The Bachelors (3 page)

Ronald
was actually forbidden alcohol, but he had found that the small quantity which
he liked to drink made no difference to his epilepsy, and that the very act of
ordering a drink gave him a liberated feeling.

He took
his beer, sat down at his friends’ table and soundlessly sipped. In nearly five
minutes’ time he said, ‘Nice to see you all here.’

Matthew
Finch ran a finger through his black curls. Sometimes a desire came over Ronald
to run his fingers through Matthew’s black curls, but he had given up wondering
if he were a latent homosexual, merely on the evidence of this one urge. Once
he had seen a married couple rumple Matthew’s hair in a united spontaneous gesture.

‘Nice
to see you all together,’ Ronald said.

‘Eggs,
boiled or poached only,’ Walter Prett read out in a sad voice from his diet
sheet. ‘Sour pickles but not sweet pickles.
No
barley, rice, macaroni—’
he read quietly, then his voice became louder, and even Ronald, who was used to
Walter Prett’s changing tones, was startled by this. ‘Fresh fruit of any kind,
including bananas, also water-packed canned fruits,’ Walter remarked modestly. ‘No
butter,’ he shrieked, ‘no fat or oil,’ he roared.

‘I’ve
got mounds of homework,’ said Ewart Thornton, ‘because the half-term tests have
begun.’

Matthew
went over to the bar and brought back two pickled onions on a plate, and ate
them.

Chapter II

IT WAS six o’clock in the
evening of that Saturday in a third-floor double room in Ebury Street. Patrick
Seton sat in a meagre arm-chair which, since he was narrow at the shanks and
shoulders, he did not fill as people usually did. Alice Dawes was propped in
one of the divan beds, still half-dressed. Her friend, Elsie Forrest, sat on
the other divan and folded Alice’s skirt longwise.

‘If
only you would eat something you would see the thing in proportion,’ Elsie
said.

‘God, how
can I eat? Why should I eat?’ Alice said. ‘You ought to build up your strength,’
Patrick Seton said in his voice which seemed to fade away at the end of each
sentence.

‘What’s
the use of her building up her strength if she’s going to lose it that way?’
Elsie said.

‘It was
only a suggestion,’ Patrick said, so that they could hardly hear the last syllable.

‘Well,
I’m not going to do it,’ Alice said. ‘You’ll have to think of something else.’

‘There’s
this unfortunate occurrence next week….’

‘I don’t
see,’ said Elsie, ‘how they can bring you up on a charge if they haven’t any
grounds at all.’

‘Not
the slightest grounds,’ Patrick said, more boldly than usual. ‘I’ll be
acquitted. It’s a case of a jealous, frustrated woman trying to get her own
back on me.’

‘You
must have had to do with her,’ Elsie said.

‘I
never touched her, and I give you my word of honour,’ Patrick said. ‘It’s all
her imagination. She took a fancy to me at a séance, and I was sorry for her
because she was lonely, and then I took rooms at her place and gave her advice.
Of course, now, she’s made up this utter entire fabrication. That’s my defence.
An utter, entire and absolute fabrication.’

‘Funny
the police are taking it up if they’ve no proof,’ Elsie said.

Alice
said from the bed, ‘I’ve got every faith in Patrick, Elsie. The police wouldn’t
allow him his freedom if they thought he was guilty. They would have him under
arrest.’

‘Well,
if he’s so sure he’s going to get off, why did he bother to tell you? It’s a
shame upsetting you like this in your condition.’

‘I
only,’ Patrick said softly, stroking his silver-yellow hair with his thin grey hand,
and gazing at Alice with his pale juvenile eyes, ‘wanted to put it to Alice
that after Tuesday and when this unfortunate occurrence is over we could make a
fresh start if she would see the specialist and have something done before
nature takes its course, and——’

‘I won’t
have an abortion,’ Alice said. ‘I’d do anything else for you, Patrick, you know
that. But I won’t have it done. I’d be terrified.’

‘There’s
no danger,’ Patrick said. ‘Not these days.’

