The Sandcastle (31 page)

One of the Governors was being polite to Rain, and cutting out Evvy, who was
also trying to talk to her. Demoyte was talking to Bledyard, and conspicuously
indicating by his behaviour that this was one of the few people in the room
that he could tolerate. Sir Leopold was still concentrating. Nan had turned a
little so that she could see Mor. Mor looked away. He tried to attend to the
problem of how to be rude enough to Sir Leopold for the latter to realize that
the rudeness was intentional without being so rude as to be boorish.
Dinner was announced. Evvy had of course given no thought to the question of
precedence. There was a courteous scrimmage in the doorway. The women were
pushed forward. Besides Rain, Nan, and Mrs Prewett, there was a Mrs Kingsley,
the wife of one of the Governors who had arrived rather late and was patently
the oldest woman present. Evvy was now attempting to urge Rain through the door
while Rain was trying to give way to Mrs Kingsley. Eventually, after an
embarrassed silence had fallen and the protagonists had all started to say
something and stopped, alarmed by the pause, Sir Leopold passed through the
door first, with Mrs Kingsley on one arm and Nan on the other. Evvy followed
with Rain and Mrs Prewett. Demoyte and Bledyard, still talking, went through
next, and everyone else came after in a hurly-burly.
Fortunately the places at the table were all clearly labelled, so that the
confusion was not repeated in the dining-room. Everyone found his position and
Evvy said grace at some length. The company then sat down with relief and
immediately received their soup. The place of honour was in the centre of the
table facing the picture. Here sat Evvy in the middle place, with Rain on his
right and Mrs Kingsley on his left. Demoyte sat next to Rain, and Sir Leopold
next to Demoyte. Nan was on the other side of Sir Leopold. Another Governor was
next to Mrs Kingsley, and Mrs Prewett sat at the end of the table next to
Bledyard, with whom to everyone’s continually renewed surprise she seemed to
get on very well. The rest of the company were disposed round the ends of the
table and along the side nearest to the fireplace. Here Mor sat, opposite to
Sir Leopold, so that both the women were facing him, Nan to his left and Rain
to his right farther away. The fish had by now arrived, and with it the welcome
glass of white wine. Mor hoped that Hensman had briefed Evvy about quantity as
well as quality of wine. He felt an extreme need of alcohol, and spent a vain
moment wishing that he were altogether elsewhere with Hensman and the guitar.
The soup and fish were good. The meat was only middling, but it mattered less
as there was a good deal of red wine to wash it down with. Mor heard one of the
Governors asking the name and year of the wine and approving of the answer.
Evvy had evidently been well schooled by someone, doubtless Hensman. Mor
emptied another glass. He began to feel a little less anxious. The evening was
now half over and the women had so far not had occasion to notice each other.
At this moment they could not even see one another, since they were on the same
side of the table, and he could keep them both under his eye. Demoyte and Sir
Leopold ignored each other. Sir Leopold talked to Nan, while Demoyte talked to
Rain, across Rain to Evvy, or across the table to Mor. When not actually
addressed, Mor sat silent, watching his wife and his beloved, turning over in
his heart the grievous things that he knew, and waiting for the evening to end.
At last came the toast to the Queen, and the meditative glow of cigars was to
be seen appearing here and there along the table. It was quite dark outside by
now and the candles gave a bright but soft light to the room, in which gentle
illumination the stained walls were, as Hensman had predicted, not conspicuous.
Fortunately nobody so far seemed anxious to draw the curtains. Mor discovered
to his relief that Madeira was to be served with the fruit. The waiter was not
insensitive to his needs, and his glass was filled again. The candlelight touched
the wine-glasses and the scattered silver. He looked through a maze of
reflections towards Rain, and managed to catch her attention. She flashed him a
quick look, humorous and loving, and made as if to close one eye. Mor, with a
surreptitious and ambiguous movement, raised his glass towards her. She looked
away. He now felt impelled to look at Nan. She was gazing towards him, though
in lively and gesturing conversation with Sir Leopold. Mor noticed that she had
drunk a little wine.
