The Echoing Grove (40 page)

In the darkness Madeleine could be seen to rub her eyes and forehead.

‘I suppose,’ continued Dinah, ‘my jealousy of you had gone on growing. I couldn’t compete in your world. And you made it so plain I wasn’t really acceptable. I don’t mean you particularly—all of you.’

‘Oh, nonsense! Anyway,
you
were the one; you despised my friends. At least you behaved as if you did.’

‘Yes, I did.’ Her voice was brisk. ‘They didn’t like me. I tried so hard too! They simply couldn’t stomach me. Plain, highbrow and intense …’

‘You weren’t plain. You can’t have been. You were always very attractive. Much more attractive than me really—anyway, to men.’

‘That’s nonsense. Simply more business-like. More determined not to fail. I was bound to feel more competitive, with a handicap like you know who.’ By the tone of her voice, Madeleine discerned her broad characteristic smile.

‘My handicap seemed big enough, God knows. I don’t know why, it always was so.’

‘Everybody starts by feeling unfairly handicapped.’

‘I was always afraid to look … I don’t know what at. At myself I suppose. Or sex—particularly sex. But seeing I was considered so very pretty, I blindly hoped I might get by. Or rather it was a double thing: I
assumed
I would; but all the time I was convinced I wouldn’t. If you really want to know, the whole damn thing was one long horrible dream: stuck up, I was, on the platform of something like the Albert Hall with my big aria to sing and no voice at all, and no inkling of how it ought to go. I bet you never felt like that.’

‘No,’ said Dinah after a pause. The smile stroked her voice again. ‘I couldn’t afford assumptions. I knew I’d got to work hard to pass the exam at all. I took a good look at sex at an early age. And the more I looked the more extraordinary it seemed. Fascinating, I thought.’

‘You weren’t afraid—ashamed of it?’

‘Not in the least, at first. Simply curious.’

‘How very—very—odd.’

Another silence fell. They gazed at the sky, watching the moon’s shoulder begin at last to push off shreds and fringes till, disentangled, the whole unfleeced globe slid clear, on to illimitable floors of polished sapphire. As if the world had lightened audibly as well as visibly, their ears caught now, from nearly a mile away, the weir’s drowsy, pulsating, ethereally singing breath; and miles away, the diminishing rumble of the last night train from London as it ran over the railway bridge to draw into the station.

‘Not at first,’ said Madeleine, slowly. ‘Do you mean, afterwards, you were?’

‘Yes. More and more.’

Silence again.

‘Well, it is terrifying,’ said Madeleine in an expiring voice.

Against her high fur collar her face, turned upward, seemed to lie with an unanchored look, like a floating
plaque
of lustre with moon-like open lips, distraught yet dreaming, painted on its surface.

‘You must be dead beat,’ said Dinah softly, having looked at her.

‘Yes. No. I don’t understand. You mean after you started actually going to bed with people you started being afraid?’

‘Oh no. I liked it very much. At least, on the whole I did. I actually’—she gave the word a lightly teasing stress—‘ceased to be a virgin rather prematurely for a girl with such a good home and careful bringing up. They say a woman never forgets her first experience. I can’t say I ever give mine a thought.’

‘Was it—did you …’ began Madeleine delicately; then plunging: ‘Charles, I suppose? Charles Mackintosh …’

‘Oh, the barrister, my fiancé!’ She chuckled briefly. ‘What became of him? I’d forgotten his existence. Horrid man.’

‘I thought he was rather nice.’

‘You were quite wrong—we both were. I’d also assumed he would be, he had such a gentlemanly appearance—so clean-cut and magisterial. And such an eligible bachelor—one had to agree with him on that important point. But nice he was
not,
in bed or out; particularly after he’d decided to honour me with his hand in marriage and I confessed my past to him in all good faith and innocence. He said I was no better than a tart. I said I didn’t want to be better than a tart, men seemed to like them. It was a term of opprobrium, I said, I’d never understood. Priggish! … I was a prig.’

‘You didn’t strike me in that light.’

‘Yes, sexy and priggish—disgusting mixture … But Mr Mackintosh was really very nasty … vicious.’ She sniffed.

‘But he wasn’t the first,’ persisted Madeleine on a point of order.

‘No, no,’ said Dinah, keeping up her tone of airy readiness and reticence combined. ‘Not by a long chalk.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Oh, nobody you knew. When I was sent to that dear family in Paris to be polished—if you remember. A married man I met. Sort of
ami
de la maison
.’

