The Bell (34 page)

Paul seemed nonplussed. He said to Nick, ‘Oh, good evening, Fawley.' Paul was the only person who addressed Nick in this manner. ‘I was just wondering if my wife was here.'

Nick, who had shown a little surprise, Michael thought, at his own arrival, was now smiling in his characteristic grimacing manner. With his greasy curling hair and his grimy white shirt, unbuttoned, and his long legs sticking straight out under the table he looked like some minor Dickensian rake. He reached for the bottle, and raised his eyebrows, possibly to express the slightly patronizing amazement, which Michael had often felt, too, at the frankness with which Paul revealed his matrimonial difficulties.

‘Good morning, Greenfield,' said Nick. ‘No, she ain't here. Why should she be? Have a drink?'

Paul said irritably, ‘Thank you, no, I never take whisky.'

‘Michael?' said Nick.

Michael jumped at his name, and took a moment to realize what Nick meant. He shook his head.

‘Is Toby upstairs?' said Paul.

Nick went on smiling at him and kept him waiting for the answer. Then he said, ‘No. He ain't here either.'

‘Do you mind if I look upstairs?' said Paul. He pushed through the room.

Michael, who was just beginning to realize that Paul was in fact in a frantic state, found himself left alone with Nick. He cast a glance at him without smiling. He was fairly frantic himself.

Nick smiled. ‘One of the deadly sins,' he said.

‘What?' said Michael.

‘Jealousy,' said Nick.

Paul's feet were heard on the stairs. He came blundering back into the living-room.

‘Satisfied?' said Nick.

Paul did not reply to this, but stood in the middle of the room, his face wrinkled up with anxiety. He said to Nick, ‘Do you know where he is?'

‘Gashe?' said Nick. ‘No. I am not Gashe's keeper.'

Paul stood irresolutely for a moment, and then turned to go. As he passed Michael he paused. ‘It was odd what you said about a bell.'

‘Why?' said Michael.

‘Because there's a legend about this place. I meant to tell you. The sound of a bell portends a death.'

‘Did you hear that strange sound a little while ago?' Michael asked Nick.

‘I heard nothing,' said Nick.

Paul stumped out of the door and began walking back along the drive.

Michael stayed where he was. He felt very tired and confused. If Nick would only have stayed quiet he would like to have sat with him for a while in silence. But those were all mad thoughts.

‘Have a drink?' said Nick.

‘No thanks, Nick,' said Michael. He found it very hard not to look at Nick. A solemn face seemed hostile and a smiling face provocative. He cast a rather twisted smile in his direction and then looked away.

Nick got up and came towards Michael. Michael stiffened as he approached. For a moment he thought Nick was going to come right up to him and touch him. But he stopped about two feet away, still smiling. Michael looked at him fully now. He wished he could drive that smile off his face. He had a strong impulse to reach out and put his two hands on Nick's shoulders. The sound that had awakened him, the moonlight, the madness of the night, made him feel suddenly that communication between them was now permitted. His whole body was aware, almost to trembling, of the proximity of his friend. Perhaps after all this was the moment at which he should in some way remove the barrier which he had set up between them. No good had come of it. And the fact remained, as he deeply realized in this moment, for whatever it meant and whatever it was worth, that he loved Nick. Some good might yet come of that.

‘Nick,' Michael began.

Speaking almost at the same time Nick said, ‘Don't you want to know where Toby is?'

Michael flinched at the question. He hoped his face was without expression. He said, ‘Well, where is he?'

‘He's in the wood making love to Dora,' said Nick.

‘How do you know?'

‘I saw them.'

‘I don't believe you,' said Michael. But he did believe. He added, ‘Anyway, it's no business of mine.' That was foolish, since on any view of the matter it was his business.

Nick stepped back to sit in a leisurely way on the table, watching Michael and still smiling.

Michael turned and went out, banging the door behind him.

CHAPTER 19

‘WELL, AND WHAT HAPPENED THEN?' said James Tayper Pace.

