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Authors: Iris Murdoch

BOOK: A Fairly Honourable Defeat
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‘OK, OK. By the way, did you by any chance bring me a tiny cheque, dear mother? That’s fine. Just put it under the pillow, would you.’
‘You’re telling me to go.’
‘I think it’s wiser, my dear. This is just the stage where if you stay any longer you start to get upset. And then you upset me.’
‘And that spoils your communion with the brass knob. All right, all right. But, oh Peter, I do so hate leaving you—’
‘Now then, mother, no love scene. Yes, yes, I love you very much. Now off you go, old dear, off you go.’
CHAPTER SIX
 
‘SIMON, I wish you wouldn’t call everybody “darling”. It’s one of those damned tribal habits I wish I could cure you of. It’s all right for you to call me “darling”. If you feel like it. You probably don’t at the moment. But if you use it on everyone you cheapen it and then it’s no good to me. You ought to have the intelligence to see that.’
‘Sorry—darling.’
‘Don’t simulate.’
‘I’m not simulating!’
‘You must be annoyed with me.’
‘I’m not annoyed with you, Axel, damn you!’
‘That sounds jolly convincing, doesn’t it.’
‘I don’t call everybody “darling” anyway.’
‘You called Morgan “darling” the other day—and Hilda.’
‘Well, they’re special. I’ve always had a thing about them and—’
‘What do you mean a “thing”? Must you talk basic English? Who were you trying to telephone when I came in, by the way?’
‘I was just ringing Rupert’s place.’
‘What about?’
‘I—well—I just wanted to talk to Morgan. Only she wasn’t in.’
‘You put the telephone down damn fast.’
‘Really, Axel—Don’t you think the drawing room’s looking nice?’
‘Not bad. I see you’ve bought another ridiculous paperweight. I wish you wouldn’t keep buying trinkets. We’ve already got far too many possessions.’
‘It wasn’t expensive.’
‘And for God’s sake, Simon, don’t drink too much tonight. Remember, when I start fingering the lobe of my ear it means I think you’ve had enough.’
‘I won’t accept that signal, Axel.’
‘You’d better! You got tight that last time at Rupert’s and I couldn’t get you away and you broke all those glasses. I was quite ashamed of you.’
‘Sorry—sweetheart.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t hum nervously when you’re doing things. I wonder if you realize that you’ve been humming? You even hum when I’m talking.’
‘Sorry—’
‘Do finish with those blasted flowers. You’ve been arranging them for twenty minutes. Why you want to mess around with dried flowers at this time of year is beyond me.’
‘Don’t be so conventional, Axel.’
‘And surely you can’t mix plastic bulrushes in with real flowers?’
‘You can with dried ones. How do you know they’re plastic anyway?’
‘I can see they are.’
‘I saw you touching them just now.’
‘Horrid fascination.’
‘You weren’t sure they were plastic! And if they don’t look—’
‘That you should have plastic bulrushes in your possession at all or introduce them into this house is a scandal. You’re supposed to be the expert on interior decoration, but sometimes I think you have the taste of a suburban housewife.’
‘You only noticed it because Julius is coming.’
‘What is that idiotic remark supposed to mean?’
‘You usually don’t care tuppence what this place looks like.’
‘Perhaps I don’t want your lapses in taste to be put on public show!’
‘All right. You can arrange the bloody drawing room yourself.’
Simon went down to the kitchen and slammed the door. For a second he felt hot about the eyes as if he were going to cry. But the next moment he felt better. Even the smallest quarrel with Axel upset him. But he knew by now that this was the sort of thing which usually blew away directly into the surrounding air. Axel had said to him at the start: absolute rule, one does not make tantrums with someone one loves. One never sulks. In fact Axel often snapped at him and sometimes said, even in public, rather accurate and wounding things. As on the occasion when Axel had let Simon hold forth for some time about the Titian
Pietà
in the Accademia before pointing out that it had been finished by Palma Gióvane, a fact which Simon certainly ought to have known. In public Simon suffered in silence. In private he sometimes hit back. But he knew that Axel was almost always sorry and a feud was not maintained. It was not really in Simon’s nature to fight at all and he was incapable of sulking.
