Private Passions

by Felicia Greene

  ‘... But you don't seem happy.’ Atuk gently set the teacup down, careful not to disturb Hercules on his lap.

  ‘No.’ Violet let the letter drop to the table. ‘No, I don't believe I am.’

  They sat in silence for some moments. Atuk stared down at the tortoise, wondering why a gulf had opened in his chest.

  Violet, courting? Violet, married? Ludicrous! Violet was a—a scholar, a companion, a brother-in-arms. She had always looked at Atuk's romantic adventures with a teasing eye, shunning that side of life completely. Had someone really looked at Violet, all books and sarcasm and mocking stares, and decided she would make the perfect wife?

  It was ridiculous. Hardly worth thinking about; a foolish suggestion from a mother who didn't know her own daughter well enough. Atuk didn't understand why Violet hadn’t simply thrown it into the fire. He looked up at his friend, ready to do the deed himself—and stopped.

  A tear was running down Violet’s cheek. Violet never cried. Atuk looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

  ‘I don’t think I’m unhappy, frater. I think... I think I’m frightened. Not of Lord Brandmead, or my parents, or... or the concept of marriage. I think I would rather enjoy it, as long as my husband understood my need for intellectual stimulation—and there's no evidence that Lord Brandmead is the sort of brute who forbids his wife from reading.’ Violet wiped away the tear, looking at her hand with a roll of her eyes. ‘I... I fear that as a woman being courted, I would be inadequate. As a wife, I would be frustrating to the point of requesting a divorce.’

  Atuk stared at her, wondering if he had really just heard those words. Then, with a disbelieving burst of laughter, he shook his head.

  ‘Violet Belgrave.’ He kept shaking his head, chuckling. ‘That may be the only stupid thing you’ve ever said. You’ll make a wonderful wife.’

  A look of pure relief spread across Violet's face. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. What you said was absolute nonsense. You'll make a marvellous companion for a man.’ Atuk leaned back in his chair, the warm glow of the gas lamp loosening his tongue even more than the champagne and whisky had managed to do. ‘You’ll be an excellent wife. You lack that femininity, that sort of womanly grace—all that can separate a man from a woman, you know? Like those men that are too brutish to talk to women properly. Too much of the masculine in them. But you—you go beyond it. Why, you’re the least classically feminine woman I've ever met.’

  He didn't notice the small, definite change in Violet’s face. He carried on, oblivious, as Hercules looked on in horror.

  ‘If anything, you transcend the petty limits of masculine and feminine. You exist quite outside them—a perfectly sexless being. Like a tremendous piece of architecture, or a lakeside view, or a—or an incomprehensible but elegant mathematical formula.’ He looked at her in tipsy triumph. ‘Yes. That's you. A soul, free of body. A sexless being. And what's more, I—ow!’

  He held up a hand to his slapped cheek, shocked into silence. Violet stood up, her hand still outstretched, one trembling finger pointing to the door.

  ‘Out.’ She spat the word, fury in every line of her face. ‘Get out. Now.’

  Atuk was too surprised, and too drunk, to question the order. He simply obeyed it, putting Hercules down, bundling his coat into his arms as he stood. He stayed still for a moment, swaying slightly on his feet, before heading for the door.

  ‘I…’ He held one finger in the air, standing on the threshold as Violet strode over to him. ‘I fear I’ve—’

  Slam!

  Violet glared at the slammed door, breathing hard, before turning on her heel and stalking back to her table. She scraped the chair back, sitting down with a huff that almost shattered the glass in the window. She spent some minutes in furious silence, her finger tapping relentlessly on the scarred wood of the table, her left foot bobbing incessantly in the air as the sun continued to rise.

  As first bright rays of the morning began to spill into her small room, touching everything with rosy light, she came back to herself by slow degrees. By the time the first church bells began to ring, she sat in comparative calm—a look of complete horror on her face.

  A small thump against the leg of her chair brought her back completely. She looked down at Hercules, who craned his neck appealingly until she picked him up. The tortoise nestled in her lap, staring at her, a look of unusual comprehension in his beady eyes.

  ‘Alright, creature.’ Violet looked down at Hercules, sighing. ‘Tell me.Why on earth did I do that?’