‘Did you fall in love with him?’

‘Not in the least. It was entirely his idea, my defloration. But he was very considerate and charming. And a thorough expert of course, which made a difference.’

‘You enjoyed it?’

‘Yes.’ She reflected. ‘Yes, I did. I was grateful to him. I learnt a lot of French, too.’

‘And there were others after that,’ said Madeleine after a pause; eliminating, she hoped, any suggestion of a prying attitude by putting the question in the form of a firm statement.

‘Oh, one or two. Several. I forget really.’

‘Experimenting …’

‘I dare say that was it.’

‘More like a man …’

‘I suppose so.’

‘How very extraordinary. All that going on and I never knew.’

‘It wasn’t so sensational or abnormal as all that. Besides, we never did swop that sort of confidence. You may have had lovers too, for all I know.’

‘Well, I didn’t. Neither before nor after marriage … What
would
Mother have said?—about you, I mean, if she’d known.’

‘I can’t imagine … I think it was on my nineteenth birthday she did bring up the matter of the facts of life.’

‘What did she say? She never even mentioned them to me, not even on my wedding eve.’

‘She only said she had the impression that they were in the nature of an open book to me.’

This time the silence that fell between them was penetrated sharply with a third ambiguous presence; emptied slowly, unelucidated.

‘Did Rickie know?’ said Madeleine. Her head, which had been bent, returned to its former sky-gazing pose. Dinah did not reply at once; then said with a different sort of reserve:

‘He knew I was in trouble.’

‘In trouble?’

‘Over Charles. Oh, not in the popular sense. Miserable. In a muddle. About going to bed with Charles.’

‘You confided in Rickie?’

‘Not exactly. He …’ Uncharacteristically she hesitated, stopped.

‘He guessed, I suppose. He would obviously have been madly jealous. I realized he was afterwards, looking back. He was already madly in love with you, I suppose.’

‘No, he wasn’t in love with me.’

‘Well, madly attracted to you.’ Before the intentness of her stare the globe in the sky divided; twin moons swam in and out of one another. ‘And I suppose knew you—weren’t inhibited like me. I wonder, if you hadn’t already … If he hadn’t known—which he did know. I suppose—that you weren’t …’

‘Quite likely not,’ said Dinah with reserve.

‘And had you started to be afraid?’ She focused carefully; the twin discs slid together like a pair of folding lenses.

‘Yes. Then. It was then that fear began.’

‘I see. Because of the very peculiar circumstances. Well, I don’t wonder … I wasn’t getting at you. What’s the point now? I didn’t mean to bring that up.’

‘Nor did I. It wasn’t the circumstances. I was afraid because I fell in love.’

‘With Rickie.’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s like a man too,’ said Madeleine presently. ‘Men are always afraid of love.’

‘I was afraid for years. Fear governed everything I did. That was the root cause of the appalling way I behaved—though not, of course, an excuse or a justification.’

‘But you got over it? I can tell you have. When did you? How?’

‘I did get over it. But not for a long time. Not till I’d been … broken open and pounded to pieces.’

‘As I am being now?’ asked Madeleine of herself with terror, with one flare of hope that arched and vanished.

‘Jo saved me,’ said Dinah. ‘Loving him—daring to love him. Being loved by him.’

‘I’m glad.’ Tears came suddenly, streamed down her exposed face.

‘Luckily for me, people don’t always get what they deserve.’

‘I’m not sure. It’s not so simple as it seems. I expect you did deserve it somehow. You were always strong. I expect you saved yourself.’ Speaking up into the sky she added faintly: ‘How do you manage now?’

‘Without Jo, you mean? Oh, I go on. I’ve got accustomed to it. It’s a different sort of life, of course, not to be compared … But it’s not so bad. I enjoy some of it very much; and the rest is tolerable—interesting.’

‘Have you got anybody …’

‘A lover? No. Nor want. It’s all over, it won’t happen any more. I like company and I’ve got a few friends. I don’t miss having an emotional life.’

‘It must be peaceful.’

The words, an extinguished heart-wrung cry, brought Dinah’s eyes to rest on her again; to watch her fumble in her handbag, extract a small handkerchief and dab her cheeks. Presently she said weeping:

‘Well, I shall not be saved.’

‘Madeleine, you will be. You are saved. It may not make sense to you just now, but I know it is so.’

