I saw a tall white-clad figure come out from the Long Barn. It hesitated a moment then walked in my direction. I had known at once it was Isabella. She came and sat down on the stone bench. The harmony of the night was complete.
We were quite a long time without saying anything. I was very happy. I didn’t want to spoil it by talking. I didn’t even want to think.
It was not till a sudden breeze sprang up off the sea and ruffled Isabella’s hair so that she raised her arm to her head that the spell was broken. I turned my head to look at her. She was staring, as I had stared earlier, at the moonlit causeway leading to the castle.
‘Rupert ought to come tonight,’ I said.
‘Yes.’ There was a tiny catch in her voice. ‘He ought.’
‘I’ve been picturing his arrival,’ I said, ‘in chain mail on a horse. But really, I suppose, he’ll come in battledress and beret.’
‘He must come soon,’ Isabella said. ‘Oh, he must come soon …’
There was urgency, almost distress, in her voice.
I didn’t know what was in her mind, but I felt vaguely alarmed for her.
‘Don’t set your heart too much on his coming,’ I warned her. ‘Things have a knack of turning out all wrong.’
‘I suppose they do, sometimes.’
‘You expect something,’ I said, ‘and it isn’t there …’
Isabella said, ‘Rupert must come soon.’
There was distress, real urgency in her voice.
I would have asked her what she meant, but at that moment John Gabriel came out of the Long Barn and joined us.
‘Mrs Norreys sent me along to see if there was anything you wanted,’ he said to me. ‘Like a drink?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Sure?’
‘Quite sure.’
He more or less ignored Isabella.
‘Fetch yourself one,’ I said.
‘No, thanks. I don’t want one.’ He paused and then said, ‘Lovely night. On such a night did young Lorenzo etcetera etcetera.’
We were all three silent. Music came faintly from the Long Barn. Gabriel turned to Isabella.
‘Would you care to come and dance, Miss Charteris?’
Isabella rose and murmured in her polite voice, ‘Thank you. I would like to very much.’
They walked away together rather stiffly without saying anything to each other.
I began to think about Jennifer. I wondered where she was and what she was doing. Was she happy or unhappy? Had she found, as the phrase goes, ‘someone else’? I hoped so. I hoped so very much.
There was no real pain in thinking about Jennifer, because the Jennifer that I had once known had not really existed. I had invented her to please myself. I had never bothered about the real Jennifer. Between her and me there had stood the figure of Hugh Norreys caring for Jennifer.
I remembered vaguely as a child going carefully and unsteadily down a big flight of stairs. I could hear the faint echo of my own voice saying importantly, ‘Here’s Hugh going downstairs …’ Later, a child learns to say ‘I’. But somewhere, deep inside himself, that ‘I’ doesn’t penetrate. He goes on being not ‘I’ but a spectator. He sees himself in a series of pictures. I had seen Hugh comforting Jennifer, Hugh being all the world to Jennifer, Hugh going to make Jennifer happy, going to make up to Jennifer for all that had happened to her.
Yes, I thought to myself suddenly, just like Milly Burt. Milly Burt deciding to marry her Jim, seeing herself making him happy, curing him of drinking, not caring, really, to acknowledge the real Jim.
I tried this process on John Gabriel. Here’s John Gabriel, sorry for the little woman, cheering her up, being kind to her, helping her along.
I switched to Teresa. Here’s Teresa marrying Robert, here’s Teresa –
No, that wouldn’t work. Teresa, I thought to myself, was adult – she had learnt to say ‘I’.
Two figures came out from the barn. They did not come towards me. Instead they turned the other way down the steps to the lower terrace and the water garden …
I pursued my mental researches. Lady Tressilian, seeing herself persuade me back to health, to interest in life. Mrs Bingham Charteris seeing herself as the person who always knew the right way to tackle things, still in her own eyes the efficient wife of the colonel of the regiment. Well, why the hell not? Life is hard, and we must have our dreams.
