The Rules of Engagement (36 page)

“
I haven't done much shopping. Will an
omelette be enough for you?
”

I did not want to see him. That was all I
knew. I wanted to go out, into the still beautiful
air, to walk, to be alone. To go to bed alone.

“
Yes, of course.
”

“
Come when you're ready.
”

He came almost at once, or so it seemed
to me. He settled himself in Digby's chair,
watched approvingly as I poured him a glass of
wine. I suppressed a sigh. Clearly I was
meant to be at his disposal.

“
Have you thought about a holiday?
”
he said.

“
No, no, I haven't. I rarely take
holidays.
”

“
Well, I think you will this year. My friends in
France have invited me for the second half of
August. I mentioned that I might bring a friend.
They were delighted. Very hospitable people; I've
known them for years. So what do you say? They
couldn't have been more accommodating. They would be there
when we arrived, and again before we left. In between they
will be visiting friends in Italy. They don't like
to leave the house empty, so our visit would serve
a double purpose.
”

“
I don't think I can get away this
year.
”

“
Gordes,
”
he went on.
“
Beautiful
place. Some excellent walks. An easy
journey, and no need to pack much. Needless
to say, it was a gracious gesture on their
part.
”

Except that they needed someone to look after the
house, I thought. That would be my job. Then I
saw his face, slightly flushed, expectant.
This would be his experiment in domesticity, playing
at house, being a couple. More important, this was
his initiative, his attempt to arrange
my comings and goings in a setting which he knew and to which
he would make me welcome. It would be like playing
house, perhaps something nearer the real thing. Yet the
real thing was unthinkable: he had his occasional
place in my flat, but I had no wish for his
exclusive company, in a place of his choosing,
with no regard to my own independence. And his friends
would no doubt be intrigued, approving, having
given him up as a lost cause many years ago,
perhaps for as long as they had known him. Maybe they
had known his wife, and were privy to the same sort
of information as I was. Maybe they were his
surrogate family, with only his wellbeing at
heart. Their encouragement would be tacit, and it would
weigh on me, particularly at a time when I should
be noticeably distracted, the past and the present
uncomfortably close. And he would want me
to give a good account of myself, to play my part,
to give satisfaction all round. I saw that it
could not be done.

And yet the image of the south, the image that all
northerners have, was irresistible. All the
clichés
came into play: markets,
cafés
, a
more relaxed and indulgent way of life. And the
sun, the sun! There was sun outside my window
now, but for how much longer? We were in July,
late July, and already there was an almost
imperceptible alteration in the light, not in the
daytime, but at night, a dulling of the atmosphere,
a quietness, a sense of endings. Most people were
away: the streets were almost empty. It was this
emptiness to which I now held; this, I felt
vaguely, was appropriate. My purpose was
not to escape but to carry out the task which had been
assigned to me. I had no right to pretend that it
did not exist.

“
I don't think I can leave,
”
I said.
“
Not at the moment.
”

He stared. I was not paying due regard to his
invitation. I knew this; I was not happy about it.
And I knew that he would not easily forgive me
for the way in which I dismissed his exceptional offer.
He had come to this conclusion as rapidly as I had,
and it might well prove to be irreparable.

“
Does your friend
—
I assume you are thinking of
your friend
—
need you as much as all that? As much as I
... might?
”
The confession had turned his face
brick red.

“
Yes. I think she does. Let me give
you some more wine. Forgive me if I
disappear into the kitchen. You must be hungry.
”

He was not a man to take a rebuff lightly.
His discomfiture was manifest in the way he
took his second glass of wine, without thanking
me. Our friendship had been revealed as less than
exclusive: while he had introduced a
thoroughly worthy audience into this delicate
plot, I had merely responded with that less
than satisfactory excuse, a sick friend.
He saw this friend as an ailing and tiresome
impediment to his plans, which he must have
elaborated with much excitement. It was, no
doubt, a handsome gesture on his part, and it would have
cost him something to introduce the subject to a
couple whom at last he was managing to amuse,
to intrigue. And they too would have played their part,
leaving us alone in a house full of provisions,
as if we might not want to go out ... There was,
he had told me, a table in the garden, and most
meals were taken there. The light was golden,
unfailing. In such a setting one could be happy.
His nostalgia for happiness was perhaps simpler than
my own. It had to do with an appropriate
setting, in which longing could be more easily brought
to fruition. He genuinely could not understand my
refusal. Nor could I. But I accepted it, with
some sadness, not merely for my own sake but for
his. His largesse had been spurned, and this was
something that few men will overlook. I knew, or
rather I apprehended, that the incident had been
fatal, and I was sadly aware of the likely
consequences.

