In Certain Circles (28 page)

‘At the same time, he's had enough—I suppose, personal magnetism, to attract and keep such a good bunch of workers as permanent staff that we've made money hand over fist.' He added, with unusual diffidence, ‘But, as we know, even that's only one side of him. It isn't healthy to find yourself constantly compared with someone like Russell.'

‘Oh.' Zoe saw, and the seeing was like a long fall in space. Russell was a complex and subtle man whose lifestyle had so strong an effect on acquaintances that those who were less than dedicated to their own qualities frequently felt there was no other way of being than his. All his life he had tested himself mentally and physically. He worked harder at a great variety of tasks and accomplished more than most people, and this, with apparent ease. Whatever he did, he did very well indeed.

Stephen said, ‘It's paralysing to feel yourself found wanting daily. Your abilities don't measure up. You stop trying. Especially when you aren't doing the work you would choose. In spite of what he thinks, it isn't what he does, it's what he is that matters. The fact remains…'

‘How awful if you've felt yourself in competition! Who said we all had to be like Russell? He's no hypocrite. He knows himself. But he certainly doesn't consider himself the measure of all things. He has a tremendously high opinion of you.'

‘I know. But there the comparison was. It's had a bad effect. On Lily, too, quite possibly. It's a—I suppose it's a spiritual superiority. Not only temperament and abilities. You should understand that.'

Zoe watched this fluent, rational Stephen, who looked as though he never made guests uncomfortable with his sarcasm, never shattered her confidence, employed verbal terrorist tactics with the skill of a trained provocateur.

‘Why didn't you ever speak?' she asked. ‘Plenty of sadness can't be avoided. This was unnecessary.'

Hunching forward over his knees, Stephen pushed his hands through his wiry hair. ‘I didn't face it. You've never threatened to leave me. Two other people tell me we have problems of our own. Rude awakening. I was in the habit of putting up with things all my life.' He seemed dazed.

Out of touch, Zoe thought, understanding that to be out of touch with people was natural to him. He was not naturally intuitive. This natural way of his was the cause of so many incidents that had left scars across sore places in her being.

‘Anyway,' she said, turning to look round the garden, to breathe, ‘you know quite well that Russell's detested as much as he's admired.'

Stephen smiled. ‘But look who they are. Paranoids. Nature's Nazis.'

She nodded. ‘True. So what happens now? Dispose of your half of the press, and do what you wanted to do years ago?'

‘I think so. We'll probably have to arrange a few riots and demonstrations in favour of my admission—at this age.' Saying ‘we', he looked at her.

‘Nothing could be easier,' Zoe assured him. ‘Riots of all types and sizes catered for.'

‘If you can't expect first-class work from a brain as old as this, still I'll do something worthwhile.'

‘Don't. Don't be so humble.' She took his arm between hers and held it, and they sat in silence for a time.

‘You,' Stephen said, looking into her face, at the silvery pallor of her skin. ‘What will you do? I wondered if you'd like to go back to film work? The situation's changing here, according to the papers.'

Zoe smiled at the tidiness of the idea that they should both return to abandoned careers. Some things really die. Her interest had really died. He had really killed her enthusiasm. He had no conception of the damage he had done. Lucky Stephen! It was not even, any more, any of his affair, this damage he had given her. ‘I'd have to think. I mean—I'll have to think.'

Sounding decisive, her expression open and pleased, Zoe was inwardly aghast to feel the facility she had achieved in counterfeiting. I could make myself do anything, she thought. I have become a dangerous person. She would now make an excellent actress, or confidence trickster, or prostitute, she reflected, and remembered reading in some hairdresser's magazine that many women imagined this of themselves. The difference was that Zoe felt her genius to lie in her powers of deception. And once, and once, she had not been like that.

She said, ‘I feel like a lion tamer and his lion, both. And the lion's been ill-treated—by me. I've forced myself to behave differently from the way I've felt. Like bending a steel bar with my will. Now comes the backlash. Now comes the palace revolution. I'm glad about everything, but I don't care. I do care about Russell and Anna, but—'

But as for herself and Stephen, perhaps there simply were no marriages of the sort she envisaged. Happy ones. It was often suggested these days that the institution would have to change or go. Perhaps Russell's ‘You're always going to have to make allowances' was what everybody did all the time. In which case, what a pity! So much pitiful dissembling.

‘Do you think there's nobody who's much good?' she asked Stephen in tones of exhaustion. ‘Do you think if you knew anyone well enough you'd come on doors marked—cruel things? Has everyone got—weird moods and unaccountability hidden away behind nice faces? What I really mean is—is there perhaps some small thing that's radically wrong with everyone? We fall into obsessions without wanting to. Anna says she's always despised women who've behaved as she's behaved. Russell acted from the highest motives and suffered and caused suffering. He's an angel, but his influence works out badly as often as it works out well. Some care too much, and some not enough. Some make efforts, and some take no responsibility. But whatever we do, we don't seem to do well.' Turning to Stephen, she saw with relief that he was not angered, and her relief made her cringe inwardly.

