An Unofficial rose

by Iris Murdoch

  'It's odd, said Emma, when he had moved away from her. 'I always thought I should faint if I were ever face to face with you again, but I seem not to have. I feel quite ordinary. It's just that we can't talk to each other. It's a meeting in Hades.

  Hugh felt a humble gratitude to her for having at least expected to be moved. He said in a gentle voice, 'We'll soon be able to talk. Just keep going.

  Her face had sharpened with the years. It was more fierce and hungry then he remembered it, and the red-rimmed eyes showed luminous yet darker. Her hair seemed to have dried and stiffened into an iron-grey frizz. But already he was forgetting what she had looked like before, and the pale ghosts of familiar images fled like leaves before the wind.

  'I'm not sure that I shall let you stay as long as that, said Emma.

  'I'm not sure that I want to talk to you. My curiosity is almost satisfied now. I don't want to discuss the past. I wonder why you came? Hugh paused. He could not find the right Word. 'Need, he said. 'What? Do speak up.

  'Need.

  'Rubbish, said Emma. She sipped her drink and made a wry face. 'Why did you come to Fanny's funeral? said Hugh.

  'A final act of brutality.

  'Rubbish. Emma smiled briefly. She said, 'Can't you see I'm an old dry object like a stuffed alligator? A voice comes out, hut the thing is hollow really. It's no good looking for a soul inside me now.

  Hugh was more pleased than otherwise at her expression of melancholy. He realized that he had dreaded to find her satisfied, to find her with some rounded perfection of her own, to find her contented. He said, 'Come, come, don't be so gloomy! There's plenty to do yet.

  'You were ways a sort of ninny, Hugh' said Emma. I see you are as silly as ever. You still have no sense of humour. It's one of your charms, a sort of imitation innocence. Now tell me why you came.

  'I told you. I couldn't stop thinking about you and it was necessary to see you.

  'Well, you've seen me.

  'I hope you will— permit this to be — the beginning of a friendship, said Hugh. He had said these words to himself before; now they sounded abstract and out of place.

  'A friendship? said Emma. She seemed to hold the word up between her finger and thumb. Then she said morosely, 'You don't know what you're talking to. Then, 'You must have run into Randall and Lindsay just outside.

  'Yes, said Hugh. He had completely forgotten about his son and was not pleased to be reminded. 'Yes. The girl is your secretary, Lindsay Rimmer?

  'Yes. That's her. And that. Emma pointed to two photographs propped up on her desk. 'Isn't she perfectly gorgeous?

  Hugh recognized the thick plaits of hair, the wide-set eyes, and the amused expression which now struck him as a sort of complacent insolence. 'Mmm. Do you see much of Randall? 'He practically lives here. Because of darling Lindsay of course. But you knew?

  'No, said Hugh. He was surprised and annoyed and chilled as if the temperature of the room were sinking steadily. 'Why ever should I know?

  'I can think of a reason or two, said Emma. 'Anyway, you must be the last person to hear. Yes, they're quite devoted. She said it with a sort of icy brutality, watching Hugh as if for signs of pain.

  'I supposed he had — a mistress in London. I didn't know who it was.

  'Oh, but their relations are entirely chaste! said Emma. She said it with a viperous satisfaction, watching beady-eyed for its effect on Hugh.

  Hugh's annoyance began to fix itself on Emma, and as he glared at her veiled sardonic face he felt with a certain zest more present to her, as if some more of him had arrived. 'I'm shocked to hear it, he said. 'That makes it worse.

  'Why, pray? said Emma. She was hunched, pleased, curled like a snake in a hole.

  'I don't know, said Hugh. 'Surely you understand what's involved? Randall's wife is made wretched —

  'And all for nothing? Oh, but it's not for nothing. It's for something beautiful. .

  'Is Lindsay in love with him?

  'She loves us both.

  'But you know about Ann?

  'I've never permitted Randall to discuss his wife with us. That wouldn't have been right. She said it with an air of self-righteousness which was clearly designed as a provocation.

  Hugh stared at her, bewildered and fascinated. He felt himself confronted with an entirely unfamiliar moral world, a world which seemed to have its own seriousness, even its own rules, while remaining entirely exotic and alien. Yet the experience itself, the puzzlement, the sense of danger, the shock, that was familiar; and it came to his mind how much of Emma's fascination had lain for him in her moral otherness. She had composed even the simplest scene quite differently. This had seemed to him her dangerousness, but also her originality, her freedom. And he had then been aware with a little thrill of excitement that this novelty of vision was related to something in her character which was dark, perhaps twisted. He had, in the interim, forgotten. He had withdrawn those darker colours from her image.