Had Jennifer had dreams? What was Jennifer really like? Had I ever bothered to find out? Hadn’t I seen always what I wanted to see, my loyal unhappy wonderful Jennifer?
What was she really? Not so very wonderful, not so very loyal (when one came to think of it!), certainly unhappy … determinedly unhappy. I remembered her remorse, her self-accusations when I had lain there, a broken and shattered wreck. Everything was her fault, her doing. What did that mean after all but Jennifer seeing herself in a tragic rôle?
Everything that has happened must have been caused by Jennifer. This is Jennifer, the tragic, the unhappy figure, for whom everything goes wrong, and who takes the blame for everything that goes wrong with everyone else. Milly Burt, probably, would do much the same. Milly – my thoughts switched abruptly from theories of personality to present everyday problems. Milly hadn’t come tonight. Perhaps that was wise of her. Or would her absence cause equal comment?
I shivered suddenly and gave a start. I must have been nearly asleep. It was getting much colder …
I heard steps coming up from the lower terrace. It was John Gabriel. He walked towards me and I noticed that he walked unsteadily. I wondered if he had been drinking.
He came up to me. I was startled at his appearance. His voice when he spoke was thick, the words were slurred. He presented every appearance of a man who had been drinking, but it was not alcohol that had got him into this state.
He laughed, a drunken sort of laugh.
‘That girl!’ he said. ‘That girl! I told you that girl was just like any other girl. Her head may be in the stars, but her feet are set in clay all right.’
‘What are you talking about, Gabriel?’ I said sharply. ‘Have you been drinking?’
He let out another laugh.
‘That’s a good one! No, I haven’t been drinking. There are better things to do than drink. A proud stuck-up bit of goods! Too much of a fine lady to associate with the common herd! I’ve shown her where she belongs. I’ve pulled her down from the stars – I’ve shown her what she’s made of, common earth. I told you long ago she wasn’t a saint – not with a mouth like that … She’s human all right. She’s just like all the rest of us. Make love to any woman you like, they’re all the same … all the same!’
‘Look here, Gabriel,’ I said furiously, ‘what have you been up to?’
He let out a cackle of laughter.
‘I’ve been enjoying myself, old boy,’ he said. ‘That’s what I’ve been doing, enjoying myself. Enjoying myself in my own way – and a damned good way, too.’
‘If you’ve insulted that girl in any way –’
‘Girl? She’s a full-grown woman. She knows what she’s doing, or she ought to know. She’s a woman all right. Take my word for it.’
Again he laughed. The echo of that laugh haunted me for many years. It was a gross materialistic chuckle, horribly unpleasant. I hated him then and I went on hating him.
I was horribly conscious of my own helplessness, my immobility. He made me conscious of it by his swift contemptuous glance. I can imagine no one more odious than John Gabriel was that night …
He laughed again and went unsteadily towards the barn.
I looked after him full of angry rage. Then, while I was still revolving the bitter pill of my invalid status I heard someone coming up the terrace steps. Lighter, quieter footfalls this time.
Isabella came up on to the terrace and across towards me and sat down on the stone bench by my side.
Her movements, as always, were assured and quiet. She sat there in silence as she had sat earlier in the evening. Ye
t I was conscious, distinctly conscious, of a difference. It was as though, without outward sign, she sought reassurance. Something within her was startled and awake. She was, I felt certain, in deep trouble of spirit. But I did not know, I could not even guess, what exactly was passing through her mind. Perhaps she did not know herself.
I said, rather incoherently, ‘Isabella, my dear – is it all right?’
I did not quite know what I meant.
She said presently, ‘I don’t know …’
A few minutes later she slipped her hand into mine. It was a lovely trustful gesture, a gesture I have never forgotten. We did not say anything. We sat there for nearly an hour. Then the people began to come out of the Long Barn and various women came and chatted and congratulated each other on the way everything had gone, and one of them took Isabella home in her car.
It was all dreamlike and unreal.
