Beyond the Arch

by David Evered

  ‘I’m pleased at that. I should like to suggest that after tomorrow we lock ourselves away in our own flats and perhaps get together at weekends. After our walk, I’m sure there will be some suitably sentimental film which has been revived for New Year’s Day on the television. I should like to snuggle up to you on the settee and watch. There’s just a risk that such a film might stimulate lustful thoughts so I should like to stay for another night, if I may?’

  ‘That’s extraordinarily forward of you, but what a good idea!’

  * * *

  Peter walked down to Sue’s flat the following day after Sally had left. Sue let him in. ‘Ann is in the lounge,’ she said. ‘She’s very down and full of remorse. I think your timing is right. I‘ll leave you alone with her and then perhaps we should all have coffee together.’

  He walked into the lounge. Ann was sitting with her head in her hands but when she saw Peter she got up and went across, put her arms round him and held him very tightly. ‘I’m so sorry. You were right. I’ve been a fool and I behaved appallingly. Sue has been so good to me. When I had calmed down she spoke to me very bluntly and I realised that my behaviour has done nothing but upset the people I care about. I know what’s happened has left me simply feeling bitter and dejected and I must get over that. She told me what a good evening it was and how much she had enjoyed the company. In my shrewish mind I misread the scene in a totally unjustifiable way and, even if I hadn’t, it was no business of mine. It’s just difficult sometimes to relinquish the role of the bossy older sister. I know I must move from here and find another job and I shall steer well clear of office Romeos in the future. I won’t make that mistake again. I must also go and see Jenny and hold out an olive branch or even a whole tree. What I said was unforgivable.’

  ‘Sally and I sat down with Jenny after you’d gone. She was very upset but she’s not one to bear grudges. She would welcome an approach and, if I may give advice, the sooner the better.’

  ‘I know, you’re right. I didn’t get to meet your other friend but Sue said that she was lovely and, although I say it with some reluctance, from what Sue says, a very good fit for you.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s generous. I don’t know if this is for the long term or not but I’m happy at present and can live with that. I have brought your nightgown down for you.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’ll never be able to wear it again without feeling a deep sense of shame. I’ll give it to Jenny partly as a peace offering. Anyhow, it looked better on her than it ever it did on me. I’d like to give you another hug and just say that I hope we’ll be happy. I’ve learnt several very painful lessons in the last day or so but I’m pleased I have. I’m also happy that New Year’s Eve has given Sue such a lift. She’s more alive than she’s been at any time since that awful evening when Andrew had that accident.’

  30

  The first three months of the year were cold and snowy. Peter and Sally went to earth in their own flats determined to meet their self-imposed targets, each living and working in their own circumscribed worlds. The rapprochement between Ann and Jenny and Ann’s departure for a new job in Birmingham were noted with approbation but failed to distract them from their undertakings. News of the world outside scarcely encroached on their consciousness. External events seemed to be happenings on a distant planet. They only came together occasionally as their determination to meet their specified objectives led to a reduction in the frequency of their weekend trysts, and increasingly these became more formal and distant than before. Sally called him in mid-March and suggested that they might go away for two or three days over the Easter Bank Holiday weekend.

  They met on Good Friday and drove to the Cotswolds. They checked into a country hotel which offered log fires amongst its other attractions. Peter was able to relate that his novel had finally been revised to the point where he felt he could not make many more significant improvements and it was now in typed form. ‘Would you like me to read it or would you prefer me not to?’ asked Sally.

  ‘I’m sure it could be polished further but a week ago I felt I’d reached the point of diminishing returns. I should love you to do so, but only on two conditions. The first is that it should not interrupt your own work and the second is that you must be brutally frank in delivering an opinion. I’m aware of the comment that everyone has a book in them and in most cases that is where it should stay. I’m ready to be told that.’

  ‘OK, I’m happy to read it and in fact would very much like to. I’ve witnessed the period of its gestation. At the same time I should issue a health warning. I’m not a professional reader and I certainly should not be the sole arbiter. I do have a friend who is an agent who specialises in literary fiction and, if it seems appropriate, I could approach her but that would be up to you. Do you have a typescript with you?’

  ‘Unsurprisingly, I do.’

  ‘Would you be happy if I were to read it on my own after the weekend? It would be easier to read it when I’m alone and I would rather it didn’t intrude on our time here. There are things which I need to talk about with you.’

  * * *

  It was dry the following day and they set out to walk to Chipping Camden for a pub lunch. They walked in silence for a time until Sally turned to Peter. ‘I’ll be going back to Sarlat towards the end of April. I need a prolonged period of solitude to work through all the notes I’ve made in the last three months and to read all the books I’ve bought for my project on expatriate authors.’ She paused and took his hand. ‘I also have to think through certain personal issues of which the most prominent in my mind is you. Before I say any more, I do want you to understand a number of things. I suspect some of what I’m about to say might upset you which is the last thing I want to do but it might be unavoidable if I’m to reveal everything that’s on my mind. I shall also say some things which won’t upset you but they may, knowing you, make you blush. Please, will you let me just talk and hear me out? I’ve been rehearsing what I need to say for days and it’s going to be difficult enough and I may not say it very coherently.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything I can say in response to that.’