  As he now, hastily and imprecisely, began to restore them he felt something move within him. It was, surely the old love, the real one. 'Randall has behaved beautifully, said Emma. She gave a high-pitched laugh.

  He had forgotten that laugh. 'I don't understand you, he said, 'and I certainly don't understand what Randall thinks he's up to. Are you fond of my son?

  'I love him, said Emma, with studied simplicity.

  Hugh looked at her clever mysterious face. What was she thinking about him? He hardened his expression. She must not yet see his melting bewilderment, but only that he was still capable of fighting with her. He hated the idea of Randall's frequentation; and as he felt the old alarming thrill he measured with dismay the implications of Randall's being, so mysteriously but so authoritatively, around. He said, 'Will you come over to my flat soon, tomorrow perhaps, and see my Tintoretto? You've never seen it, have you? I got it after we — parted. It's a very fine one. He wanted their speech with each other to become simple.

  'See your Tintoretto forsooth, said Emma. 'I shouldn't think so.

  I mean, I shouldn't think I'll come.

  'Don't torment me, Emma, said Hugh. He said the words dryly enough. He had said them before, and in wilder tones.

  'How far you have come and how quickly! she said with her shrill laugh. 'You surprise me — and yet you don't. Do you realize we haven't talked to each other for twenty-five years? And you behave as if we were two people who were acquainted.

  'But it doesn't matter, does it? It's impossible to believe it's so long.

  We patently are acquainted.

  'Twenty-five years matters. I can hardly think of anything that matters more, she said sharply.

  'Be simple with me, Emma, said Hugh. 'Help me. Coming to see you like this I am put in the position of a fool. You must be merciful to me. He had often spoken to her like this in the old days.

  She shook her head. 'God put you in the position of a fool, my dear.

  And as for simplicity, I am being ever so simple. Honour satisfied. Curiosity satisfied. Time to go, Hugh.

  'But you will come tomorrow?

  'Certainly not. Not tomorrow or the day after or ever.

  'Emma! Hugh rose: 'You can't behave like this. If you weren't going to be kind to me you shouldn't have let me see you. I must see you again. I insist.

  Emma looked up at him, toad-like, her shoulders humped. 'Yes, I remember you, she said. 'I remember those touching accents of the deprived child. The world has a strict obligation to be kind to Hugh Peronett. But I didn't particularly want to see you, it was your idea. I am happy here. I have all I want. I have my happy family. As for insisting, you know perfectly well that you are in no position to insist.

  'I don't know what you mean by your happy family, said Hugh, 'but I do know that you are being deliberately cruel to me.

  'You were deliberately cruel to me.

  He looked down at her cold face, and his hands moved weakly, gesturing the judgement away. He felt its injustice passionately. It was she who was the cruel one.
And he felt that these words, these strugglings, had occurred before. 'Ah, if you just want to punish me — but you can't — not after so long. Anyway you can, if you see more of me, do it much more beautifully.

  Emma laughed. 'You can still startle me with your moments of intelligence! Anyway, I didn't say I wouldn't see you, I only said I wouldn't come to your flat.

  'So — you might see me — here, for instance?

  'Not for instance. Just here. But I'm not sure. I'll think about it.

  'Now you must go.

  'But I shall want to talk to you — properly. I shall want to talk to you-alone.

  'Why don't you say what you mean? I had to adopt Randall, I had to let him in. It has worked beautifully.

  'I'm not sure if I want to be — adopted — into your family, said Hugh. 'It's —

  'You're not being asked, said Emma.

  Yes, it was the old love and the old pain. He had forgotten the extent to which, before, he had quite simply been her slave. He said abjectly, 'When can I come?

  'I'll think whether I want to see you again. I may decide there's no point in it.

  'And you won't come to Brompton Square?

  'No. Then suddenly she said, 'Would you take me to Grayhallock if I asked?

  Hugh was surprised, shocked, pleased. He said, 'Certainly, I'd be delighted to. But the next moment he felt that his willingness was a betrayal of Ann. He ought not, surely, to display her abandoned condition to the cold curious gaze of Randall's protector. And it was almost as if he felt that if he allowed Emma to come there she might put a spell on them all. The people at Grayhallock, what was left of them, were after all his family.

  'I'll think about that too, said Emma. 'Now do go. I keep asking you to go and you pay no attention. Those children will be back any moment.

  He approached her. He wished before leaving to startle her into a moment of warmth; for he had the impression, and he looked forward to reflecting on it, that she was concealing at least some pleasure at seeing him again.