Chapter Seventeen
I expected that Gabriel would keep away from me next day, but Gabriel was always unaccountable. He came into my room just before eleven o’clock.
‘Hoped I’d find you alone,’ he said. ‘I suppose I made the most thundering fool of myself last night.’
‘You can call it that. I should call it something stronger. You’re an unutterable swine, Gabriel.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She didn’t say anything.’
‘Was she upset? Was she angry? Damn it all, she must have said something. She was with you almost an hour.’
‘She didn’t say anything at all,’ I repeated.
‘I wish to God I’d never –’ He stopped. ‘Look here, you don’t think I seduced her, do you? Nothing of that kind. Good lord, no. I only – well – I only made love to her a bit, that’s all. Moonlight, a pretty girl – well, I mean it might have happened to anybody.’
I didn’t answer. Gabriel answered my silence as if it had been spoken words.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m not particularly proud of myself. But she drove me mad. She’s driven me mad ever since I met her. Looking as though she was too holy to be touched. That’s why I made love to her last night – yes, and it wasn’t pretty lovemaking either – it was pretty beastly. But she responded, Norreys … She’s human all right – as human as any little piece you pick up on a Saturday night. I dare say she hates me now. I’ve not slept a wink –’
He walked violently up and down. Then he asked again:
‘Are you sure she didn’t say anything? Anything at all?’
‘I’ve told you twice,’ I said coldly.
He clutched his head. It might have been a funny gesture, but it was actually purely tragic.
‘I never know what she thinks,’ he said. ‘I don’t know anything about her. She’s somewhere where I can’t get at her. It’s like that damned frieze at Pisa. The blessed, sitting there in heaven under the trees, smiling. I had to drag her down – I had to! I couldn’t stand it any more. I tell you I just couldn’t stand it. I wanted to humble her, to drag her down to earth, to see her look ashamed. I wanted her down in hell with me –’
‘For God’s sake, Gabriel, shut up,’ I said angrily. ‘Haven’t you any decency?’
‘No, I haven’t. You wouldn’t have if you’d been through what I’ve been through. All these weeks. I wish I’d never seen her. I wish I could forget her. I wish I didn’t know she existed.’
‘I’d no idea –’
He interrupted me.
‘You wouldn’t have any idea. You never do see an inch in front of your nose! You’re the most selfish individual I’ve ever met, entirely wrapped up in your own feelings. Can’t you see that I’m licked? A little more of this and I shan’t care whether I get into Parliament or not.’
‘The country,’ I said, ‘may be the gainer.’
‘The truth is,’ said Gabriel gloomily, ‘that I’ve made the most unholy hash of everything.’
I did not reply. I had stood so much from Gabriel in his boastful moods, that I was able to take a certain amount of satisfaction in seeing him thoroughly cast down.
My silence annoyed him. I was glad. I had meant it to annoy him.
‘I wonder, Norreys, if you have any idea how smug and puritanical you look? What do you think I ought to do – apologize to the girl – say I lost my head – something like that?’
‘It’s nothing to do with me. You’ve had so much experience with women that you ought to know.’
‘I’ve never had anything to do with a girl like that before. Do you think she’s shocked – disgusted? Does she think I’m a complete swine?’
Again I found pleasure in telling him what was the simple truth – that I did not know what Isabella thought or felt.
‘But I think,’ I said, looking through the window, ‘that she’s coming here now.’
Gabriel went very red in the face and his eyes took on a hunted look.
He took up his position in front of the fireplace, an ugly position, his legs straddled, his chin thrust forward. He had a hangdog sheepish look that sat very ill upon him. It gave me pleasure to observe that he looked common and furtive and mean.
‘If she looks at me as though I were something the cat had brought in –’ he said, but did not finish the sentence.
Isabella, however, did not look at him as though he were something the cat had brought in. She said good morning, first to me and then to him. Her manner made no difference between us. It was, as usual, grave and perfectly courteous. She had the serene and untouched look that she always had. She had brought a message for Teresa and when she learned Teresa was next door with the Carslakes she went in search of her, giving us both a small gracious smile as she left the room.
