A Fairly Honourable Defeat (41 page)

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Authors: Iris Murdoch

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Julius patted Simon’s cheek. The door closed behind him.
Simon pulled himself off the desk. He sat in his chair and lifted the telephone. He held it in his hand for a while and then slowly laid it down again.
CHAPTER FOUR
 
RUPERT AND MORGAN were sitting in the sun on the steps of the Albert Memorial. They had just walked from the Prince Regent Museum to the Park.
Morgan had Rupert’s letter in her pocket and she touched it from time to time with the tips of her fingers. She felt more at home with the letter now than she did with Rupert. She knew it better. In his presence she felt a paralysing mixture of exhilaration and embarrassment which made her both coy and effusive. She could not behave naturally and realized only now how thoroughly frightened she was of the situation. It was not a dull fright. She was frightened because so much was at stake, because it was all so exciting, because it was unprecedented and unique. She felt shy of this tall burly blond man whose nervous apologetic sympathetic smile was so new to her that at times she could scarcely recognize his face. It was like a momentous second encounter with someone whom she had met only once and who had suddenly and impetuously kissed her on parting.
Rupert plainly did not know how to behave either. He seemed at the moment more anxious to reassure her than to repeat any of the burning phrases of his letter. The anxious atmosphere of mutual consideration was not indeed conducive to any passionate confessions. But the amazing letter was there in her pocket.
The moment has come to tell you how much I love you … I cannot any longer now sustain the role of the detached and helpful friend … A long-felt need to come closer to you and know you better … I have so long admired you … Time will show us what to do …
And so on for pages of Rupert’s tiny almost illegible script, with many erasures and the rendezvous mentioned in a scrawl at the end.
Morgan wondered if Rupert now regretted the letter. It was very possible from his embarrassed demeanour that he did. She knew that she could not possibly ask him. It was indeed an extraordinary letter for someone like Rupert to have written, impetuous, indiscreet, even inconsiderate. Yet Morgan was delighted, and had from the first moment been delighted, to receive this feckless homage from her sage and dignified brother-in-law. So there were surprises in the world. She recalled what Julius had said about Rupert’s secret life, the lost soul, the private grief, the wild sad crying. Now she had seen these things, though perhaps only for a moment; and she wondered regretfully but bravely whether Rupert would not now simply require her assistance in resuming the mask. But of course the mask could never be entirely resumed. I have come closer to Rupert, she thought. Rupert needs me. We are involved with each other forever.
Rupert’s letter had said nothing about Hilda except indirectly.
We both have our responsibilities.
And yes, there was Tallis too. How clear it had suddenly become to Morgan that she had somehow hoped that
Rupert
would clarify her feelings about Tallis. Only she had not expected quite this method of clarification. For what had become plain to her as she brooded over Rupert’s letter that morning before and after Julius’s visit was that really she felt far more
at home
with Rupert than she did with either Julius or Tallis. Tallis was an eerie dream, Julius a beautiful but casual destructive force. Rupert was a man, an intellectual, a person rather like herself, a person who interested her profoundly and to whom she could
talk.
Rupert was someone who might have made her happy.
The unfulfilled conditional brought her uneasily back to reality. She was indeed excited but she was also afraid. It was inconceivable that she should meddle with Hilda’s marriage. Yet here, fully-fledged, was an extremely tricky situation and one which threatened her beloved sister.
Hilda must never know.
If there was pain she and Rupert must bear it. Almost with joy she felt herself able to take up that challenge. Hilda, who had shared all her troubles, must be forever spared this one. She would come close to Rupert, she would help him to bear his private grief, she would keep the secret of the wildness within, she would transform by patience the violence of his love. And if she was brave enough to undertake this dangerous, this heavy task was it not because in the end she trusted in his wisdom and not in her own?
‘I trust your wisdom,’ she said. ‘I trust it. I trust
you.
’
‘You have indeed shown your trust,’ he said. ‘I hope I shall be worthy of it.’
‘Hilda must not know.’
Rupert was facing the sun, frowning. ‘One hates deception—’
‘I know. But it’s kinder. How could you tell her
that
?’
‘I certainly think it must be our secret for the present,’ said Rupert, after a moment.
‘Yes, yes.’ Morgan was finding the conversation difficult. She was fumbling carefully with words and phrases and she could see Rupert doing the same. With a certain painful joy she postponed the moment of taking hold of his hand.
‘Rupert,’ said Morgan, ‘I think you said the essential things when you talked about going
through
and not running away. There has always been love between us, hasn’t there?’
Rupert shaded his eyes. He looked uncertain, apprehensive. ‘Yes.’
‘What has happened isn’t all that new and strange. Of course our relationship has altered, it must alter. Of course you must be feeling—well, anxious and upset. But once we’re clear that we want to go on seeing each other, then should we not regard this new thing as a natural development of an old friendship? Would not that be the wisest way to look at it? And will not that development continue for us in a
good
way if we go on just keeping our gaze steadily and
seriously
fixed upon each other?’
‘I admire your confidence, your sense—’
‘You know, somehow I feel this had to happen, it was in the womb of time.’
‘I’m not sure that I feel quite that. Anyway as I said, I take it as something deep and serious and not just a piece of momentary madness.’
‘Of course it’s deep, Rupert. With
you
it couldn’t be otherwise. ’
‘Well, I suppose we must—ride out the storm.’
‘You sound so worried, Rupert, and so sad! Don’t be, my dear. We’ll meet regularly. We’ll make each other’s acquaintance quietly. We’re both very rational, you know! Only you don’t worry and I won’t.’
‘I only hope it won’t be all—too painful for you.’
‘How marvellously considerate you are, my dear. No. It’ll be painful for
you.
But we must sustain the pain together.’
‘Not telling Hilda hurts me, but I see it’s inevitable. Have you said anything to Tallis?’
‘Good God no! It’s no business of Tallis’s.’
‘I should have said, my dear, that in a way it was—’
‘I don’t see that. Nothing’s going to
happen
! And this is our private muddle, Rupert, yours and mine.’
‘I wonder if you feel—free of Tallis now—emotionally I mean?’
How anxious he is, she thought. I must reassure him. ‘Yes, I think I do. There’s still a lot of distress of course. But I’m out of that wood.’ Am I? she wondered. All that was perfectly clear at the moment was that her immediate task was one of absolute attention to Rupert.
‘It’s all very perplexing,’ said Rupert. ‘You are stronger than I am. Women so often are strong at these moments. You are so clear and so calm, now. But I can’t help being worried on your behalf. I don’t want as it were to lead you on into an even more painful situation. Imagine yourself in my position.’
‘But, my dear, I do! I can see it all, the puzzlement, the scruples, the pain. But once we’ve decided to ride out the storm as you put it we must simply trust each other and wait for time and affection to show us the form of a deeper and permanent relationship. Because that’s what we both want, isn’t it, Rupert?’
‘Yes. I want it. Is it possible?’
‘Your diffidence touches me so much! Do you really imagine that I’m going to rush off and abandon you? Of course it’s possible!’
Rupert sat sideways, shading his eyes and regarding her. ‘I so much don’t want you to be hurt. You don’t think we’re playing with fire?’
‘Life is made of fire.’
‘Morgan, your courage is fantastic.’
‘So is yours, my dear.’
‘Look,’ said Rupert, ‘I must get back to the office. And I want to think all this over.’
‘You won’t change your mind and say we should forget all about it and not see each other or something?’
‘No. I won’t.’
‘When shall we meet again? Soon?’
They began to walk down the steps in the direction of the High Street. ‘All the same,’ said Rupert, ‘I am worried. There’s something—puzzling in it all. And I don’t want to put an awful strain upon you.’
‘If you can bear the strain I should think I can! When? Let’s have lunch tomorrow.’
‘I’m having lunch with Hilda tomorrow.’
There was a silence. They reached the street and Rupert hailed a taxi. ‘Ring me up in the office,’ he said. ‘Not today.’
‘Tomorrow morning then.’
‘All right.’
The taxi drew up.
‘May I come with you in the taxi as far as Whitehall?’ asked Morgan.
‘No. Forgive me. Better not.’
They stood in the sun beside the taxi, stiff, their hands hanging, multicoloured shadows crowding past them. Morgan felt an almost intolerable physical tension. She wanted to climb into the taxi and seize Rupert in her arms and comfort him. He was looking at her with a frowning expression of pain. He turned to the taxi driver. ‘Whitehall, please.’
‘Oh Rupert—’ She felt desolation, frenzy. She did not want to leave him like this, to be left like this. The separation was suddenly awful. She stood staring at him, her face ready for tears.
‘Forgive me.’ Rupert got into the taxi and banged the door. The taxi sailed away.
What is happening to me? thought Morgan. She stood a while immobile on the edge of the kerb. Then following a sudden impulse she hailed another taxi and gave Tallis’s address in Notting Hill.
CHAPTER FIVE
 
