and the house stood in darkness. Charles and I stayed under the lamp, just opposite the railings.
‘It’s curious,’ said Charles, ‘how the unexpected things catch one off one’s guard. I went there tonight, knowing that I had to get him to talk and make him as comfortable as I could and so on. But there was one thing I hadn’t reckoned with; it was the sight of them together in his car, just ready to drive away. For a second I felt that I had utterly lost her.’
21: Whispers in the Early Morning
The day after the coming-out dance, Katherine had to face a scene with her father.
‘Your Aunt Caroline wants you to spend a month in her house,’ Mr March said the moment she arrived at breakfast. ‘There is a consensus of opinion that you don’t meet enough people.’
‘Shall I go?’ said Katherine, so equably that Mr March became more angry.
‘I naturally didn’t consider your refusing.’
‘Of course I’ll go,’ said Katherine.
Until she went to stay with Caroline, Mr March behaved as though Katherine’s presence was irritating. Several of his relations had followed the lead of Caroline and Philip and advised him to ‘keep an eye on Charles’ friend Francis Getliffe’. The sight of Francis and Katherine together had impressed most of Mr March’s brothers and sisters. With their own particular brand of worldliness, they decided that Leonard could not be too careful, the young fellow might think he had a chance of her money.
Katherine duly spent her month at Caroline’s, and there, each night at dinner, was produced a selection of the eligible young men in the March world. It was all magnificent in its opulence and heavy-footedness. At the end of her stay Katherine returned with a collection of anecdotes to Bryanston Square. The anecdotes she had to keep for Charles. It struck everyone that Mr March did not enquire what had happened, and irascibly brushed aside any mention that Katherine made.
In July, on the customary date, Mr March moved his household to Haslingfield. I was invited there in August, and found, on the evening I arrived, that Katherine was still trying to imagine Charles’ life as a doctor.
‘I know you’ll go through with it now,’ she said. ‘But I just can’t see what it will be like, you know. It’s too far-fetched for me.’
‘You just want to purr away in comfort,’ said Charles.
‘You ought to be able to be happy, and get your dash of comfort into the bargain,’ she said.
‘I call that animal content,’ said Charles.
‘I only wish you could have it,’ she said.
Beneath the backchat their voices showed their fondness and concern. Between them there flowed a current of intimacy – it was not only his future they were talking of. Katherine was at once apprehensive and happy, so happy that she had become maternally concerned for Charles. Two years earlier, she would have hero-worshipped him.
They told me nothing that evening. Mr March appeared to be in something like his old spirits; his manner to his son was not constrained, and he talked about a holiday abroad which Charles had spoken of, and then shelved, as ‘my son’s misguided expedition to gather energy for purposes which he was never able to justify. Like the time my Uncle Natty gave them all a fright by trying to go on the stage. But it was always rumoured that he had his eye on an actress. So he went to London University and they made him a knight.’
‘It sounds rather easy, Mr L,’ said Charles.
‘No! No!’ said Mr March. ‘He went to London University and became a professor and a member of their financial board. I always thought he was a superficial fellow. He went slightly off his head, of course, and they gave him his knighthood just before he died.’
Lying half awake the next morning, after the footman had drawn the curtains, I heard the whisper of conversation in Charles’ room next door. I could distinguish Charles’ voice and Katherine’s, hers raised and animated, and I caught one whole reply from Charles: ‘I can easily ring him up at Cambridge.’ When Katherine came down to breakfast I said: ‘What conspiracy are you busy with now?’
She blushed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Consultations before breakfast–’
‘Lewis, you didn’t hear? You can’t possibly have heard, can you?’
Then Charles entered, and she said:
‘Lewis pretends he overheard us this morning. He’s probably bluffing, but I’m not quite sure.’ She turned to me, smiling and excited: ‘If you really do know, it’s absolutely essential you shouldn’t breathe a word.’
Charles said to Katherine: ‘You’re rather hoping he does know, aren’t you? I mean, you wouldn’t be entirely displeased to give yourself away.’