Two bottles of Puligny Montrachet and a bottle of Barsac had been uncorked and put in the fridge. They were going to start with a confection of cucumber and yoghourt with pepper which Simon had invented. After that there was a salmon trout with almonds, and new potatoes. Then pears stewed in white wine and served with a creamy egg custard. Then English cheese. Simon observed the salmon trout, wrapped in foil, through the glass front of the cooker. The cucumber and the pears were ready to serve. The potatoes would not take long and need not go on yet. Everything seemed to be under control. There was still nearly half an hour before Julius was due to arrive.
Simon was feeling nervous. He sometimes wondered if other people’s minds were as hard for them to control as his was for him. It was not easy to find out such things. It was no use giving himself instructions and upbraiding himself for being irrational. Immense flights of fantasy were taking place. During the last few days he had lost Axel in any of a dozen different ways, all somehow connected with Julius. Simon tried hard to be generous in his thoughts. That at least he could usually manage. His temperament helped him to turn all conceivable blame onto himself. He did not seriously imagine that Julius would deliberately try to steal Axel. As far as he knew Julius had no interests of that sort at all. He did not imagine that Julius would deliberately make any sort of trouble for him. He simply feared that the proximity of this very intelligent and high-powered old friend would open Axel’s eyes. Axel would suddenly see how flimsy Simon was, how unsophisticated, how lacking in cleverness and wit, how hopelessly ignorant about important things such as Mozart and truth functions and the balance of payments. ‘There’s just not much there,’ Axel had once damningly said of an acquaintance. And here, how much is there here? Simon wondered. And he sometimes despairingly felt, not much. How could he, by what felicitous accident, have inspired Axel to love him? Simon had very little sense of his own identity and often it seemed to him that he only existed at all by virtue of Axel’s love which was directed by what must be a mistake upon this almost-nothing.
Yet this was not the sum of his fear. He was afraid in some other way too, and even less rationally, afraid simply of Julius, as he remembered him, afraid of certain emanations from Julius which he had never quite been able to understand. Simon had poured himself out a glass of sherry, and as he now lifted it to his lips he noticed that his hand was trembling slightly. He wondered again if he ought not to have told Axel frankly everything that he had been feeling during the last few days. He knew that in concealing these thoughts and keeping everything on a casual ‘How nice to see Julius again’ basis he was offending against an important canon of coexistence with his lover. Axel had adjured him to tell all dangerous thoughts and of course Axel was right. If he had told his thoughts Axel would probably have found some way to reassure him absolutely. This often happened when he told his thoughts. But he had hesitated, and not only because he felt he was being foolish and did not want to ‘make too much of it’. He had discerned in Axel too a counterpart of his own unease. Axel was quietly excited at the idea of seeing Julius again. And Axel was being equally disingenuous about it. I’ll watch, thought Simon. I won’t speak, I’ll watch.
Axel had come into the kitchen. Simon did not turn round but continued to fiddle with the electric stove, turning on the ring to cook the potatoes. After a moment or two he felt his waist being encircled from behind. He had learnt from experience that Axel liked him to remain impassive on such occasions. He pushed the sauce-pan onto the glowing ring. Axel was beginning to pull him round.
Simon regarded him coldly.
‘ “When I lie tangled in your hair and fettered to your eye, The birds that wanton in the air know no such liberty.” ’
‘Good show,’ said Simon.
Sometimes they exchanged roles.
The doorbell rang.
‘I must say, Axel,’ said Julius, ‘when I heard that you had taken up with this brown-eyed beauty I did feel the tiniest bit jealous!’ He beamed at Simon through his spectacles.