‘THIS MATCHBOX IS BROKEN, look. It’s quite squashed. You must have sat on it.’
‘I didn’t sit on it.’
‘You must have done. It was all right yesterday.’
‘In a world reeling with sin and misery you prate about squashed matchboxes.’
‘I feel awful.’
‘So do I.’
‘I’ve got that bloody pain in my hip again.’
‘I thought you had it all the time.’
‘I do have it all the time. Only sometimes it’s worse.’
‘I can’t hear a word you’re saying. I wish to God you’d get yourself some teeth.’
‘Well, why don’t you treat yourself to a shave if it comes to that? You look like something growing on the side of a tree trunk.’
‘You could do with a shave yourself.’
‘The sort of thing you can’t resist scraping off with your foot and then wish you hadn’t.’
‘Either let your beard grow or don’t let it grow.’
‘I’m an old piece of human wreckage, rejected long ago by society and shortly to be crushed by nature. I’d have one foot in the grave if I could still stand up. I don’t have to worry about shaving. I don’t consort with MPs and that. Was that chap really an MP who came in yesterday?’
‘About the housing committee? Yes.’
‘No wonder England’s done for.’
‘I must go and write my lecture.’
‘Why don’t you do something useful?’
‘Teaching people is useful.’
‘Adult education. All you do is sit middle-aged babies.’
‘We have jolly good discussions. Why don’t you come along?’
‘You’d be sick if I did! I’m going to be bedridden from now on. You’ll be carrying bed-pans, my boy, not romancing about the Jarrow marchers and the General Strike.’
‘You do what the doctors tell you, Daddy, and you’ll be perfectly all right. You see you didn’t mind going to the hospital at all. The X-ray people were very nice to you.’
‘No they weren’t. Yes I did. One of those pups in a white coat called me “gaffer”!’
‘He wanted to make you feel at home.’
‘I nearly dotted him one. “Gaffer”! That’s what the Health Service does for professional standards. When I was young doctors used to know their place.’
‘When you were young you couldn’t afford a doctor.’
‘Don’t start that. This world’s a rotten oligarchy run by gangsters. Nothing in it ever gets better.’
‘Come, come, Daddy. You won’t mind going in for the operation. That arthritis operation is quite simple now and it’ll take the pain away.’
‘Who’s talking about an operation? Perhaps I prefer to be in pain. It’s my affair I should think!’

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