The Sandcastle (32 page)

By now Demoyte’s speech was almost done. He was speaking of the school. He was
even being gracious to Evvy. At last the toast was being proposed: St Bride’s!
They lifted their glasses. Sir Leopold was laying an encouraging hand upon
Nan’s bare arm. Nan rose to her feet. Mor averted his eyes and tried to think
how splendid it would be in a few minutes when they had all escaped into the
Common Room and could relax.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Nan, her voice pitched higher than usual and
quivering with the uncanny refinement of the nervous woman, ‘I am privileged
and pleased that such a gathering as this should be the occasion of my very
first public speech.’ Everyone was leaning forward, looking upon her
sympathetically. ‘And it is fitting too that the person who answers the toast
that we have just had should be an outsider, a mere wife, someone who, while
living in the shadow of this great institution, does not really form part of
it.’
Mor began to feel some relief. Nan had caught the absurd tone of the evening’s
proceedings quite well. Her voice was becoming steadier. Now she was going on
to say suitably banal and complimentary things about St Bride’s. She was
acquitting herself quite respectably. Another sentence or two, thought Mor, and
she will have said enough and can decently sit down. He looked up approvingly,
hoping that she was about to make an end. But Nan went on.
‘St Bride’s,’ she was saying, ‘has always been distinguished for its tradition
of public service. Our great democracy has not looked towards St Bride’s in
vain - and public servants in all ranks of honourable employment are numbered
among our old boys’ Mor smiled inwardly. He knew just how much Nan cared about
traditions of public service. He was amazed at her capacity to put on this act.
He would not have suspected her capable of such a masquerade.
‘I trust then,’ Nan was saying - her voice was trembling again now, ‘that you
will not think it unsuitable if, before ending my speech, I strike a more
personal note. The windows of St Bride’s have never, as we know, been closed
upon the world of commerce and of politics. Enriched by contact with the
School, many have gone out, boys and masters alike, into the world beyond the
classroom and the library And here I am sure you will pardon me if I speak to
you of something which has long been known to many of you - the ambitions of my
husband.’
Mor jumped, and upset what remained of his glass of wine. He looked up quickly
at Nan. She was looking at the ceiling, her mouth open to speak again. Mor’s
heart began to twist within him like a corkscrew. But still he did not realize
what was coming.
‘It has been for many years,’ Nan went on, ‘the dear wish and ambition of my
husband, myself, and our children that he should serve his country in the
highest role to which a democratic society can call its citizens - that of a
Member of Parliament. After a long period of patient work, my husband has now
the great happiness of being able to realize his lifelong ambition. The nearby
borough of Marsington have decided to adopt him as their Labour candidate - and
as we know, Marsington, with all respect to those present who are of the other
party, is a safe Labour seat.’
Amazement, horror, and anger struggled within him; Mor could scarcely believe
his ears. He turned his head to where Demoyte and Rain were sitting. Demoyte
looked completely stunned; he was half turned towards Nan, his hand raised to
his mouth. Then he turned sharply back towards Mor, a look of surprise, dismay,
and accusation. But it was the face of Rain that made Mor almost cry out aloud.
He had told her nothing of his political plans. She was hearing of them now for
the first time. She looked towards him, her lips parting as if to question him,
her eyes expressing astonishment and sheer horror, her whole face working in an
agony of interrogation. Mor shook his head violently.
Nan was going on. ‘As Shakespeare says, there is a tide in the affairs of men
that taken at the flood leads on to fortune. This tide now runs for my husband,
and for myself, and for our children. We have discussed the matter fully, and
we are at last agreed that there is no other bond or tie which can prevent us
from adventuring forward together. Courage is needed to make the great step. To
delay would be fatal. Such a chance comes but once in a lifetime. Courage he
has never lacked - nor is it likely that he will hesitate now when all his
deepest and most cherished wishes are about to find so complete a fulfilment.’
Mor was breathing deeply. He was still almost deprived of breath by the shock.
Who would have thought that Nan would be so ingenious - or so desperate? He
knew that something vital, perhaps final, was happening to him, but he did not
fully see what it was. He tried to keep Rain’s eyes, but she turned away from
him, grimacing with distress. Mor told himself that what he ought to do now,
now this very minute, was to get up from his seat and lead Rain out of the
room. Nan had attempted to comer him by a public gesture. She should be
answered in the same way. To rise now and go out with Rain would set the seal
on all his intentions. At last Nan had raised the storm. It was for him to ride
it. But Rain had turned away her eyes - and although Mor struggled in his seat
he could not bring himself to get up. A lifetime of conformity was too much for
him. He stayed where he was.