When she had shut the door behind her Gabriel began to swear. He cursed her steadily and vitriolically. I tried to stem the torrent of his malice but without avail. He shouted at me:
‘Hold your tongue, Norreys. This has nothing to do with you. I tell you I’ll get even with that proud stuck-up bitch if it’s the last thing I ever do.’
And with that he charged out of the room, banging the door behind him so that Polnorth House shook with the impact.
I did not want to miss Isabella on her way back from the Carslakes so I rang my bell and had my chair pushed out on to the terrace.
I had not long to wait. Isabella came out of the far french window and along the terrace towards me. With her usual naturalness she came straight to the stone seat and sat down. She did not say anything. Her long hands were, as usual, loosely folded on her lap.
Usually I was content enough, but today my speculative mind was active. I wanted to know what went on in that rather nobly-shaped head. I had seen the state that Gabriel was in. I had no idea what impression, if any, had been left on Isabella by the happenings of the preceding evening. The difficulty of dealing with Isabella was that you had to put things into plain words – to proffer any accepted euphemisms merely resulted in her giving you a stare of blank bewilderment.
Yet custom being what it is, my first remark was completely ambiguous.
‘Is it all right, Isabella?’ I asked.
She turned her level inquiring gaze on me.
‘Gabriel,’ I said, ‘is upset this morning. I think he wants to apologize to you for what happened last night.’
She said, ‘Why should he apologize?’
‘Well –’ I said, hesitating, ‘he thinks he behaved rather badly.’
She looked thoughtful and said, ‘Oh, I see.’
There was no trace of embarrassment in her manner. My curiosity drove me on to ask further questions, notwithstanding the fact that the whole subject was no business of mine.
‘Don’t you think he behaved badly?’ I asked.
She said, ‘I don’t know … I simply don’t know …’ She added, in a faintly apologetic manner, ‘You see, it’s something I simply haven’t had time to think about.’
‘You weren’t shocked, or frightened, or upset?’
I was curious, really curious.<
br />
She seemed to turn over my words in her mind. Then she said, still with that air of viewing something with detachment that was a long way off:
‘No, I don’t think so. Ought I to have been?’
And there, of course, she turned the tables on me. Because I didn’t know that answer. What ought a normal girl to feel when she first meets – not love – certainly not tenderness – but the easily awakened passion of a man of somewhat gross disposition?
I had always felt (or had I only wanted to feel?) that there was something extraordinarily virginal about Isabella. But was that really so? Gabriel, I remembered, had twice mentioned her mouth. I looked at that mouth now. The underlip was full – it was almost a Hapsburg mouth – it was unpainted – a fresh natural red – yes, it was a sensuous – a passionate mouth.
Gabriel had wakened response in her. But what was that response? Purely sensual? Instinctive? Was it a response to which her judgment assented?
Then Isabella asked me a question. She asked me quite simply if I liked Major Gabriel.
There were times when I would have found it hard to answer that question. But not today. Today I was quite definite in my feelings about Gabriel.
I said, uncompromisingly, ‘No.’
She said thoughtfully, ‘Mrs Carslake doesn’t like him either.’
I disliked a good deal being bracketed with Mrs Carslake.
I, in my turn, asked a question.
‘Do you like him, Isabella?’
She was silent for a very long time. And when words did struggle to the surface, I realized that they had arisen from a deep morass of bewilderment.
‘I don’t know him … I don’t know anything about him. It’s terrible when you can’t even talk to anyone.’
It was difficult for me to understand what she meant because always, where I had been attracted towards women, understanding had been, as it were, the lure. The belief (sometimes an erroneous belief ) in a special sympathy between us. The discovery of things we both liked, things we disliked, discussions of plays, of books, of ethical points, of mutual sympathies or mutual aversions.
The sensation of warm comradeship had always been the start of what was quite frequently not comradeship at all, but merely camouflaged sex.
The Rose and the Yew Tree Page 13