We ate in silence. We were both mortified
by a crisis which seemed to have arisen from nothing. It was
clear that this particular evening would not be prolonged,
as was by now our invariable custom. As soon as he
had drunk his coffee he got up to leave.

“
Perhaps you'd like to think about it,
”
he said. His
tone was not entirely friendly. I promised to do so.
I could do no less.

If, I thought, I could provide a
substitute for myself at the hospital, if, in
fact, I could persuade the girls, as Betsy
called them, to take on my duties, then I
might be able to free myself for a couple of weeks.
I knew this was unlikely, but it was worth a
try. I cursed myself for not retaining the
telephone number on the pad in Betsy's
flat, but was too tired to go back there. The ploy
thus took on the dimensions of a
fantasy: I should somehow contact the girls
(J
ulia and Isabella, as I remembered they
were called), who would gladly consent, or could be
persuaded, to visit Betsy every day, leaving me
free to enjoy the delights of the south of France.
That this was unlikely did not bother me, so eager
was I to believe it. The added advantage of such
a plan was that it would give such pleasure
to Betsy, so much more than my inadequate
company. I could leave instructions with doctors and
nurses before I left, maybe leave a
telephone number in France. If I were
summoned home I should respond immediately, and so
no doubt would Nigel, who would be excellent in
a crisis. The more I thought about this the more
practicable it began to seem. But first I had
to sleep, for I was suddenly mortally tired. In
the morning I should make more detailed plans. This
now seemed to me the thing to do.

“
Hot enough for you?
”
was the greeting offered on
all sides when I went out, to which the approved
response was,
“
We're not used to it,
”
accompanied by a shake of the head. Even so early
the sun was an undeniable presence, bringing to mind a
dominance which we had no power to evade. I
revelled in this, recognizing it as my natural
climate, to which the dark days were merely an
unavoidable prologue. The idea of prolonging
the summer in idyllic surroundings
—
that table in the
garden
—
was overwhelmingly attractive, and I
was already regretting my refusal of Nigel's
invitation. There were two possibilities open
to me, as I saw it. The first was to repair the
breach with Nigel: this would be a clumsy
manoeuvre, but I thought I could manage it. The
other was to persuade the girls, and if possible
Edmund, to visit Betsy: that was what she
wanted, and if I could bring it about, honour would be
saved. Confidence in my ability to do this made me
careless; it was possible that at that moment, powered by the
sun, I did not fully understand the difficulties
involved. I resolved to go to the hospital as
usual, but only for a brief visit, then
return to Betsy's flat and ring the Fairlie
household until I got an answer. Then I
realized that this might not be necessary. Edmund had
given me his card, which I had thrust into the nearest
telephone directory, out of sight, as the hated
object that it was. But I was now out on the
street and unwilling to return home.
I would buy food hastily on my way;
Nigel too must be telephoned and invited for a
meal
—
but not perhaps this evening. To act too
precipitately was to put myself in the wrong. In
any event I decided to postpone this decision; the
other now had precedence. I would go straight to the
hospital, and then, if possible, return
to perfect my plans.

But as soon as I entered Betsy's room I
saw that a change had taken place. She lay
still, her eyes closed. I went out to find a
nurse, but the corridor was empty. Mrs
Purslow was evidently about her own affairs; in
any event she was not there. I returned to the
room, sat down quietly by the bed. I was aware
of a hot stillness, of a silence I must not break.
I took her hand and held it lightly, and then at
last she opened her eyes and saw me.

“
Beth,
”
she said. It was the name I had had as
a child, vouchsafed only to a few chosen friends. Then
her eyes closed again. I sat with her for an
hour, her hand in mine. Eventually she sighed and
said,
“
Thank you.
”

When I saw that she was asleep I tiptoed
out, but without the usual feeling of deliverance.
Instead I felt anger, even fury. The
groaning bus got me only to Piccadilly; from
there I took a taxi, but only after what seemed
like an interminable wait. In the flat I up-ended
the telephone directories, leaving them splayed
on the floor. My anger was so great that I knew
it could not last, that I must act while it was at its
height. But I was halted in my movements by a
sudden feeling of faintness, and was obliged to sit
on the floor until it passed. There was nothing
mysterious about this; I had not eaten much on the
previous day, and breakfast had consisted of a cup
of coffee.