The Book and the Brotherhood (37 page)

Gerard and Lily, nearer now, who had been circling round each other and talking, their voices coming as thin but clear indecipherable sounds through the increasingly cold air, as the music started came magnetically together. An irresistible impulse of joy joined them, Gerard’s arm was round Lily’s waist, her hand gripped his shoulder with an unexpected strength. Lily was a better dancer than Gerard, but as when a mediocre tennis player can suddenly improve when matched with a good player, Gerard inspired, and with subtle pressures of her hands and body
led
, by Lily, danced better than he had ever danced before.

The four upon the bank, Gull sitting, the others standing, watched the dancing in intent silence. Tamar’s scarf had fallen back onto her shoulders and Jenkin, observing her out of the corner of his eye without moving his head, saw, after a moment or two, a tear moving down her cheek. Gulliver, dazed by what was so rapidly happening, watched the astonishing performance as it approached nearer and nearer to
them. He became conscious of a strange feeling in his midriff, an electrical disturbance, a pain, a sense of mingled elation and anguish. The gracious powerful bitter-sweet music collected together the darkening sky, the fading glow of the twilight, the intense cold, the pallor of the snow, and the great quiet empty countryside all around, so soon to be entirely dark.

The dance did not last long. Amid plaudits and laughter Gerard and Lily ascended the bank. Lily tossed Gull his glove which she had gracefully retrieved as she glided in. Rose distributed electric torches to everybody, and chattering away they all set out along the footpath back to the house. It had begun to snow again, the white wandering flakes visible in the light of the torches.

‘You put poor old Rose’s nose out of joint all right,’ said Gulliver to Lily.

‘You’re
coarse
,’ said Lily, ‘that’s your trouble,
coarseness.
’

It was after dinner. The skating party had descended upon the house tired, cold and excited, to find that it was tea-time in front of the blazing drawing room fire, sandwiches and scones, plum cake and home-made jam and clotted cream, and two big teapots and milk and sugar all standing ready, as Ann-ushka had seen the light of the returning torches from afar. They had been away longer than expected, and not everyone felt like tea. Some were for hot baths, some for drinks. Out of politeness to Annushka everyone drank tea and, when confronted with the goodies, and amid advice about not spoiling one’s appetite for dinner, most of the skaters fumbled with the scones which with blackcurrant jam and cream were delicious. Duncan appeared, looking sleepy and hot, enquired after their adventures, and ate most of the sandwiches. Gerard and Jenkin lingered a while over the scones. Gulliver took a
piece of the plum cake away to eat later. After baths and rest and drinks, dinner, served late, was no anti-climax, consisting of lentil soup, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and gooseberry tart and cream. Everyone, except Tamar, ate hugely. After that they all, except Tamar, who said she was tired, sat in the drawing room drinking coffee and cherry brandy and eating some of the heavenly fudge (agreed to be remarkable) which Annushka had made for Jenkin. Rose retired soon, first to visit Tamar, then to her own room. Gull and Lily, yawning hugely, declared themselves for bed and foregathered
chez
Lily. Duncan and Jenkin and Gerard stayed on in the drawing room with the whisky bottle.

Gulliver regretted his remark, indeed was amazed at it. He was drunk, that was the trouble. The coldness, the exertion, the experiences, the emotions, the hot bath, all that food, all that drink, had produced a condition of unstable excitement which made continued drinking absolutely essential. It turned out that both he and Lily had brought a flask of whisky along ‘just in case’ so there was nothing to stop both of them continuing to indulge, and Lily was rather drunk too. The horrid remark, rightly criticised by Lily, had been, somehow, the outcome of Gulliver’s attempt to make sense of his mixed up state of mind, produced by Lily’s exploits, what might be described as Lily’s triumph. He had not at all minded the first bit when he was so hopeless and she was so brilliant, he had felt no resentment at her flying about like a winged goddess while he was crawling up the bank ruining his trousers. He had easily identified with her glory in a manner expressed by: one up for our side! The dancing was another matter. The pang which it occasioned was easily identified as jealousy, the self-same pain which he had felt on Guy Fawkes night when he had opened the dining room door. But now, as then, he wondered,
which
am I feeling so possessive about? Or was it just a general sense of being excluded, obliterated, dropped, forgotten and made of no account? His remark about Rose had leapt out as an attempt, he now saw, to lessen his own discomfort by attributing it to someone else.