  She hesitated. ‘Although I’ve been rehearsing what I want to say, it’s still difficult to start. Perhaps I should start with our first chance meeting. There was something about that first meeting in Northumberland, which generated a spark despite my defensive efforts to disconcert you. I know that you must have felt something too as you sought me out last March. It was the same instinct that led me to invite you to France when you wrote in June and even more strongly when I suggested that you stay on. So much has flowed from those first few weeks in Sarlat. I achieved a feeling of contentment last summer which I have rarely experienced before. Life has also been very fulfilling for me professionally over the last nine months, maybe more so than ever before, and you have been a constant in my life over that time. At the same time, your life has expanded and you’re far from being the man you were when we first met. During the course of New Year’s Eve, at one stage I was talking quietly with Jenny and Sue, and we all felt that your decision to break free from the chains of your conventional life had been life-changing in the most positive of ways. I think this was only indirectly the consequence of your parting from Ann. It has been, in my judgement, mainly the result of your courage in taking your life into your own hands and following your own personal star. It has been a privilege to have been an observer – and a very close one at that. You’ve been a steadfast friend and I’ve shared more with you than I think I have ever done with anyone else. We were catechised by the Brownings and interrogated by Michael at Christmas time and their questionings have compelled me to examine myself in a way that I haven’t done for many years and in a way which I have found both difficult and disquieting.

  ‘From the way I teased you when we first met and on many occasions since, you’ve been aware that however close we have become there has always been a deg
ree of reserve on my part and, I hasten to say, that has nothing to do specifically with you. It comes from a defensive instinct which resides somewhere deep inside my psyche. I want to try and explain the origins of that reserve and that will involve my sharing emotions with you which I have never shared with another soul and ones which I generally prefer to keep concealed.

  ‘You know something of my childhood. The loss of my brother George followed by Dad’s suicide and Mum’s cancer, all over a short period of time, has left a permanent mark. I think most of all it was Dad’s death which cast the longest and deepest shadow over my adult life. I’ve already told you that it left me and Mum with an ineradicable sense of guilt because we had failed to recognise the level of his depression and despair, and thus we both felt we had failed as human beings. It destroyed Mum psychologically, and then the cancer destroyed her physically and cruelly in less than a year. I spent some time with her and nursed her at the end but it was difficult to get close because she was so damaged emotionally. I think at times she even resented me as the one healthy survivor and soon to be the only survivor from what had once been a united family.

  ‘The reasons for my reserve are, I suppose, twofold. The first is that, having lost so much, I’m very wary of deep emotional entanglements and concerned that they too may turn out to be transitory and even searing emotionally, so I hide within a carapace which has largely protected me until now. I’ve devised an approach to all contacts which allows me to engage easily with people with a mixture of light banter and intelligent conversation but also permits me to deflect any moves towards developing closer relationships. The result is that my relationships with others, particularly men, have been ephemeral, again until now. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not pleading that I’ve had an unhappy life – in most ways it is, and has been, an interesting and fulfilling one. The other reason relates to Dad’s suicide. Circumstances accounted for this to a large extent, but I’ve always been conscious that there’s a substantial genetic element in depression. Since then it has always been at the back of my mind that this might also be my fate at some unspecified time in the future. I once said to you that I didn’t want your life to be afflicted by my demons and that remains true.

  ‘And this brings me back to you. I said I needed to discuss something with you and I know this has not been a discussion but more of a monologue. At the end of our first week together in France, I felt something that I’ve rarely felt in my adult life and the smell of pine needles still evokes powerful and pleasurable memories. You felt that the act of sex would mark the start of a commitment and were initially upset that I seemed to treat our making love with a degree of coolness which you found difficult to reconcile with your experience. I’ve never really said to you that your adaptation to and acceptance of the role of a loving friend has been of inestimable importance to me, but I do so now. Your tolerance of my sensitivities has allowed me to enjoy your company and this has greatly enriched my life. You’ve been loving, gentle, intimate and above all fun to be with. I believe and hope that our relationship has also bestowed on you a degree of freedom which has expanded your experiences and emotions. It has brought me to a point where I’m uncertain about my future and our future, and I need time and solitude to examine my innermost feelings. This is a new and unique experience for me and, although it may seem a somewhat negative compliment, I hope you’ll accept that it’s also a tribute to you.

  ‘I also need to say something else. I cannot predict the outcome of my soul-searching but it’s important that you don’t feel constrained in your activities by thoughts of what might be. I feel like a stranger in an uncharted land, a land like those plotted at the margins of the known world on mediaeval maps where the cartographer simply stated “Here be dragons”. But the dragons here are within me; they are not ones which threaten me from without. I’m not a believer but I see an analogy with Christian clambering up the Hill of Difficulty. I too am seeking the correct path but know that there may not be a correct path, simply a choice of acceptable paths. You’ve already demonstrated your individuality by following your star. There may be other stars which will transit your firmament which you might wish to follow and, if that’s the case, you must do so. I suspect you too feel that you’re wandering through an alien and exotic land but you have entered by a different border point and are exploring it with wonderment and pleasure. You’re free in the Delectable Mountains.