They were eating the cheese. The salmon trout and the pears had been excellent. There was something wrong with the cucumber and yoghourt however. Not enough salt possibly.
The dining room was lit only by six tall black candles in the two Sheffield plate candlesticks. Axel, in softened mood, had agreed to candlelight for once. Julius and Axel had talked without ceasing. It was the sort of conversation where a surfeit of interesting things to say and hear made the protagonists leap constantly to and fro. Every subject suggested six others one or two of which might be rapidly pursued before a meticulous return was made to the starting point. There were no lacunae in the logical matrix. Nothing was dropped or left to the side. One or other of them was constantly saying, ‘Yes, well
that
arose out of your saying so and so,’ and then they would turn back to deal with so and so. They hardly noticed when Simon removed the plates and no one had praised the salmon trout.
Julius was plumper than Simon remembered him as being, but the plumpness suited him. He looked older and more benign. There had been a tigerish look, but that was gone. His curiously colourless hair, not exactly fair, seemed like a pale wig upon a dark man. The hair was fairly curly and fairly short, bringing into prominence the big long rather heavy face, bronzed by the sun and now a little flushed perhaps by argument. He had drunk very little wine. The eyes, of a dark colour hard to determine, a sort of purplish brown perhaps, were rimmed by heavy lids and much inclined to twinkle. At this moment, between two radiant candle flames, they appeared to be violet, but that must be an illusion. The nose was very slightly hooked and the mouth, which imparted a certain sweetness and sadness to the expression, long and very finely shaped. It was a face that was not noticeably Jewish except perhaps in a watchful heaviness about the eyes. Julius spoke with a faint central European accent and a faint stammer.
Axel laughed. ‘Of course you’ve known Simon for ages. You probably met him before I did.’
‘When did we first meet, Simon?’ said Julius. ‘It was at Rupert’s, wasn’t it?’
It was Simon’s first direct entry into the conversation. He conjectured a year.
‘Yes, that was just before I met him,’ said Axel.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Simon. ‘You met me before that only you didn’t notice me.’
‘Well, he’s noticed you now!’ said Julius.
They all laughed, Simon a little uneasily.
‘Have some more cheese,’ said Simon.
‘Thank you. I can’t tell you how glad I am to be away from American food.’
‘Weren’t there any decent foreign restaurants?’ asked Axel.
‘Not in South Carolina! I’ve been to San Francisco actually for the last month and there are excellent Chinese restaurants there. I love Chinese food.’
‘We must take you to our local Chinese restaurant,’ said Axel. ‘I think it’s good.’
‘I don’t!’ said Simon.
‘Then you and I will go,’ said Julius to Axel.
‘One never knows what to drink with Chinese food,’ said Simon.
‘Lager,’ said Axel.
‘Tea,’ said Julius.
‘Even lager isn’t strong enough for Simon,’ said Axel. ‘He’s become quite a toper. I am going to have to take a strong line with his drinking habits!’
‘Let me fill your glass, Julius,’ said Simon.
‘No, thank you. I’m not much of a drinker. I have to watch my inside. Rupert’s looking terribly fit, isn’t he? No stomach ulcers for him!’
‘Rupert thrives. I gather you had lunch with him at his club?’
‘Yes. I adore English clubs and seeing Rupert putting on his English act. He is absurdly English, isn’t he?’
‘Why don’t you join a club, Julius?’ said Simon.
‘He is a little tease, eh, Axel? Clubs are not for such as me. It would spoil the charm if I even thought they’d have me!’
‘Are you still at the Hilton?’ said Axel.
‘No. Big hotels give me migraine. I meant to tell you, I’ve just moved into a most luxurious little flat in Brook Street. You must come and see it, both of you. Here, I’ll write the address down.’
‘Have you seen Hilda?’
‘No, Axel, I haven’t. As they have Morgan at the house I haven’t been invited and of course I’m keeping clear. Do you think I’m
mal vu
by Hilda at the moment?’

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