‘To you, therefore, my husband’s friends and colleagues,’ Nan continued, ‘I
turn at this crucial moment of choice, and ask for your blessing and your good
wishes for an enterprise worthy indeed of the traditions of St Bride’s, and of
the great talents of my husband. In the end, no destiny could satisfy him but
this one, which he has always so ardently desired and which is now so
unexpectedly placed within his reach.’
Nan was speaking slowly and precisely, making every word count. Once more the
tremor had gone from her voice. She was masterly. She paused for breath.
Quite quietly Rain rose to her feet. She turned towards Demoyte as if to speak
to him, but did not. She turned about, gathering up her evening-bag, and went
soft-footed out of the room. Everyone shifted uneasily, stared at her as she
departed, and then looked back to Nan, puzzled but still spell-bound. The
candles were burning low.
Nan prolonged her pause. From the comer of his eye Mor could see her figure
relax. She threw her page of notes down on the table. She began to say, ‘But
you will have heard enough now of my personal hopes and fears - it remains for
me to conclude my remarks by - Her voice became inaudible to Mor. He half rose
from his seat, and then slumped back again, helpless. He became aware that
everyone in the room was looking at him. He thought at first it must be because
of Rain’s departure, but then realized that it was because of Nan’s speech. He
knew he ought to follow Rain out — but again he could not. The scene held him
prisoner, his wife’s presence and her words pinned him to his chair, his whole
previous life contained him like a strait-jacket. He turned to face Demoyte and
flinched away from the expression of blazing fury in the old man’s eyes that
bid him get up and go. He could not.
Nan sat down amid applause, and an immediate buzz of excited talk. Everyone
knew that something odd was happening, nobody knew what it was. Curious stares
were directed at Mor. Sir Leopold was filling Nan’s glass. She sat there with
her elbow on the table, her face hidden by her hand. Evvy was saying to Demoyte
that he hoped Miss Carter had not been taken ill, and oughtn’t they - Demoyte
got up and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Mor closed his eyes.
Some ten or fifteen minutes passed during which Evvy made some rather lengthy
concluding remarks and the bottle circulated again. Then the company began to
rise to their feet to adjourn to the Common Room. Several people converged on
Mor, to make sympathetic remarks and offer good wishes. He walked with them through
the door into the Common Room. Then he excused himself and ran out into the
corridor.
He ran down the steps and out into the playground. It was an exceedingly dark
night, and apart from the blaze from the windows above him no lights were on in
the school. Only a lamp burning at the comer of School House lit up an expanse
of asphalt and gravel and the edges of the grass. He looked about. Where had
Rain gone to? Where could he find her now? He began to run down the drive. He
saw the Riley parked upon the grass verge. But there was no sign of Rain. He
called her name, cautiously at first and then more loudly. He turned and ran
back to the main buildings, hoping to see some trace of her or of Demoyte.
There was nobody. He ran up as far as the school gates. It was in vain. He came
back, panting with exhaustion, and fell down, hiding his face in the grass near
to the wheels of the car.

Chapter
Nineteen

MOR
waited beside the car for a long time. Now and then voices were to be heard and
footsteps on the gravel, but it was only the departing guests. No one came near
the Riley. At last he got up and searched for a while in the grounds, more or
less aimlessly. Then he ran to find his bicycle. It was not in the shed in the
masters’ garden. It must be at home. He began to run as fast as he could
towards his house. He wondered how long a time had passed. He could not judge.
Why had he let her go away? If only he had held her
then,
taking her
hand before the whole company, none of the forces which Nan had tried to drive
between them would have been of any avail.
As he came near his house he saw that there was a light on in Nan’s room. She
had evidently returned. He forced his way through the gate, kicking it
violently open, and ran down the side way into the garden to find his bicycle.
As he dragged the machine towards the road he could hear the curtains being
drawn back. Light fell upon the path and on the flowers which he had kicked
aside. Nan was looking out. He paid no attention and did not look round. He mounted
the machine, bounced noisily off the pavement, and began to pedal as hard as he
could in the direction of Brayling’s Close.
There was a light on in the hall of the Close and another in the drawing-room.
The bicycle came bucking across the gravel, and Mor dismounted it at speed. As
he ran the last few steps he saw that the front door was ajar. Demoyte was
standing in the hall. Their bodies came into violent collision. Demoyte seized
Mor by the shoulder in a grip that hurt. For a second he thought that the old
man was going to strike him. Mor wrenched himself free. The power which he had
lacked when he sat at the dinner table now flowed in him with such abundance
that he could have torn a wall down to reach Rain.