  ‘I’m being fanciful now and I should stop, but I wanted you to understand my dilemmas and not think ill of me. I would like to see you before I leave for France and there is also some unfinished business which we need to conclude with your book before I go.’

  They walked on in silence for many minutes before Peter said, ‘That cannot have been easy and I appreciate your openness. I too have been wondering about the nature and future of our relationship.’ He smiled. ‘I’m not certain that I’ve ever been entirely sure about its exact nature. And no, I would not, and could not, think ill of you. I think, if I’m honest, that the general thrust of what you’ve said doesn’t come as a great surprise although the details tell me so much more about you. I’d always known there were depths which were off limits to me – and I’m sure that there’ll always be some which will remain permanently closed to me and that is right. None of us can ever know another human fully and completely, and maybe it’s good that that’s the case. I think I need time to reflect too.’

  ‘Yes, and now it’s close to time for lunch. Why don’t we walk back to the hotel after lunch and make ourselves comfortable in front of the blazing log fire and simply enjoy each other’s company for the rest of the day, as we’ve done so many times in the past nine months. When I say that, it seems a remarkably short time but in other ways I feel I’ve known you for a lifetime, and if you were wondering about the possible implications of that last statement, they are all positive’. She stepped in front of him and held him very tightly and then whispered in his ear, ‘I’m not going to seduce you out here, it’s too bloody cold for that sort of thing outdoors at the end of March – but later?’ She took his arm and steered him into the pub.

  * * *

  Peter looked at Sally as she awakened the following morning. ‘I’ve been awake for some time just watching you. Come close, I have been reflecting.’ He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down. ‘I was tempted to say some things, many things, following on from what you said yesterday. One thing which does occur to me now was your analogy that I was happily exploring the Delectable Mountains!’ He caressed and then kissed her breasts gently. ‘That seems to be a very apt and entirely accurate analogy.’

  Sally laughed. ‘Now you’re over-interpreting what I said! Nothing of the sort was in my mind when I drew that analogy yesterday but I’m more than happy to allow your over-fertile imagination to take control of your hands.’

  ‘I take no responsibility for this; the words Delectable Mountains will always come to mind now when I hold you and, if I remember rightly, it’s from Mount Clear in the Mountains that one can see the Celestial City.’ He paused and held her for a few minutes before saying more seriously, ‘Like you, I’ve been rehearsing my words and I want to be sure that I don’t say anything inept. Sally, you mean so much to me now and, in many ways, have become an integral part of my life. You have played a major role in freeing me from fetters of which I was scarcely aware and guiding me to a place where I can envision a life in which I feel enfranchised to exercise a wider range of choices over my future. Much of this I have gained through observing and interacting with you. The stratagems which you have adopted for defensive purposes have been challenging but at the same time liberating for me, and have led to my emancipation. I understand your need to reflect on things and know that you’ll need time to do that. I also understand that you can’t realistically forecast how long that process will take and it could be some time. I’ve learnt that it would not be helpful for me to pressurise you and what I am about to say is not
a subtle, or even an unsubtle, attempt to do that. I have mapped out a course for myself which has now developed its own momentum. That course is not, however, predestined and I know there’ll be opportunities to change direction and divert my energies into new endeavours. I’m not saying this very clearly but I shall be living a life dominated by a certain ambiguity until I know the outcome of your period of reflection. At the very least, until that time, my life is partially intertwined with yours.’

  ‘I do follow and your lack of certainty parallels my own, but don’t forget that you are enfranchised and thoughts of me must not be seen as a fresh set of shackles which limit your freedoms.’

  ‘No, I’ve learned from you that one can (and I’m thinking of myself when I say this) have close relationships without necessarily making long-term commitments and this is one of the reasons I’ve felt so relaxed during the last few months. I’ve had choices and degrees of freedom which I have never previously had, though I now know that this is not entirely correct. The freedoms were there but I was not sufficiently percipient to recognise them and, if I had, I would probably have lacked the good sense and the confidence to take advantage of them. I’m also conscious that personal relationships must always be handled with sensitivity. As I said earlier, we can never read fully the thoughts and emotions of others and I’m quite accepting of that. The element of mystery and the unpredictability of the future which results from getting close to someone add to the pleasure of relationships, and that has been especially true with you. I didn’t understand your designation of “loving friend” when you first used it but I believe I do now. It embraces everything we’ve shared, and our light-hearted enjoyment of each other’s bodies has been a natural consequence and component of that. Now I think I should stop rambling! I’m sure you’ll only welcome interruptions of your own choosing during your time in France, but I wonder if you would accept an occasional letter from me which I would send without imposing any obligation to reply?’