  Much later that morning, in a luxuriously furnished flat in a considerably more fashionable part of Oxford, a viciously hungover Atuk briefly buried his head in his hands. He stared at his old friend Nikau Roera in pained incomprehension.

  ‘I just can't understand why she did it.’ He threw up his hands, almost knocking over a vase. ‘I want to know why.’

  ‘Forgive me. Perhaps I am becoming hard of hearing.’ Nikau leaned closer, his tattooed face full of wary curiosity. ‘You told a woman that she was a sexless being, devoid of any feminine characteristic… and you’re wondering why she slapped you?’

  ‘I didn’t tell a woman, I told Violet! I—you know what I’m trying to get at!’ Atuk threw himself back in his chair, massaging his temples. ‘It’s Violet, Nikau. You’ve met Violet.’

  ‘Yes. Violet. Violet Belgrave, the spirited, intelligent, eccentric woman of independent means who you speak to every day, confide in, buy little presents for…’ Nikau cast a hopeful glance at his wife, Amy, who rolled her eyes. ‘That Violet?’

  ‘Yes! Exactly. Good old Violet.’ Atuk folded his arms. ‘I simply don’t understand why she did it. It’s not like her at all.’

  ‘I don’t think many women would appreciate being described as unwomanly in every respect.’ Nikau’s lip curled into a discreet smile. ‘Can you imagine one of the ladies who attend Swift’s evenings being appreciative of such a remark?’

  ‘I repeat, Nikau. Those are women. This is… Violet.’ Atuk closed his eyes, sighing. ‘Although, put like that, your argument probably has merit. I was something of an idiot. It’s… well, we’ve never really had that sort of conversation, Violet and I. It went atrociously. And now, I really do feel horribly out of sorts.’

  ‘Understandable.' Nikau nodded cautiously. ‘And... and perhaps it was something of a blow, hearing that Violet is very probably going to be married.’

  ‘Nonsense. Why would it be a blow?’ Atuk frowned. ‘It's not as if it changes the friendship we share.’

  ‘But it will change. Of course it will. Logistically, if nothing else—she will leave Oxford, begin living with her husband... she will reduce her studies, if not give them up completely.’ Nikau spoke carefully. ‘She may even have children. Any friendship would change, under such mutable circumstances.’

  ‘Of course it wouldn’t. We’d write letters every day. She’d visit Oxford whenever she could, and I’d visit her whenever I liked.’ Atuk shrugged. ‘Unchanged.’

  ‘Atuk, have you ever considered that Violet's husband, whoever he may be, will impede such a friendship? Perhaps even attempt to stop it?’ Nikau looked at his wife, whose stare was one of exasperation. ‘Your friendship with Violet barely toes the line of acceptability now. A married woman, with children... your closeness would become inappropriate. Her loyalties would no longer lie entirely with you.’

  ‘Nikau, how many times do I have to say it? Violet and I’s friendship goes beyond all petty concepts. Marriage, children…’ Atuk airily waved his hand in the air. ‘They’ll revolve around our rapport. Even if I managed to stumble down an aisle, complete with a bushel of children, my friendship with Violet Belgrave would be entirely unaffected.’

  Nikau looked hopelessly at his wife, who signed something extremely rude. ‘Right. Well... that’s good to know.’

  They sat in subdued silence, the clock slowly ticking away the morning. Atuk looked at Nikau, a friend made under the most unusual circumstances, wondering how on earth
the hulking, tattooed brute had managed to win the heart of a woman as pleasant as Amy.

  Did Nikau really know more about women than he did? It seemed unlikely. But Nikau was the one sitting opposite, signing to his beloved wife, while he himself was sitting alone with a sore head.

  Perhaps Nikau could guide him towards the correct course of conduct. At this point, anything was worth a try.

  ‘Look. I... I fear I might need help.’ He leaned forward, staring into Nikau's solemn brown eyes. ‘What on earth can I do to make amends?’

  ‘... Buy her a small animal? Women tend to like small animals. But then, Violet has a tortoise, so it would have to be something unusual. Like a parrot, or a—oh.’ Nikau stopped as Amy tugged at his sleeve, signing rapidly. ‘... Oh. Oh, I see.’