It was the next morning, and James and Michael were in the greenhouse picking tomatoes. The good weather was breaking, and although the sun still shone, a strong wind, which had arisen towards dawn, was sweeping across the kitchen garden. The tall lines of runner-beans swayed dangerously and Patchway went about his work with one hand clutching his hat. Inside the greenhouse however all was quiet and the warm soil-scented air and the firm red bunches of fruit made an almost tropical peace. Today all routines were altered because of the arrival of the bell, which was due to be delivered some time during the morning. The Bishop was to make his appearance during the afternoon, and after the baptism service would partake of tea with the community, a meal which, in the form of a stand-up buffet, was being planned on a grand scale by Margaret Strafford. He would then stay the night and officiate at the more elaborate rites on the following morning.

‘Nothing happened,' said Michael. ‘After I met Paul I went with him to the Lodge. Toby wasn't there. We came away again and I went back to bed and Paul wandered off to do some more searching. When I saw him this morning he said that he went back to his room about three-quarters of an hour later and found Dora there. She said it was such a hot night she'd been for a walk round the lake.'

James laughed his gruff booming laugh and lined another box with newspaper. ‘I'm afraid', he said, ‘that Mrs Greenfield is what is popularly called a bitch. I'm sorry to say so, but one must call things by their names. Only endless trouble comes from not doing so.'

‘You say you didn't hear any noise in the night?' said Michael.

‘Not a sound. But I'm so dead tired these days I sleep like the proverbial log. The last trump wouldn't wake me. They'd have to send a special messenger!'

Michael was silent. Nimbly he fingered the glowing tomatoes, warm with the sun and firm with ripeness. The boxes were filling fast.

James went on, ‘One oughtn't to laugh, of course. I can't believe anything serious happened last night. Paul is a dreadful alarmist and a chronically jealous man. All the same, we ought to keep an eye on things; and I think it's regrettable that they've gone as far as they have.'

‘Yes,' said Michael.

‘I'm sure Toby and Dora have done nothing but run around together like a couple of youngsters,' said James. ‘Dora is just about his mental age anyway. But with a woman like that you can't be sure that there wouldn't be some gesture, some word that might upset him. After all, he's not like my young East-enders. He's been a very sheltered child. A boy's first intimations of sex are so important, don't you think? And tampering with the young's a serious matter.'

‘Quite,' said Michael.

‘It's a pity', said James, ‘that we seem to have made so little impression on Mrs G. I wish she'd have a talk with Mother Clare. I'm sure it'd straighten her out a bit. That girl's just a great emotional mess at present. I feel we've let Paul down rather.'

‘Possibly,' said Michael.

‘And you know, we're fully responsible for the boy,' said James. ‘He came here, after all, as a sort of retreat, a preparation for Oxford. Of course there's nothing seriously amiss in his rampaging around with Dora in a companionable way - but I think someone ought to put in a word.'

‘Who to?' said Michael.

‘To Dora, I'd say,' said James. ‘Appealing to Dora's better nature may turn out to be a difficult operation. I fear that girl is a blunt instrument at the best of times - and also resembles the
jeune homme de Dijon qui n'avait aucune religion!
But even if she doesn't care about her husband's blood pressure she ought to show some respect for the boy. She should see
that
point. Suppose you gave her a little kindly admonition, Michael?'

‘Not me,' said Michael.

‘Well, how about Margaret?' said James. ‘Margaret is such a motherly soul and Dora seems to like her - and maybe that sort of advice would come better from a woman. Why, here is Margaret!'

Michael looked up sharply. Margaret Strafford could be seen running along the concrete path towards them her full skirt flapping in the wind. Michael interpreted her portentous haste immediately and his heart sank.

Margaret threw open the door, letting in a great blast of chill air. ‘Michael,' she cried, delighted with her commission, ‘the Abbess wants to see you at once!'

‘I say, you
are
in luck!' said James. Their two bright amiable faces looked at him enviously.

Michael washed his hands at the tap in the corner of the greenhouse and dried them on his handkerchief. ‘Sorry to leave you with the job,' he said to James. ‘Excuse me if I dash.'