‘You suggested telling him.’ They were smiling at each other. Katherine burst out: ‘Look here, I insist on being put out of my misery. Did you hear or didn’t you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I can see you’re very cheerful, and it’s about Francis. I couldn’t very well help seeing that, could I? But I don’t know exactly what’s happening.’
‘Is this a double bluff?’ she said.
‘You’d better tell him,’ said Charles.
‘Well,’ said Katherine, ‘it’s important for me. You’ll be discreet, won’t you?’
I said yes.
‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘about a fortnight ago Francis asked me to marry him.’
I said how glad I was. Her delight seemed to become even greater as she shared the news. She had been forced to restrain herself for a good many days, except to Charles. ‘When it came to the point,’ said Katherine, smiling lazily, ‘Francis was different from what any of you would expect.’
‘Now did you know?’ she harped back.
‘No.’
‘But you see why I’m anxious that Charles shouldn’t do anything more to upset Mr L – till my marriage is settled. If Charles begins to talk about his career or his independence again, it will only make things more difficult. Of course, I shall be the chief affliction. If I’m to have the slightest hope of getting away with it, Mr L mustn’t feel there’s anything else wrong with his family.’
Charles caught my eye.
‘Don’t you see, Lewis,’ she said, ‘I still have the worst time in front of me? Somehow I must break the news to Mr L.’
‘How much does he know?’
She shook her head.
‘It will be the biggest disaster he’s ever had,’ she said.
I said: ‘Are you sure of that?’
Katherine said to Charles:
‘Don’t you agree? Don’t you agree that I’m right?’
Charles did not answer.
Katherine said: ‘I’m positive that I’m right. Lewis, you simply can’t understand what this will mean to him.’
She spoke to Charles: ‘You know, I feel gross asking you to think of the slightest point that might affect my chances. But, as things have turned out, I can’t do anything else. I must have a clear field, mustn’t I?’
‘I’ve been telling you so for days,’ Charles teased her.
‘You see, Lewis,’ said Katherine, ‘I shall marry Francis whatever happens. I knew I should never have a minute’s doubt – if ever he asked me. I’m not a self-sacrificing person, and however much it upsets Mr L it’s more important for me than for him. I’m worried about him, but I shan’t feel that I’ve done wrong.’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘If the worst comes to the worst,’ she said, ‘we can live on what Francis
earns. It won’t exactly support me in the condition I’ve been accustomed to. But still–’
‘Francis is pretty proud,’ said Charles. ‘He’s not as sensible as he tries to appear. He’d like to have you without a penny.’
‘He’s always taken the gloomiest view and expected to keep me,’ said Katherine. ‘At any rate, that’s settled. We shall be married by December. But it’s obvious that I want to placate Mr L as much as I humanly can. I’m prepared to be thrown out if there’s no other way, but it would be an enormous horror for us both. I expect I should feel it even more than I think now.’
‘Yes, you would,’ said Charles.
‘You know it, don’t you?’ She looked at him.
Then Katherine said: ‘Whatever happens, Mr L must be told soon.’
22: Invitation
As soon as I got back to London after that weekend, Ann asked me to dine with her. Once more she took me out in luxury, this time to the Ritz. I took it for granted, going out with her, that the waiters would know her by name: I was not surprised when other diners bowed to her. As usual, she set herself out to buy me expensive food and wine.
Looking at her across the table, I had no idea what she wanted to talk to me about that night. Not Katherine’s marriage, I was sure. Not Charles, at least directly, it soon seemed. No, the first person she began to mention was Ronald Porson. She wanted to tell me that he had given up trying to see her: that even he accepted that it was over and done with. As she told me, Ann was referring back to the coming-out dance three months before, when I blamed her for letting Ronald’s attendance drag on: she wanted me to admit that she had been firm. Laughing at her, I saw the shyness wiped away from her face as though it had been make-up; and yet my piece of criticism rankled, she might have just been listening to it.
At the same time she was giving me something like a warning about Porson. She said that now he bore a grudge against the Marches, and he was a man who could not stop his grudges breaking out; she talked about him with a kind of remorseful understanding, because she could not love him back.
She knew him well, she was fond of him, she was afraid of what he might do. Although he had got nowhere himself, she told me, he had some influence; his father had been an ambassador, he had his successful acquaintances.