‘I
would never risk it,’ Alice said. ‘Not with my disease.’

‘He may
be unlucky on Tuesday,’ Elsie said.

‘No
question of it,’ Patrick said.

‘Oh,
Elsie, you don’t know Patrick,’ Alice said.

Elsie
said, ‘Why don’t you both skip off abroad this week-end, while there’s time?’

Alice
looked at Patrick, clutching her throat, for she had once been to a school of
drama, and though she was not an insincere girl, she sometimes remembered to
express those emotions which she wished to reveal, by certain miming movements
of the head, hands, shoulders, feet, eyes and eyelids. So she clutched her
throat and looked at Patrick to convey a vulnerable anticipation of his reply.

His
reply was so low-voiced that Elsie said ‘What?’

‘Difficulty
about passports if one is discovered. It would’ — his voice rose to loud
assertion — ‘look like an admission of guilt.’

‘Patrick
is right.’ Alice’s hand dropped from her throat and lay limp, palm-upward, on
the divan-cover.

‘You’re
going to leave Alice in a nice pickle if the case goes against you,’ Elsie
said. ‘How long could you get at the outside?’

‘Oh,
Elsie,’ said Alice. ‘Don’t.’

Patrick
looked at Elsie as if this remark were sufficient reply.

‘And
when,’ said Elsie, ‘does your divorce case come up?’

‘In a
couple of months,’ said Patrick, crossing his knees and looking down upon those
knees.

‘What
date?’

‘Twenty-fifth
of November,’ Alice said. ‘I remember that date all right, because we’ll be
able to get married on the twenty-sixth.’

Patrick’s
blue eyes dwelt upon her affectionately.

‘On the
twenty-sixth,’ he whispered and closed his eyes for a moment to savour his joy.

‘I feel
hungry,’ Alice said.

‘Put
your skirt on,’ Elsie said, ‘and we’ll go and get something. Don’t eat anything
greasy, you’ll only bring it up again.’

Alice
began wearily to get up.

‘I’m
starving,’ she said.

Elsie
said, ‘Did you remember to take your injection this morning?’

‘Of
course,’ Alice said. ‘Don’t be silly. Patrick gives me my injection every
morning, regularly.’ She pointed to the jug with the syringe stuck into it.

‘Well,
I only wondered, because you said you were so hungry. Don’t diabetics always
get hungry if they don’t have their injections?’

‘She’s
hungry because she brought up her lunch,’ said Patrick defensively.

Elsie
looked at him suspiciously. ‘I hope you do give her the injection regularly,’
she said. ‘She needs taking care of.’

It was
then Patrick’s mind turned a corner.

But he
replied meekly: ‘Give her a good meal.’ He stroked Alice’s cheek. ‘Don’t work
too hard tonight, darling.’

‘I
doubt if I can go,’ said Alice who was standing shakily while zipping up her
skirt. ‘Elsie will have to ring up.’

‘She’ll
have to get an easier job,’ Elsie said. ‘Coffee-bar work is too hard for a
girl in her condition.’

‘What do you see in him?’
Elsie said.

Alice
took her mouthful of omelette at slow motion to denote reflectiveness, although
she knew the answer.

‘Well,’
she said, ‘I’m in love with him. He’s
got
something. You don’t know how
wonderful he can be when we’re alone. He’s so good on the spiritual side. He
recites poetry so beautifully. He’s a sort of a real artist.’

‘I’ll
agree,’ Elsie said, ‘he’s a first-rate medium. That I do admit.’

‘And he’s
got a soul.’

‘Yes,’
said Elsie, ‘I see that. But you know, he’s a bit old for you.’

‘I like
an older man. I think there’s something special about an older man.’

‘Yes,
but you wouldn’t call him much of a man. I mean, if you didn’t know him, if you
just saw him in the street without knowing he was a medium, you’ld think he was
a little half-pint job.’

‘But I
do know him. He means everything to me. He loves poetry and beauty.’

‘I’ll
tell you,’ Elsie said. ‘I’ve never really trusted him. He hasn’t got a cheque
book, you told me yourself. Now that’s funny, for one thing.’

