Fuel for the Flame

by Alec Waugh

  She laughed. ‘Don’t let that worry you, we’ll have fun.’

  She was facing the future with a careless unconcern. She could afford to; she had youth and health and looks. She had nothing to fear for many years. He pushed back his chair.

  ‘I must be on my way,’ he said.

  He rose. ‘Blanche will be here this afternoon,’ he said.

  Iris smiled. ‘I can’t say I envy you. Good luck.’

  He looked down at her. Good luck indeed. Armoured as she was by youth she had no conception of what that interview would be for him. She stretched out her hand, placed it over his and pressed it. There was fondness in her eyes. She was an affectionate kitten. To have her sitting across his breakfast table morning after morning, to have her there waiting for him every evening, to be able to think during the long hours at his desk that she would be there at the day’s close, his reward and recompense.

  It could not last. In a flash of premonition he saw the day five, seven, ten years ahead when she would be sitting across another breakfast table, looking not an hour older, not one shade less attractive, laughingly dismissing from her life the husband who was old and finished. She would have no pity for him, nor any ill-feeling either. It would be time to move on to the next thing; that was all. There would be no reprieve.

  As he walked towards his car he heard Iris’s laughter ringing out again.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll have lots of fun,’ she’d said. He prayed that the day of reckoning would be long postponed. If only it were this time tomorrow.

  At the top of the in-tray on his desk was the same blue file that he had pushed there last night, impatiently, his thoughts upon the play, saying to himself, ‘Let it wait until tomorrow.’ What would he have thought could he have foreseen the mood in which he would be lifting it? Inside a quarter of an hour, in less than a quarter of an hour, within five minutes, the entire course of his life and of three other lives had been re-routed. Sixteen hours ago nothing could have seemed more impossible. It had never occurred to him that Iris had felt anything more than the most placid friendliness towards him. It would never have occurred to him to make a pass at her … yet within five minutes. It could so easily not have happened. It would not have happened if Blanche had been there. Did he wish she had been? He shrugged. He heard again that careless laugh, saw again that slim but rounded figure in the short-sleeved Chinese jacket, unbuttoned at the throat. He had never dared to dream that life held still such high excitement for him. He lifted the file out of the tray and set himself to study it.

  An hour later Harry’s telephone bell rang.

  ‘It’s Charles here. When you’ve a minute to spare, I’d like a chat.’

  ‘Shall I come round right away?’

  ‘That would be fine.’

  The G.M.’s room was less cold than it was normally and Charles was not wearing a pullover. He wanted Harry to feel at ease. He was himself far from looking forward to the interview. Harry was only four years younger than himself. They had gone on wild parties together twenty years ago. He must not seem pompous, yet he was cast for a pompous role. He grinned as Harry came into the room. ‘I feel like a housemaster with one of his prefects on the mat. How did that kind of interview begin? “Now Pawling, I’d like first of all to have your account of what does seem to me a very unfortunate occurrence.” Wasn’t that the way?’

  ‘It wasn’t a bad opening, was it?’

  ‘Well, and how do you feel?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘It happened so quickly that I’ve not had time to think. If you had told me yesterday …’ He paused. There was nothing that he could say.

  ‘That’s rather how I thought it was. You see, from my point of view … We’re practically contemporaries after all. It would be an impertinence for me to interfere in your private matters. And I know that the criticism is brought against firms like Shell and B.P. and ourselves, that we do interfere with the private lives of our employees, but an oil community is rather like a regiment. In the old days a subaltern had to get his colonel’s permission before he married; that seems a lot of nonsense now, it was probably a lot of nonsense then, but if one is a member of a community … I’m getting off the track. The point is this, we are here to get work done. It’s part of my job to see that the best conditions for the carrying on of work are maintained and a public scandal or gossip on a large scale don’t make for the best work. Now I hope you’ll agree that I have acted correctly in cancelling tonight’s performance of the play.’

  ‘But the last performance is the most important.’

  ‘That’s why I have cancelled it. Think what the atmosphere would be. There wouldn’t be an empty seat. There’d be standers everywhere. The story is all round the camp. Everyone will want to see you and Iris acting a love scene together. You know how Hollywood builds up a fictitious interest in a film by pretending that the leading man and woman are having a romance. Everyone wants to see them acting together, because they can feel that it is real love, not make-believe. We don’t want that kind of atmosphere in an oil camp. When a situation does crop up—and how can you not have situations when you isolate several hundred men and women from all outside contacts, nine thousand miles from home and in the tropics?—when a situation does crop up, the only thing to do is to hush it up as quickly as you can, so that the camp can get on with its work and start again counting days to its next leave. Situations are contagious things. When one marriage blows up, other couples start examining their own, asking themselves questions that otherwise they’d not have done. You see my point?’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘What I’m concerned with now is giving what help I can to smoothing the whole thing out. There are one or two things that are past saving, Iris and Rex for instance. They haven’t been getting on for a long time, have they?’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’

  ‘From what I’ve seen they never will. She was the wrong wife for him. They’re young, they haven’t any children. Nothing’s at stake. The sooner they get apart the better. We can send her back to England right away, and there won’t be any difficulty about getting him another posting. It wouldn’t do for him to stay on here. The two of you in the same place would create an impossible situation. Rex and Iris don’t present a problem, except as regards their divorce and that is only a problem because of you. Have you considered what it entails.’