He set off at a run down the path which led along behind the house to the lake. It was customary to run when summoned by the Abbess. As he turned to the left towards the causeway the full blast of the wind caught him. It was almost blowing a gale. Then he saw, looking across the other reach of the lake, that an enormous lorry had just emerged from the trees of the avenue and was proceeding at a slow pace along the open part of the drive. It must be the bell. He should have been interested, excited, pleased. He noted its arrival coldly and forgot it at once. He turned onto the causeway. He felt certain that the Abbess must know all about Toby. It was irrational to think this. How could she possibly have found out? Yet it was astonishing what she knew. Breathlessly, as he reached the wooden section in the centre of the causeway, he slowed down. His footsteps echoed hollow upon the wood. He had not expected this summons. He felt as if he were about to undergo some sort of spiritual violence. He felt closed, secretive, unresponsive, almost irritated.

At the corner of the parlour building Sister Ursula was waiting. She always acted watchdog to audiences with the Abbess. Her large commanding face beamed approval at Michael from some way off. She saw the summons as a sign of special grace. After all, interviews with the Abbess were coveted by all and granted only to a few.

‘In the first parlour,' she said to Michael, as he passed her mumbling a salutation.

Michael burst into the narrow corridor and paused a moment to get his breath before opening the first door. The gauze panel was drawn across on his side in front of the grille and there was silence beyond. It was usual for the person summoned to arrive first. Michael pulled back the panel on his side to reveal the grille and the second gauze panel on the far side which screened the opposite parlour inside the enclosure. Then he straightened his shirt collar - he was wearing no tie - buttoned up his shirt, smoothed down his hair, and made a strenuous effort to become calm. He stood, he could not bring himself to sit down, looking at the blank face of the inner panel.

After a minute or two during which he could feel the uncomfortable violence of his heart he heard a movement and saw a dim shadow upon the gauze. Then the panel was pulled open and he saw the tall figure of the Abbess opposite to him, and behind her another little room exactly similar to his. He genuflected in the accustomed way and waited for her to sit down. Slightly smiling she sat, and motioned him to be seated too. Michael pulled his chair well up to the grille and sat down on the edge of it sideways so that their two heads were close together.

‘Well, my dear son, I'm glad to see you,' said the Abbess in the brisk voice with which she always opened an audience. ‘I hope I haven't chosen the most dreadfully inconvenient time? You must be so busy today.'

‘It's perfectly all right,' said Michael, ‘it's a good time for me.' He smiled at her through the bars. His irritation, at least, was gone, overwhelmed by the profound affection which, mingled with respect and awe, he felt for the Abbess. Her bright, gentle, authoritative, exceedingly intelligent face, its long dry wrinkles as if marked with a fine tool, the ivory light from her wimple reflected upon it, reminiscent of some Dutch painting, reminded him of his mother, so long ago dead.

‘I'm in a dreadful rush myself,' said the Abbess. ‘I just felt I wanted to see you. It's been ages now, hasn't it? And there are one or two little business details. I won't keep you long.'

Michael felt relieved by this exordium. He had been afraid of being in some way hauled over the coals: and this was not the moment at which he wanted an intimate talk with the Abbess. In his present state he felt that any pressure from her would tip him over into a morass of profitless self-accusation. Taking courage from her business-like tone he said, ‘I think everything's in train for tonight and tomorrow. Margaret Strafford has been doing marvels.'

‘Bless her!' said the Abbess. ‘We're all so excited, we can hardly wait for tomorrow morning. I believe the Bishop is arriving this afternoon? I hope I shall catch a glimpse of him before he goes. He's such a busy man. So good of him to give us his time.'

‘I hope he won't think we're a lot of ineffectual muddlers,' said Michael. ‘I'm afraid the procession tomorrow may be a bit wild and impromptu. There's plenty of goodwill, but not much spit and polish!'

‘So much the better!' said the Abbess. ‘When I was a girl I often saw religious processions in Italy and they were usually quite chaotic, even the grand ones. But it seemed to make them all the more spontaneous and alive. I'm sure the Bishop doesn't want a drill display. No, I've no doubt tomorrow will be splendid. What I really wanted to ask you about was the financial question.'