‘Yes,’ said Gulliver humbly, helping himself to another glass of Lily’s whisky.

They were sitting, in Lily’s bedroom, in armchairs which they had drawn up in front of the blazing fire, onto which Gulliver had just tossed some extra bits of wood from the basket at the side. Sparks which leapt out onto the rug had been hastily stamped upon. Several lamps were lit in the room which was dominated by the huge double bed with its old carved dark oak headboard. The wallpaper, blue with a lattice design, had faded into powdery obscurity, and the furniture, over-awed by the bed, was diffident and shabby. An oak chest under a hanging mirror served as a dressing table, a sideboard without its doors made a bookcase, a small octagonal table near the window supported more books, novels by Lawrence and Virginia Woolf chosen by Rose for Lily, and Lily’s book on Thailand not yet opened. A little green sofa upholstered in much worn green velvet in flower and leaf patterns occupied the space between the windows. There were several water-colours representing the Yorkshire property and the ‘old big house’ which had been sold by Rose’s great-great-grandfather. Over the fireplace there was a large modern red and orange and black abstract painting, which Gerard had bought from Gideon for Rose when Rose, prompted by Jean, had admired it at an exhibition. It later became a favourite of Jean and Duncan and was hung in their room and called their’ painting.

‘Are you going to church tomorrow?’ said Lily. ‘Do we have to?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Gulliver, ‘I hope not.’

‘You’ve been here before, haven’t you?’

‘No.’

‘I got the impression you had been. You were telling me all about it.’

‘I was putting on an act. I’m not only coarse, I’m disingenuous.’

‘Let’s not go to church. We could go to the pub. There’s one in the village, Jenkin said.’

‘It won’t be open till twelve.’

‘Oh. Sunday.’

‘I suppose we could go for a walk.’

‘If we aren’t snowed in. Wouldn’t it be fun to be marooned here like people in a detective story!’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I wonder if it’s still snowing, let’s look.’

They went to one of the windows and dragged back the heavy velvet curtains and thrust up the sash. No diamond-paned Gothic on this façade. A wall of icy air advanced into the room. ‘Turn out the lights,’ said Lily.

They stood in the darkness leaning out of the window. The snow had ceased. A single distant light, a faint yellow spot, showed the outskirts of the village. The white landscape was invisible. But up above, the curtain of cloud had, over a part of the heavens, been rolled back and they could actually see stars, one star in particular very bright, and round about and beyond a hazy mass of other stars, a thick golden fuzz of superimposed stars, almost, at the zenith, completely covering the black dome of the sky; and as they looked in the midst of the gold dust, a star fell quickly and vanished, then another star fell. ‘Good Lord,’ said Lily, in a low voice. ‘I’ve never seen a falling star before, and now I’ve seen two.’

After a few moments they stepped back, closed the window and drew the curtain. Gull put the lights on again and they looked at each other.

Gulliver, fortunately informed beforehand by Gerard that he need not bring evening dress, was wearing his best dark suit, white shirt, and soberly spotted bow tie. He had not been too drunk to comb down his sleek oily dark hair surreptitiously as he came up the stairs. This sleekness gave him a slightly sinister look (which pleased him) but also (he did not realise) made him look older. He looked thin, thin-faced, sallow, hungry and tired, like a minor character playing an unsuccessful lawyer or ill-intentioned priest. Only his pure brown eyes (like a pond of obscure but fragrant water, someone in a gay bar once told him) retained a childish boyish expression of uncertainty and fear. Lily, who had been wearing at dinner a long close-fitting dress covered with green sequins, which everyone politely said
made her look like a mermaid, had now changed (not caring that Gull saw her momentarily in her petticoat) into a magnificent dark blue and white dressing gown. Lily looked tired too and a little petulant. A fold of stained lizardish skin descended over one of her pale brown dark-rimmed eyes. She moistened her thin silver lips and fluffed up her scanty pale dry hair. (Gull’s hair would have looked better if he had fluffed it up occasionally instead of combing it down.) They returned to their chairs by the fire.

‘Do you believe in flying saucers,’ said Lily, ‘do you think people from other galaxies are coming here to observe us?’