‘There’s a lot that doesn’t make sense.’ She blew her nose. ‘I didn’t think I needed to be broken open. I’ve never been put together. And now … oh well … Sorry to be so idiotic.’

‘God blast him,’ said Dinah, spitting the words.

‘Yes, it was horrible. He was awful. However, there it is and I don’t seem to be able to start talking about it.’

‘No hurry. Let’s go in. I don’t know about you, but I shall be crippled tomorrow with rheumatism.’

She unwound herself and rose to her feet. Dully following her energetic movements as she folded the rug and stooped to place a kiss on Gwilym’s head, Madeleine got up also and followed her into the house. Momentarily released from tension, grateful for Dinah’s outburst, she trailed obediently after her into the kitchen, standing by with sagging shoulders while her sister busily put on the kettle, opened the Aga stove, riddled it, heaved up a load of coke, stoked it and closed it. What was left of her consciousness, a small dry kernel, observed these housewifely activities in a spirit of critical appreciation. Dinah was as efficient as herself, possibly even quicker, neater. A vague immense surprise at the undramatic intimacy, the naturalness of this domestic scene persisted in the background. Instead of nothing, she had been granted this breathing space, the quiet interior, sparsely furnished, without ornament or colour or perspective; but decent, ventilated: a place where some semblance of normal existence, or realistic action, could still plausibly continue.

The trivial round, the common task

Should furnish all we need to ask …

One might yet find a niche in the community, serve others, put one’s talents to wider use.

Refined educated lady of good appearance (early forties) cheerful disposition artistic tastes widow (one child, girl, school holidays), thoroughly domesticated, country lover, fond animals, experienced cook gardener washerwoman, able drive car, undertake all household duties, rough (coals, boots, wood-chopping, scrubbing, etc.) not objected to …

A perfect woman nobly planned.

Emotionally frustrated unadaptable class-conscious matron victim circumstances upbringing personal tragedies, exploited rejected (grounds age, moral intellectual maladjustment) by lover renovating sexual requirements, unwilling accept suggestions re courage pride eventual resignation, unable contemplate living (a) alone (b) for others i.e. family friends community spiritual values or any other form abhorrent vacuum, seeks instantaneous return status quo, failing which immediate euthanasia …

Dinah lifted the lid of a saucepan, peered, stirred with a wooden spoon, poured part of its contents into a soup bowl set to warm nearby.

‘Try it,’ she said, ‘it’ll slip down easily. Do you good.’

Madeleine accepted it with a show of alacrity, saying: ‘Thank you, how wonderful. It smells
delicious
.’

Dinah spooned up the remainder from the pan, sipping it slowly, her expression critical, engrossed. Presently she asked:

‘What about a sleeping pill? Have you got something?’

‘I have, but I won’t. I think I shall sleep. Besides he might ring up again … or perhaps I ought to put a call through, just to find out. You did say, didn’t you, he said no message?’

‘No message.’ Dinah looked into the saucepan, tilting it slowly.

‘But I expect it was only he felt it might be as well to check up.’ Her lip twisted. ‘In case of an accident. I might have staged a smash on the way back. He may be a little anxious.’

‘I wouldn’t bother too much to relieve his mind,’ said Dinah, carrying the saucepan to the sink and running the hot up into it full blast.

‘It would be awkward for him.’ With spurious satisfaction she pictured the panic-stricken face, the stammer, the whole confident personality stripped of glamour, abject in collapse; his projects blasted … ‘On the other hand he may be hoping for it. Something to feed his guilt. That’s what he lives on.’

‘You must do exactly as you feel like,’ said Dinah, now occupied in scouring out the pan. ‘I can’t advise. What happened when you got there? Was he in?’

‘Yes. Alone, thank God. Eating cheese and biscuits.’ She laughed weakly. ‘I let myself in—I’ve got a latchkey. I expected—I don’t know what. However, there he was, looking exactly the same, munching away and reading the Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats.’

‘You startled him, presumably?’

‘Yes. He went stiff all over, quite perceptibly. His eyes came out on stalks. He didn’t get up. I almost thought—I still think—he looked terrified for a moment. Perhaps he thought I’d come with a gun. He said: “Hello!’’
She laughed again. ‘Then he quickly pulled himself together and said: “I told you I couldn’t see you any more”—angrily: no, sulkily more, scowling at me. I said “I know you did, but I had to come …” After that he was quite pleasant in a way. Asked me if I’d had lunch. Said I was looking very smart.’