  ‘What do you see?’ Atuk turned to Amy, wondering why she looked so smug. ‘Tell me!’

  Amy turned to Nikau, signing out what appeared to be a very long speech. From Nikau’s incredulous expression, and the hesitant way in which he signed back, Atuk feared that Amy’s ingenious solution was more madness than genius.

  When Nikau spoke again, it was with a strangely guarded tone. ‘Amy... Amy feels very strongly that an appropriate apology must be made.’

  ‘Well of course I'm going to say sorry to her.’ Atuk shrugged. ‘Is that not fittingly appropriate? Do I need to bring a parrot along, to fully make my point?’

  ‘No. No parrot.’ Nikau watched Amy sign, nodding slowly. ‘If anything, an appropriate apology would include... an offer of help. Instruction, as it were, in matters with which she has little to no experience.’

  ‘... Instruction?’ Atuk narrowed his eyes. ‘I... what on earth do you mean, instruction?’

  Nikau looked at his wife, who signed with a little more hesitancy than normal. ‘Well... you could act as a sort of guide. Given that you have so much experience in this regard, flirting, courting and so on... perhaps you could offer to prepare her. Make her feel a little less afraid of the whole business.’

  ‘Oh.’ Atuk leaned back in his chair, a new seriousness spreading over his face. ‘I... I see.’

  ‘Yes.’ Nikau looked over to Amy, who nodded hopefully. ‘It’s really the only chivalrous thing to do. You’re both such excellent scholars, and Violet is so much more diligent than you... I think she’d be very eager to learn. If only to reassure herself.’

  ‘Reassure herself.’ Atuk let the words drift away. ‘I... yes. She probably does need reassurance. She seemed so very frightened.’

  ‘Yes.’ Nikau nodded gravely. ‘And it doesn’t do to leave a friend frightened, does it?’

  ‘No.’ Atuk slowly, hesitantly nodded. ‘No.’

  ‘Exactly. So it’s essential that you—’ Nikau stopped again, nodding as his wife held a finger to her lips. ‘... Exactly. Quite.’

  Another silence fell upon the trio; a profound one this time, full of unspoken meaning. Atuk closed his eyes briefly, trying to put the swirling morass of new ideas into some sort of tenable order. Violet did need a friend, didn’t she, at this confusing point in her life... and really, when it came to experience in that sort of arena, there was no-one else that she could possibly ask.

  Offering his help, along with his apology, was really the only sensible thing to do. Why, an apology without help would practically be rude—as long as he managed to express it properly, instead of letting his tongue run away with him as it had last night.

  He conjured up Violet in his mind, trying to imagine her reaction to his words. At this point, he couldn't foresee anything other than another slap—but perhaps with a bath, a sleep and some coffee, his natural optimism would begin to win the day.

  ‘I don’t know if I’ll have enough courage to say it, but you’re right. It does need saying.’ He nodded to Amy, and then to Nikau. ‘Thank you for reminding this weary carcass of his duties. I’ll go and make myself presentable—and possibly buy a parrot. I imagine it can only sweeten things.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Nikau’s smile was genuine. Atuk, as he got up to leave, saw a glint of what looked like triumph in Amy’s eyes.

  As soon as Atuk had left the room, Nikau turned to his wife. She signed with unusual vehemence, her fingers practically crackling in the air.

  Sexless? I would have killed him. He’s lucky he only ended up with a slap.

  Yes. I imagine Violet would have done a little more, if she’d been given time to plan. Nikau kissed Amy softly on the forehead, signing back with hard-won fluency. But goodness me, who knows. Perhaps they’ll finally realise how they feel about one another.

  You’re very kind to Atuk, my love, but I doubt he’s going to realise it. Amy shook her head, signing with precision. For all his cleverness, he’s remarkably obtuse about Violet. I don’t think he’s ever truly examined how he feels about her.

  What needs to be examined? He’d clearly die for her. Nikau shrugged. I knew I’d die for you within the first few minutes of seeing you.

  And that’s perfectly lovely to hear, and very commendable. Amy went to him, stroking his cheek with an indulgent smile. And sensible. But you know who you are, my love—you’ve always known. Atuk, for all his privilege, has never had that luxury. She sat on Nikau’s lap with a soft sigh, leaning her head against his shoulder. We can but hope that Violet helps him discover who he is.