‘No.’

‘I do. It’s immensely probable. There are millions of planets like ours. Of course they don’t want us to see them. They’re writing books about us.’

‘All right, maybe they’re here and we can’t see them, maybe they’re in this room. The point is they make no difference.’

‘How do you know? How do you know how different things would be if they weren’t there?’

‘They might be better. They couldn’t be worse. So they can’t care much. When they’ve finished their books they’ll wipe us out, and a good thing too.’

‘Of course the whole universe will end one day. So what’s the point, if it’s all ending, what’s the use of anything? I wonder if this house is haunted, I must ask Rose. It’s near to a ley line.’

‘What makes you think so?’

‘I feel it. Roman roads run along ley lines. What do you think about ley lines?’

‘I think they’re things that don’t make any difference, like saucers.’

‘They’re physical, you know, you can find them by dowsing, where two underground streams meet. And they’re concentrations of thought-energy too, where human beings have been, all those legions marching along, all those emotions!’

‘If the legions made the energy no wonder the ley line runs along the road.’

‘Oh, but it’s cosmic energy too, like in stone circles. A ley
line runs through Stonehenge. Are there any Stones about here? They all connect, you see.’

‘I believe there’s a stone of some sort in the wood.’

‘I’ll go and look at it, if it’s charged with energy I’ll know. My grandmother used to say –’

‘Lily, this is all nonsense, it’s irrational!’

‘
You’re
irrational, you won’t look at evidence, you just know! I say, do you think I ought to go and see Tamar? She’s eating practically nothing and she’s as pale as a fish.’

‘She’s always pale and eats nothing, and she’ll be asleep now. Let’s have some more whisky.’

‘Poor Tamar, oh poor poor little Tamar –’

‘Lily –’

‘Rose has such a calm smooth face, and she’s so much older than me. My face looks bombed. You know, they’ve got it in for Crimond, they’re going to smash him.’

‘Who are?’

‘They, the little earthly gods, the smarties, the know-alls. I heard them talking after dinner. God, I think I’m drunk, I’m seeing double or perhaps it’s Saucer people.’

‘Lily, dear, stop raving will you?’

‘I’m on Crimond’s side, I know you hate him, but I don’t –’

‘Lily, just stand up for a moment, please.’

They stood together before the fire and Gulliver put his arms round her waist, drawing her up against him. He felt her thin hard fragile brittle body against his, then suddenly her heartbeat.

‘Now let’s sit down, over here.’

They moved to the little green sofa and Lily sat on Gulliver’s knee and buried her face in the shoulder of his best suit covering it with make-up.

‘You know, I’d better tell you, I’m running out of money, the accountant told me, God knows where it’s all gone to, people only care about my money, I’m nothing, I’m just a shell, I’m like a squashed snail –’

‘Lily, stop it! Look, can I stay here tonight?’

‘You don’t know how awful it is to be me –’

‘Can I stay –?’

‘Oh if you want to, there’s plenty of room, I don’t care, but it won’t be any good.’ She started to cry.

Tamar was being closely observed now by Rose who was sitting on her bed. Rose had brought Tamar up a chocolate drink, specially made by Annushka, which Rose knew that Tamar liked, and Tamar had drunk a little of it. Rose had also brought aspirins and sleeping pills which had been refused. Tamar had politely insisted that she was quite well, nothing was the matter, she had eaten quite a lot really, she never had much appetite, she had slept perfectly well last night and would sleep perfectly well tonight. She was enjoying the
Tale of Genji
, there it was on her bedside table, and she was looking forward to reading a little before she went to sleep. Then she had suddenly started to cry. The tears were brief, like the automatic opening and closing of a sluice gate, large tears, they rolled down copiously for half a minute, then ceased. Rose tried to hold her hand, the hand with which she had been wiping away the tears, but she hid it in the bedclothes. Sitting up in bed in the little round room, with her striped pyjamas and thin tear-stained face, she looked like a small boy. Rose thought, she’s ill, she may be in for a depression, I must speak to Violet, but what’s the use of speaking to Violet, oh God, if I could only
get hold
of this child, kidnap her, take her away, and
keep her
! Perhaps I should have done just that years ago. But Violet is such a savage creature, she has so much will.