The first of the official toasts was the toast to Demoyte, which was to be
proposed by Sir Leopold and answered by Evvy. The second toast was the toast to
the School, to be proposed by Demoyte and answered by Nan. Sir Leopold rose to
his feet and a serene silence fell, rich with the harmony which a large
quantity of alcohol had introduced into the conscious and unconscious minds of
the company. They looked up benevolently at Sir Leopold. Even Mor controlled
his nausea. Sir Leopold, it would seem, was faced with the almost impossible
task of proposing a toast to Demoyte without saying anything pleasant about
him. But Sir Leopold’s ingenuity turned out to be equal to the occasion. He
contrived to say nothing pleasant about Demoyte by saying nothing about him at
all. He spoke at length about St Bride’s, its history, its high traditions, and
the great line of its headmasters, all dedicated, at least those of them who
were worthy of their trust, to the task which Mr Everard had so aptly described
as ‘the full development of the good seed of the personality’, regardless of
intellectual excellence. Hatred of Demoyte had triumphed, in Sir Leopold’s
bosom, over contempt for Evvy. He was prepared even to exalt Evvy in order to
annoy Demoyte. The latter listened unmoved, showing in lip and eye how
impossible he considered it that he could be belittled by such a person. Sir
Leopold sat down amid lukewarm applause. He was not, in any quarter, a popular
figure.
Mor was wishing that Nan’s speech was not the last one. He was anxious for it
to be over, as he was feeling a good deal of nervous apprehension on his wife’s
behalf. He imagined how scared Nan must be feeling. He knew that there was a
special absurdity in his identifying himself, at this hour, with Nan; but it
was the habit of half a lifetime and it was the absurdity which at present
composed his whole being. He felt fairly sure that Nan would acquit herself
well. She would certainly have something decent to say - only her delivery of
it might be nervous and halting.
Evvy was now talking. Long practice in Hall and Chapel had made Mor able to
switch off Evvy’s voice completely. With an effort he switched it on again. ‘ —
whom we know and love,’ said Evvy. Accustomed as Evvy was to think the best of
everybody, it had not quite escaped his attention that Sir Leopold had been
rude to Demoyte; and he tried to make amends, laying it on, it seemed to Mor,
rather thick. ‘Under whose able and inspiring leadership,’ Evvy was saying, ‘st
Bride’s rose from the deplorable slough in which it formerly lay, and became,
dare we say it, a sound and reputable public school of the second class.’
Evvy was here excelling himself, having forgotten that one of the Governors
present was the younger son of the Headmaster who had preceded Demoyte. Mor
looked along the table at this gentleman, whose eyebrows had flown up into
furious triangles, and then looked to see how Demoyte liked Evvy’s description
of his achievement. Demoyte seemed amused. This was probably due to the
proximity of Rain, who looked as if she might burst into wild laughter at any
moment. When Mor saw her so gay, although he knew that it was largely the
effect of the wine, he felt irritation and sadness. Nothing today could have
moved him to gaiety or laughter. Agonizing thoughts about Donald came back into
his mind. Where was his son now? He did not believe that any bodily harm could
have come to Donald. But to what other demons might he not now be the prey? He
pictured Donald sitting at this moment in some dreary café, staring at a
stained tablecloth, while the waitress looked on, contemptuous and curious, or
else in a public house, trying to look several years older, and avoiding the
eye of the barmaid, or walking along a country road in the dark, caught in the
headlights of cars, trying to beg a lift to - where? Afraid to come home.
Afraid.
‘ — that I did not find it easy to be the successor to such a man,’ Evvy was
saying. His speech was turning out to be far too long, as usual. Sir Leopold
had set the decanter circulating, and a whispered conversation was going on at
the far end of the table. Each man protected himself from boredom after his own
fashion: Sir Leopold by drinking and looking sideways into the top of Nan’s
dress, Rain by suppressed laughter, Demoyte by amused contempt, Mr Prewett by talking
to his neighbour, and Bledyard by talking to himself.
Evvy continued, ‘And it has been my constant study to resemble him in every way
possible.’ This was almost too much for Rain. It became clear from Demoyte’s
expression that she had kicked him under the table. They looked at each other.
What a spring of life she has within her, Mor thought, to be able to laugh at
such a time. But the secret of this is simple. She is young.