  Violet? She’s as bad as him. Worse. Nikau pulled his wife closer, breathing in the warm scent of her clothes and skin with his usual sense of marvelling gratitude. It’s a wonder either of them manage to button their boots and walk out into the world.

  And yet, they do. Amy signed, smiling as she snuggled closer. Maybe they’ll begin to walk towards one another, instead of circling around one another like heavenly spheres. She reached up to kiss the corner of Nikau’s mouth. I can’t imagine it. How sad.

  Well, now that you've meddled, we can see if the spheres finally begin to collide. Nikau looked at his wife, his face full of admiration. You really are quite wonderful. I never would have thought of it.

  Nonsense. It’s the oldest trick in the book. I hope Violet has a cunning friend suggesting the same thing. Amy smiled wider. Now… would you mind terribly if I diverted your attention? There’s something I need to tell you.

  If it’s to tell me we have no champagne in the cellar, I know. Nikau nodded. I’ll order some more.

  Well… perhaps it would be wise to order half of the usual amount. Amy gently, briefly placed one hand on her stomach; Nikau’s eyes widened. Or, even better, wait until something happens worth celebrating… nine months, or so?

  ‘... And the terrible thing is, I slapped him.’ Violet looked at her friend Thomasina Waters, who seemed to be keeping her expression very carefully guarded. ‘I have no idea why I did it.’

  ‘I see.’ Thomasina sipped her tea, glancing at every object in her cluttered student quarters as if one of her trinkets could help her. ‘You... you have absolutely no idea why you became enraged when your rich, dashing, immensely handsome gentleman friend, the one who you always write letters to during the holidays, the only one who manages to command your tortoise, told you that he considers you a sexless being.’

  ‘Exactly. No idea at all.’ Violet sighed. ‘Of course he considers me as sexless. Our depth of friendship demands it. I don't think I’ve ever done something so irrational—it must have been the panic of the letter. Thomasina, do you have a cold coming? You seem to be coughing a lot this afternoon.’

  ‘No, dear. No.’ Thomasina held a hand to her throat, a strangely amused-sounding cough dying away as she spoke. ‘But how observant you are to notice. Violet Belgrave, the most observant woman in Oxford. Nothing escapes her.’

  ‘Kind of you to say, my dear, but something must have escaped me. Something in my own mind, which is normally a most obedient beast.’ Violet’s brow furrowed. ‘I must think on it.’

  ‘Violet, as much as it pains me to give someone as intelligent as you advice, you must not think on it.’ Thomasina gently took Violet's hands in
hers, squeezing them. ‘You are both logical. You are both dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge above all else. No doubt this can all be forgiven—washed away in a flood of new translations to labour over. Let it pass.’ A treacherous, fascinating thought swam through her mind. ‘Or... perhaps let it teach you.’

  ‘Teach me?’ Violet looked at her, clearly baffled. ‘What on earth can my own bad conduct teach me?’

  ‘Well. It’s taught you that you don’t know how to respond graciously when a man says something you don’t like.’ Thomasina delicately sipped her tea. ‘Perhaps Mr. Morothwaite could... instruct you, in this regard. On a number of other interconnected subjects as well, I imagine.’

  ‘Goodness. I'd never really considered that.’ Violet sipped her tea as Thomasina looked on. ‘I... yes. He has an infinite amount of... well. Experience.’

  ‘Yes.’ Thomasina took another sip, not trusting herself to say anything more specific. ‘Experience.’

  The lightest of blushes had appeared on Violet’s cheeks. Thomasina, a keen naturalist, wondered what internal process could cause such a response in Violet’s usually even complexion. Carefully silent, holding her teacup as if it were a talisman, she patiently waited for Violet to take the next, tentative step.

  ‘It... it would be a sort of intellectual exercise, I suppose. An exploration of—of an area of knowledge in which I am most ignorant.’ Violet’s blush deepened; Thomasina waited with bated breath. ‘The dialogue between a lady and a gentleman. Romance.’

  ‘Quite.’ Thomasina tried to sound as matter-of-fact as possible. ‘Romance. The auxiliary sciences of romance as well, of course—humour, comfort, carnality—’