Attending minutely, yet with deep self-absorption, Stephen said, ‘You don't have to look beyond the morning paper. But the disillusionment's more personal than that. Isn't it?'

‘So there is something wrong,' Zoe sighed, as though he were the final authority. ‘Yes, it's personal, but it's all connected, too. I've always had such faith, such a lot of faith in—but it was all a mistake. Like all the rest. We were a mistake.'

The strap of her sandal was twisted. Sighing again, she leaned down to straighten it, and heard Stephen say, ‘You'll go, then?'

‘Yes.'

Lily called them from the top of the garden and came wandering down. ‘I've spoken to the girls in London. Great reconciliations! I'm flying over next week, or the instant I can get my passport.'

‘I thought only Russell had come to see us.' Zoe kissed her and took her hand, and Stephen made room for her on the wall. ‘Come and sit down here in the middle.'

‘We were up all night talking,' Lily said energetically. ‘Booking calls to the girls. The upshot is—I'm off indefinitely. I wanted a suitable father for my children and picked Russell. Your mother and father liked me, Zo. (Because of tennis, I think.) He was away all those years. When he came home, I was the girl he knew. He was quite defenceless. If he hadn't come back, I'd have found someone else of good intelligence and I'd have been equally happy, as long as we'd had children.

‘I know, according to all the rules, I ought to put up some sort of struggle out of sheer possessiveness. If it had happened while the girls were here, it might have been different. But it's been fairly obvious since they went away how much they mattered to me. Anna's not like that. He's more to her than any man could be to me. And she never has found anyone to take his place.'

Behind her head, Stephen's and Zoe's eyes met in a complex look that acknowledged their own parting, while wondering at Lily's justice and calm. Hesitantly, Zoe said, ‘You're very generous and fair.'

Lily started to cry. ‘Am I? I'm not! I'm not! You didn't hear what I said last night. I hate them! I hate them!' She started to search herself for a handkerchief, and as though to keep her in countenance, the others felt themselves over, too. Stephen produced one. A few seconds later, Lily gave a last wrenching sob and was still. Zoe put an arm across her shoulders.

‘Hell and damn! I didn't mean to do that. I got all dressed up and made up. I was going to put on a brave show.'

‘You have. You did. You're terrific,' she was assured.

‘I don't really hate them. I was going away, anyway. Now, I'll stay longer. Because I not only have my girls in London, but my sisters are in England, too.' Her voice had taken on a hushed, religious note. ‘We're very close.'

No one commented.

Much more briskly, Lily added, ‘And I'm very keen to get on with some work.'

Warding off Lily's attempts to return his handkerchief, Stephen asked, ‘What's happening about Russell and Anna? I suppose I shouldn't ask.'

‘Why not?' She looked straight ahead. Her voice was hard. ‘They're going to be extremely happy. How could I have been so dense? It's the real thing. If you weren't involved, the way I am, you could probably think it all quite splendid, quite beautiful. I can't rise to that. Damn their eyes! Now I'll remove myself and we'll arrange a divorce and true love can have its way.

‘I'd better go before I start to be very unpleasant. You and I are supposed to see the solicitor tomorrow, Zo. I'll ring you later today. Russell's going to a hotel for a couple of weeks. He could have stayed, but it's better not. The brave show might wear thin. Don't come with me. No farewells.'

Helpless to help, forbidden to speak, they watched her walk away.

‘
Lily
…' Zoe called. ‘Let's drive you home. One of us…' She looked at Stephen. ‘Please.'

Turning, Lily held her head at an angle of assent and gratitude. Relieved to do her the least service, Zoe and Stephen walked with her up to the garage through the garden.

‘I'd sink into the sand if I walked along the beach. We brought the car, but Russell needs it.' Parting, she said, to explain and console, ‘I felt the other so much, I feel this less. Don't be sad.'

Glancing at Stephen, Zoe could only shake her head and try to smile, leaving Lily to make what she could of it. So everything's over and beginning, she thought, when they had driven off and she was sitting on the sun-warmed steps of the verandah. But I am sad for her. For him, for myself, the others. Yet even while she told herself so, grief and gladness and acceptance and hope mingled in her, and the mingling was like the flight of skylarks—as high and light.

What an effort to change, she thought, hardly daring yet to notice the spontaneous, given changes taking place in herself. Anna went to the very door of death to make change possible, and then later, accidentally, it altered everyone. Stephen's theory that having invested time you would be disinclined to consider it wasted was one way of seeing. When you put your hand to the plough, you don't turn back—or some such thing. Implying: someone with my sterling character would never change her mind. (Perseverance, good my lord, keeps honour bright!) But you could also say: someone with my rigid character could never admit to having been wrong. Or you might see the time as creative. Let it have been so for them, too!

What a slow learner, she thought, slowly rising. Still, the day was lovely. And now she could move on.