Evvy’s voice was now taking on the elevated and lilting quality which it displayed
in Chapel when he was nearing the end of a sermon. ‘ — that in future years,
when time and mortality shall have taken from us the great original, we shall
be privileged to possess, for the admiration of the boys and the wonder of our
visitors, this painting, the representation by so distinguished a painter of so
distinguished a man.’ Polite clapping broke out. Evvy sat down, and everyone
looked at Demoyte.
Demoyte rose to his feet. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘this is for me a
moving and a sad occasion. It is the first time since my retirement that I have
set foot inside the school which was for so many years my creation and my home.
Needless to say, my absence from this scene has been at my own wish, unwilling
as I am to play, within these walls which are so dear to me, the role merely of
an ancestral ghost whose days of productivity are past and who can now only
unnerve and terrify the beholder. This would in itself be a theme for sadness.
Add to this, however, the fact that what has called up this apparition is the
presence in the world of something new — a work of art: the extremely fine
picture which we now have before us.’
Demoyte looked up at the picture. So did everyone else, the guests nearest the
fireplace leaning backwards across the table in order to see it. Nobody was
bored now.
‘The reverend speaker who preceded me,’ said Demoyte, ‘spoke, as it is his
especial right to do, of mortality. And what indeed could be more calculated to
impress upon one a sense of finitude than the dedication, to the place where
one has passed, such as it was, one’s life, of an image of oneself, to be left
as a memorial for future generations? This is to give a palpable body to the
sad truth that we can enjoy immortality only in the thoughts of others-aplace
in which during our lives we have not always been cherished and in which after
our death we shall be without defence. I speak, of course, sub
spetie
temporis
.’
A polite smile spread round the table. Demoyte had transformed the scene. The
look of condescension which the Governors had been wearing all the evening had
faded now from their faces. They no longer felt themselves to be conferring, by
their presence, a favour upon a bunch of simple-minded provincial
schoolmasters.
‘This truth,’ said Demoyte, ‘may trouble us or it may merely wound us. My
situation is, however, more complex - since I am so fortunate as to have my
image passed on to posterity by the brilliant brush of Miss Carter, whom we are
so glad and so privileged to have with us tonight.’ Applause followed. About
time, thought Mor. He looked at Rain. He felt proud.
‘Such an experience,’ Demoyte went on, ‘cannot but induce humility. How well we
know the faces and how little we are concerned with the obscure careers of so
many of the men and women whom the great painters of the past have made to live
forever among us. Who was Dr Peral? Who was Jacob Trip? Who were Mr and Mrs
Arnolfini? In a way we know, with a supreme knowledge, since we may look upon
their faces through the eye of a genius. In a way we do not know, nor do we
care, what were their talents, their hopes, and their fears, or how they must
have appeared to themselves. And so he too will live on, this obscure
schoolmaster, held in the profound, and if I may say so, charitable, vision of
Miss Carter - and it is a consolation to think that if St Bride’s is in the
years to come distinguished for nothing else, it will at least be a place of
pilgrimage for those who are interested in the early work of one who - can we
doubt it in the face of such evidence - is destined to be one of the more
remarkable painters of her age.’
Mor was watching Rain. Demoyte continued to speak. She was fingering her glass,
looking down, frowning. She was moved by his words. Mor returned his glance to
the tablecloth, and then after a suitable interval looked at Nan.
Nan was looking, for the first time that evening, thoroughly nervous and
disturbed. She was looking straight ahead of her with an unseeing stare, and
her hand which lay upon the table was visibly trembling. She had drawn out of
her handbag and clutched in her other hand a small piece of paper with notes
upon it. A deep blush had spread downward from her cheeks to her neck. Her lips
moved slightly. Poor Nan, thought Mor. He tried to catch her eye. She turned
towards him - and he was startled by the scared and wide-eyed expression with
which she looked at him. He smiled and made an encouraging gesture with his
hand. Mad, mad, he thought to himself, all is mad. But at least this evening
will soon be done. After Nan’s speech they would adjourn to the Common Room,
and soon after that one could decently go. The evening was almost over. Nan was
still giving him a look of distress and fear, and he could see now that her
lower jaw was trembling. He had to look away. He was beginning to tremble
himself. He hoped that she would not blunder too much. It was certainly hard on
her, following after so accomplished a speaker as Demoyte.