‘He’s
not mean with his money. I’ve never said—’

‘No,
but he hasn’t got a cheque book, the fact remains.’

‘I
think that’s a materialistic way to judge. Patrick is not a materialist.’

‘No,’
said Elsie, ‘I don’t say he is. But I think he gets carried away and makes up a
lot of these stories he___’

‘Oh,
Elsie, a man like Patrick must have had a remarkable life. He’s been through
it. You can see that. And his wife must have been hell. Do you know, she—’

‘Funny
thing about that divorce,’ Elsie said, ‘he doesn’t seem much worried about it.’

‘No, he’s
just waiting for it to come through, that’s all.’

‘You’ld
think he’d have a bit more to do with the lawyers than he seems to have. And
she might claim on him—’

‘She
hasn’t a leg to stand on in the case. He’s divorcing her, she’s not divorcing
him.’

‘What’s
her name?’

‘I don’t
know. I wouldn’t like to ask. It would be indelicate.’

‘Seen a
photo?’

‘No,
Elsie. Patrick isn’t that sort of man, Elsie.’

‘And
about this at the Magistrate’s Court on Tuesday,’ Elsie said, ‘well, I don’t
know what to think.’

Alice
started to cry.

‘You’re
only upsetting yourself,’ Elsie remarked, while she ate steadily on as one who
proves, by eating on during another’s distress, the unshakable sanity of their
advice. Elsie also permitted herself to say, as she reached for another roll, ‘And
you’re kidding yourself where Patrick’s concerned. I don’t believe half a word
he says. I think he’s in trouble. You take my advice, you would clear off now,
have the baby in a home, get it adopted, and start afresh.’

Alice
said, ‘I’ll never do that, never. I trust him.’

‘He
wanted you to get rid of the kid.’

‘Men are
like that.’

‘Stop
crying,’ Elsie said, ‘people are looking at you.’

‘I can’t
help it when you call him a liar. What about the message he got for you from
Colin that night at the Wider Infinity? You didn’t say that was lies. You
said___’

‘Oh, he’s
a good medium. But when Patrick’s under the control I shouldn’t think he could
help saying what comes to him from the other side.’

At eight o’clock Patrick
Seton walked along the Bayswater Road, turned off it, then turned again into a
cul-de-sac, at the end of which he mounted the steps of a house converted into
flats where he pressed the top left-hand bell.

Presently
the door was opened by a tall, skinny, young man of about twenty-three, with a
cheerful smile.

‘Oh,
Patrick!’ he said, politely standing back to let Patrick pass into the passage.

‘Well,
Tim,’ said Patrick as he climbed the stairs, ‘and how’s the Central Office of
Information?’

‘The
Central Office of Information,’ said Tim, ‘is all right, thank you.’ He cleaned
his glasses with a white handkerchief as he followed Patrick upstairs to a modernly
decorated flat. From the open door of a room came the sociable sound of voices.
On the door of another room was hung a card on which were printed in blue
Gothic letters the words

The
Wider Infinity

‘In
my Father’s house are many mansions…’

(John
14, 2).

Tim passed by this room on
a frivolous tip-toe to conceal whatever awe he might feel towards it, and led
the way to the room where the company was assembled. Patrick stood a moment in
the doorway, looking round swiftly to see who was present. At his entrance the
chatter ceased for two seconds, then started again. Several people tentatively
greeted Patrick while Tim, with the restrained gestures of one who is not above
playing the well-trained footman, fetched Patrick a cup of China tea from a
side table.

A
distinguished-looking woman with white hair and a lined face, the features of
which were absolutely symmetrical, appeared. Patrick respectfully put down his
tea and took his hostess’s hand in silence except for the word ‘Marlene.’

‘Patrick,’
she replied merely; and she rested her eyes on his, setting her head at a
slight angle so that her long earrings swung as in a breeze.

Patrick’s
lower lip thinly began to tremble as he said in his almost inaudible voice, ‘I
nearly didn’t come in view of the unfortunate occurrence. But I felt it was my
duty to do so.’