  ‘Isn’t divorce a simple business nowadays.’

  ‘It looks it when you read a five-line paragraph in an evening paper, but there’s been a great deal of diplomatic manoeuvring before those five lines reach print. I know, because I’ve been through this business. There are innumerable complications. The question of domicile for instance. By English law it is the husband’s domicile that counts; a wife is presumed to live where her husband does. The action except under special conditions has to be brought in the country where the husband lives. That can involve difficulties; but that’s for your lawyers to thrash out. I only mention this to show you that divorce isn’t as simple as those five-line paragraphs would lead you to suppose. It is always awkward and this particular case is awkward in a particular way. The obvious thing, of course, would be for you and Iris to set up house together and for Blanche and Rex to take proceedings against you. There could be no question of collusion; within a year all four of you would be free. But that is not possible in your case. You could not in this small community live openly with Iris when you are not married. Picture it. You can’t can you?’

  ‘I suppose I can’t.’

  ‘There’s always a difficulty where there is a great disparity of age; I know that from my own experience. Nobody can believe that it will last. Everyone is looking out for danger signals. One is an object of conjecture and curiosity. It’s hard enough when one is married, but if one isn’t, no, no, no: it’s quite impossible. In London it would be another matter. If you were working at head office, you could run as many establishments as you chose and no one would need to know. It might be the easiest sol
ution for you to apply for a transfer to head office, then you and Iris could set up house together; but if you did, it would be the end of your career with Pearl, as regards promotion. You’ve always worked overseas. Your value to Pearl lies in your experience of overseas conditions. You’re in the running for a G.M.’s appointment; that appointment would make a big difference to your pension, and you know Harry, old boy, divorce is an expensive matter. You’ll have to support two homes. I naturally don’t want to pry into your private business, I seem to remember hearing that Blanche had an independent income, but I very much doubt if Iris has. She has expensive tastes and anyhow you’ll want to spoil her. Under the best conditions you’ll have to watch your pennies closely. I’m sure it would be a mistake for you to break off your career overseas.’

  Charles watched Pawling closely. Was he making his point, was he sowing those seeds of doubt that would, he hoped, take root and flower? He did not want to suggest a line of action; but to create a climate in which the need for a certain line of action would occur spontaneously, so that Pawling would believe he had thought of it himself.

  ‘Those difficulties are not my concern,’ he said. ‘They’re for you and Blanche to thrash out together, and this is really the thing I want to say. It’ll be the hell of an awkward explanation between you and Blanche. You’ve been married for thirteen years; you’ve always seemed to get on very well together. It will be as much of a surprise to her as it has been to all of us. Would you like me to meet her at the airstrip and break the news to her? We’re old friends, she and I. It might be easier that way.’

  ‘I think it would be, I’d be very grateful… Yes, I’m sure you are right.’

  ‘There’s another thing, too.’ As a businessman Charles had learnt the value of keeping back a final argument until the deal had been clinched, to reassure a buyer so that he should not feel he had been rushed into something. He employed that technique now.

  ‘You’ll be able to discuss it calmly then,’ he said. ‘She’ll have had time to get adjusted to the idea. She’ll have been able to decide how she really feels. When you are taken off your guard it is easy to say something that once said, can’t be unsaid. When does she arrive?’

  ‘At three o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll be there to meet her.’

  2

  At that moment Blanche was paying her final visit to the hospital. Angus’s improvement had been maintained. He was still very weak, and he was in discomfort. He winced each time he shifted, but there was animation in his manner. He had become himself again. He was making plans.

  ‘As soon as I’m well enough, I’m taking a trip to Europe,’ he was telling Blanche. ‘I need a cool climate: a month in Switzerland, perhaps. I want to see my old friends. It’ll be fun to be in London with some money in my pocket. I used to envy those rich young men, a few years older than myself whom I’d see driving out to the country in their M.G.s and Jaguars. There’s no place like London if you have a little money and I have it now. Besides, there may be some business opportunities. I might get linked up with some big concern. I don’t know what exactly. But we live in an era of big amalgamations. If you don’t get in on the ground floor early, you can get crowded out. I don’t intend that to happen to me. If I keep my ears and eyes open I may catch on to something.’

  His voice glowed and his eyes were bright. How alive he was; it was strange to think that if one of those bullets had gone a centimetre one way or another all that vitality would have been snuffed out. That glow, that brightness made her heart beat faster.

  ‘How long will you be away?’ she asked.

  ‘Six months, a year, longer perhaps. I shan’t tie myself. The estate can run itself. An opportunity like this won’t come again.’

  Six months, a year: her spirits sank. Anything might happen in tha time. He was young and vivid. He would have time on his hands. If only he were to stay on. The nonsense with Shelagh was all washed up. All could be the way it was. If he once left Karak, what chance would she stand? A woman who was free would get her claws on him.