‘Where is she?’ he said to Demoyte.
‘I don’t know!’ said Demoyte. He began to say something else, but Mor had
already turned and shot out of the door again. He seized the bicycle, which
seemed to have got entangled in a rose bush, shook it free, and began to pedal
back in the direction of the school. He moaned aloud now, partly with
breathlessness and partly with the agony of suspense. For he still did not know
what had happened.
The bicycle came hurtling down the drive. The Riley was still there. Mor braked
violently and dismounted beside the car. What could he do now? Where could he
look? It was impossible to find her, yet impossible too to endure her
disappearance. It came to him that this was the first time for many weeks that
he had not known where Rain was. He threw the bicycle on the grass verge and
began to walk towards the playground. She might still be here, somewhere inside
the school. The lamp had been extinguished at the comer of School House and the
drive was in total darkness. Hours had passed. It must now be well after
midnight. Everyone would have gone home. Yet perhaps she was still here. The
Riley had not gone. She must be somewhere here.
He walked into the playground and looked about him. All was dark. Except for
one light. Looking up, Mor saw that a light was still burning in the masters’
dining-room. They were probably clearing up the remains of the dinner. But at
that hour? He stood looking at the light. Then he began to run towards the door
of the building, his feet clattering on the asphalt and his footsteps echoing
from the dark façades. The main door was unlocked. He mounted the stairs two at
a time and blundered into the Common Room which was in darkness. He switched
the lights on, sprang across the room, and threw open the door of the
dining-room.
A bright electric bulb now lit the room, which looked exceedingly strange. The
remnants of the feast had been removed. It seemed at first as if there was no
one there. Then Mor saw Rain. She was high above his head. She had found a very
tall step ladder and had set it up, standing it upon the tiles of the
fireplace. She was sitting now upon the very top, level with the portrait which
still hung in its place high aloft above the mantelshelf. She was applying
paint to the canvas. She held the enormous palette upon her left hand and her
lap was full of paints. Paint marks of all colours streaked her white
evening-dress which fell in a great fan about her, hanging down over the side
of the ladder. As the door opened she did not look round but continued
carefully with what she was doing. She was working on the head.
‘Rain!’ said Mor. He ran to the foot of the ladder and shook it violently as if
he wanted to hurl her to the ground.
She steadied herself, and then turned back to the picture. He saw that as she
worked the tears were streaming slowly down her face, steadily one after the
other.
‘Rain!’ said Mor, ‘that was not true. It was simply a trick of Nan’s. Surely
you weren’t taken in?’
‘It is true,’ said Rain, in a dull voice. ‘I asked Mr Demoyte.’
‘Well, it was an idea I had once,’ said Mor, ‘but Nan misrepresented the whole
thing. And we never discussed it or agreed anything like she said. You can’t
possibly have believed that!’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Rain, ‘it’s what you want to do.’ She was still
staring through her falling tears at the picture.
‘That isn’t so,’ said Mor. ‘I swear it isn’t so! I’d quite given up any plans
of that kind.’
‘Yes, said Rain, ’because of me.‘ She took the brush away and turned to look
down at him. Her small feet were neatly together upon a high step of the
ladder, the toes of her shoes just visible under the white dress. Mor reached
up to touch her.
‘No, no,’ said Mor. Holding her feet he leaned his head against the ladder. How
could he convince her?
‘Look,’ he said, ‘this makes no difference at all. Why should it? I ought to
have told you long ago, only I didn’t want to complicate things. If I’d told
you myself you wouldn’t have made this into a difficulty, would you? You’re
just upset because it came from Nan. Well, don’t be such a fool. I love you,
and nothing else is of any importance. This other thing is empty in comparison,
it’s nothing. I love you, I should perish without you.
Will
you
understand that?’ He spoke savagely, trying to force the ideas into her mind.
‘Don’t, you’re hurting my leg,’ said Rain. ‘I do understand. I had just not
realized that I was wrecking your whole life. I see it all quite differently
now. I see your children, I see your ambitions. You love me, yes. But you
wouldn’t really forgive me for having deprived you of so much. And I would not
forgive myself for doing so.’ She spoke in a monotonous slightly whining voice,
and her tears were very slow but ceaseless.
‘No, no, no, it’s not like that!’ cried Mor. How could he bear it, that Nan had
bewitched her so? She saw it all exactly as Nan had intended. How could she be
so stupid? ‘No!’ he cried. ‘I shall not let you do this thing to both of us!’