  ‘How much longer will you have to stay in hospital?’ she asked.

  ‘A month, six weeks.’

  ‘Will you go home by air?’

  ‘No, no, by ship. It’ll be a rest cure.’

  ‘Have you booked a passage yet?’

  He shook his head. ‘I want to travel by a cargo boat. Passages in them are always best fixed at the last moment.’

  And that would mean a delay of several days. They would have that time together; she would manage things better then. She would stay in town. None of those hurried meetings. Perhaps the memory of those few days, that week or so would serve as an amulet in London against other women. It was nice to think so anyhow.

  She stood up to go. ‘I don’t know whether I shall be able to come in next week.’

  ‘You’ll try though.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘It makes all the difference to me, having your visits to look forward to.’

  ‘Then I’ll try very hard.’

  Charles drove down alone to meet her. She was surprised to see him. ‘What’s wrong with Harry?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve come to tell you.’

  It was told very quickly. By the time they had reached the Keable bungalow, she knew the essential details.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d like some coffee.’

  She sat in silence, sipping it. Charles did the talking. ‘Everything depends on the way you handle it,’ he said. ‘You know what Harry is: the dearest fellow in the world. He’s completely reliable in his work, but you know the phrase, he’s got no enemy except himself. He can’t resist a party. He’s expansive, generous; he says more than he means. That’s how the whole thing started, I’d imagine. Iris took seriously what he did not mean to have taken seriously. She played Rex up; and Rex was in a jumpy state. He had had a great deal too much to drink that night. You know what happens when there is a scene. Things get said that are only quarter-meant; once said they can’t be unsaid, they can never be forgotten. That’s why I was so anxious to talk this over with you first, to prevent that happening to you and Harry. When you do discuss it, you can discuss it calmly; and after all you’re in a very different position from the Sinclairs. Harry is a senior executive. You’ve been married a long time. You’ve got two children. You understand each other. No one knows what any marriage is like below the surface, but you seemed a team. It isn’t a thing you want to break up in a second. The Sinclairs are at the very start of everything; they can make a second start. I don’t mean that you can’t: you yourself I mean, you are a good deal younger than Harry, but there is a difference of age between you two as a couple and the Sinclairs.

  ‘Moreover, Harry is at a crucial point in his career. He may become a general manager or he may peter out; he may get shelved. I tried to point this out to him, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I can tell you the exact truth. I have been worried about Harry these last months. He’s been losing grip. I had been wondering whether I should talk to you about it. I had been afraid that when the time came—it can only be a couple of years off—for him to be considered as a G.M., I shouldn’t be able to recommend him. Now if this divorce goes through, there can only be one answer to that problem. He would not be recommended. Iris could not fill the position of a G.M.’s wife as a divorcee, with everyone whispering behind her back. The morale of the camp would be in tatters. On the other hand, if this divorce does not go through, the incident may prove the exact shock treatment that Harry needs. He may pull himself together, cut down on drink and become the kind of man that he looked likely to develop into six years ago.’

  ‘You say “if this doesn’t go through”. but the Sinclair marriage is surely on the rocks. Nothing can save that, can it, after this?’

  ‘Nothing, and from everybody’s point of view the sooner they get rid of one another the better; but there is no need for Harry to be involved with this. He wa
sn’t the cause of the trouble. He only brought things to a head. Barbara and I hadn’t given the Sinclairs half a year. She’s young and headstrong. She may think she’s in love with Harry now, but in my opinion, what she sees in him is a way out of an intolerable situation. Once out of it, if she’s left alone, she’ll turn to someone else. My point, Blanche, is this. If you feel like doing so, you could, if you played it slowly, save your marriage. Time is on your side; if you do nothing drastic, if you are amenable, seem to agree with everything but make delays. Passive resistance is the line. Iris will lose her patience. She’ll find someone else.’

  He looked at her inquiringly. Surely, he thought, she can’t want to break her marriage up. She raised her head.

  ‘I’m very grateful to you for this,’ she said. ‘So must Harry be. I don’t know how he would have found the words to tell me. It would have been ghastly; you’ve spared us that. There’s one other thing I’d like to ask. It’s a lot to ask, but I’d be grateful if you’d let me rest here this afternoon, think it all out by myself, then I’d like to go over this eveniug and see Harry, at six o’clock. Perhaps you could telephone him. I can’t tell how our talk together will work out. This has been a shock and a surprise, but suppose our talk goes badly, I’d like to have an exit. Could I come back here and stay the night?’

  ‘There could be nothing simpler.’

  ‘Haven’t you got Gerald here?’

  ‘There’s plenty of room, don’t worry, and good luck.’

  Shortly before six Blanche left her room. As she came downstairs, she saw a corner of the drawing-room reflected in the mirror in the hall. Shelagh and Gerald were sitting very close together. She fancied that they were holding hands. There was a light in Shelagh’s eyes which could mean only one thing. Angus and she were a closed chapter.

  Blanche drove round to her own bungalow in Charles’s car. Harry was sitting on the veranda watching for her. He must be miserable. I’ll make it easy for him, she thought.