‘It’s useless, Mor,’ said Rain. ‘What am I doing in your life? I’ve often
wondered this, you know, only I never told my doubts. You are a growing tree. I
am only a bird. You cannot break your roots and fly away with me. Where could
we go where you wouldn’t always be wanting the deep things that belong to you,
your children, and this work which you know is your work? I know how I would
feel if I were prevented from pointing. I should die if I were prevented from
painting. I should die. For a moment she shook with sobs and the ladder
trembled under her.
‘I love you, Rain,’ said Mor, ‘what else can I say? I haven’t cared for these
other things at all since I’ve known you. I shall never be an M.P. now,
whatever happens. I no longer want this. I want you. Don’t kill me, Rain. He
leaned against the ladder, embracing the lower steps.
‘You would be happy with me for a short while,’ said Rain, ‘but then what would
happen? It’s all dry sand running through the fingers. I can wander about the
world and where-ever I go I can paint. If we were together my work would
continue. But what about yours? Would it in the end satisfy you just to be with
me? Would you be able to write and to go on writing? If you had really wanted
to write as much as I want to paint you would have written by now, you would
have found the time somehow, nothing would have stopped you.
‘I could write,’ said Mor, ‘or I could start a school. I’m not an idiot. I’ve
thought of these things too. I could make my life with you. What sort of life
do you think I have now, or would have even if I were an M.P.? You’ve made me
exist for the first time. I began to be when I loved you, I saw the world for
the first time, the beautiful world full of things and animals that I’d never
seen before. What do you think will hop-pen to me if you leave me now? Don’t
abandon me. Don’t do such a wicked thing. Don’t!’
He reached up his hand towards her. She leaned forward and took it in a strong
grip. They paused for a moment, pressing each other’s hands. But all the
comfort was gone out of the contact. They both knew it and felt despair. Rain
withdrew her hand.
‘Rain, do you love me?’ said Mor. He stood squarely at the foot of the ladder
gazing up at her. ‘If you’ve just changed your mind about me, say it, and don’t
wrap it up in this torturing way.’
‘I love you,’ said Rain, ‘I do love you, I do. But what does that mean?
Perhaps, after all, it has all been because of-father.’ She laid the palette
down on her lap and rubbed her face violently with both hands. Patches of red
and blue paint appeared on her cheeks and forehead.
Oh, for Christ’s sake,‘ said Mor, ’don’t give me that. I shall not allow you to
leave me, Rain, I shall just not allow it. Nothing has happened tonight which
can alter anything between us. Don’t be tricked by my wife. Don’t look anywhere
but to me.‘
‘Oh, Mor, Mor,’ said Rain, her voice wailing, ‘if you only knew how I do look to
you! I’ve got nobody but you at all. But now I can see. I see that it was you
that tricked me - and I too that deceived myself. I saw it all so simply, with
nothing to it but you leaving your wife whom you didn’t love and who didn’t
love you. But a life has so much more in it than that. I had not seen that I
would break so many many things.’
‘If you love me — ’ he said.
‘That word cannot guide us any more.’ She spoke wearily, with finality.
‘Make it all right,’ said Moor. ‘Sweep away what has happened tonight, do not
remember it.’
‘Oh, my dear,’ said Rain, ‘my dear — ’ She turned her eyes, red and hazy with
tears, towards the face in the picture which was level with her own.
‘Make it all right,’ said Mor.
‘Oh, my dear -’ said Rain.
It was the final negative. Mor stepped away from the foot of the ladder. He
stood silent for a moment. The pain in his heart was almost beyond bearing.
Then he said, ‘I accept nothing of what you say. We shall speak of this again.’
Rain said nothing. She took up the palette and began to mix some paint, but
could not see for her tears.
Mor took two steps towards the door. He said, ‘You should stop that now, and go
to bed. You’re far too upset to paint. Shall I fetch your car and bring it
round into the playground?’
Rain shook her head violently. It was a moment before she could speak. ‘No,’
she said, ‘I must finish this. I want to repaint the head. I see what to do
now. I must go on working. Don’t wait up.’
Mor hesitated. He had a terrible feeling that if he left her now he might never
see her again. But he had to see her again. They would speak tomorrow. He would
force her to agree with him. It could not be otherwise.
‘We are both too overwrought,’ he said. ‘We will speak of this again tomorrow.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Rain, ‘please go. I must work now. Please go.’
Mor got as far as the door. He stood watching her. She had begun to paint
again, dashing the tears from her eyes.
Rain,‘ he said.
She did not answer.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Rain, ‘yes.’
She went on painting. Mor stayed for a minute or two watching her, and then he
went out and closed the door behind him.