  She said, 'I suppose I owe it to you after all that I turned to the consolations of art! Her laugh, as she looked up at him, seemed more nervous.

  She watched him with raised eyebrows as he knelt down slowly and awkwardly beside her chair. As he looked at her now in silence he felt again, as he had felt when he entered the room, that miraculous sense of her being which made a solitude; only this time it was a solitude where only she was. It was he who was absent. Surely this was love. Still looking he groped for her hand.

  She drew in a long breath. After a moment she whispered, as if to conceal the words even from herself, 'Ah, you should have been braver then. Shouldn't you? Shouldn't you?

  He said 'Yes' with so full a heart that he could no longer face her.

  He lifted the dry, stained, bony hand towards his lips. It smelt so strongly of nicotine that he could not prevent himself from inhaling in an ecstasy of memory before he kissed it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  'SQUARE one, said Randall.

  Lindsay laughed.

  They were sitting side by side in a big Edwardian pub near the comer of Church Street. The door stood open to the dusty sunny road, and the endless line of traffic. Their hands were clasped under the table.

  'I wonder how my father is getting on with your —’ said Randall.

  The final word presented insuperable difficulties.

  'I hope excellently, said Lindsay. She had her big bland wide face turned towards him.

  He did not look at her, but let his delighted attention wander about the pub, noting a pair of very young lovers, also holding hands, a Chelsea pensioner, two aged crones and a Teddy boy. About all these people a glory shone. Randall was experiencing somewhat the emotions of a dog suddenly presented with the Sunday joint; and indeed he looked, with his expression of rapturous doubt joined with apprehension of a higher and inconceivably beneficent yet also dangerous world, positively dog-like.

  He said, 'Do you really mean that? Her tender, intent, ironical gaze gently toasted one side of Iris face.

  'Of course I do, said Lindsay. She squeezed his hand with an increasing pressure, digging in her finger nails..

  Randall winced. 'She shouldn't have let us out, should she? he said. 'I mean, it puts ideas into our heads. We ought to have been sitting together on the sofa and being referred to as «the young people». He turned his wrist against Lindsay's hand until her grip relaxed.

  'Ah, she trusts us!

  'But she's wrong to trust us, isn't she? said Randall eagerly. He turned for a moment to face Lindsay. The big, intent, slightly mocking yellow eyes were very close to his own. He could not search their speckled depth for images of victory or flight. Joy and humility confused him utterly.

  'That's up to you, boy, said Lindsay. She gave his hand another squeeze and withdrew hers. The pale eyes widened a moment with an intensified mockery and were withdrawn too. Randall now studied her profile. The lips and cheeks were moulded with a spiritual complacency which made him faint with delight. Just so arrogantly self-filled would an angel look in repose.

  'Well, it's up to you too, my queen, said Randall. 'You want to be — taken, don't you?

  'If you're brave enough to take me. Not otherwise. Otherwise I'm very well off as I am, thank you. She spoke with a little-girlish satisfaction.

  Randall sighed. This was the point they had got to the last time, just before Emma had so obligingly swallowed them up. 'But you've got to help me to be brave. Don't let us have a vicious circle here.

  'I'm afraid I'm not going to help you, said Lindsay. She spoke judiciously. 'But I expect I shall watch your struggles with sympathy. She laughed.

  'They are struggles, you know, said Randall. 'I wonder how much you really imagine them? You know how I feel Ann now as a dead weight. Yet at the same lime I'm terribly sorry for her. And I'm hideously — connected with her. It's odd how that connexion survives any real relationship. And it seems to go out into everything. The roses. Even the bloody furniture!

  Randall spoke sincerely. He knew that there was a world of difference between a secret liaison and a public rupture, and he feared the latter in a dozen ways. Yet there was also in him, and it seemed at times to shiver through him like a shaft of light, a pure desire for destruction, to smash everything to bits. He worshipped the purity of that urge. He wished he could explain to Lindsay how important it was to him that she should let her wildness play, as it were, upon him. His tiny purity yearned to her immense purity as to the ground of its being, and he struggled with her wordlessly as a mystic struggles with his God.

  'How you manage your wife is your affair, said Lindsay. 'I don't want to hear about it.

  'I don't see why I should do all the work!

  'Assuming your marriage is over, said Lindsay, ignoring his remark. 'Is it? She turned towards him again and gave him a hard look. Her face had at such moments a strength before which Randall foundered.

  'Yes, of course it is.

  'Well then, act accordingly.

  'Ah, you are honest, he said. 'You are so much honester than I am! So much stronger too, it was on the tip of his tongue to say, but he refrained. He did not want positively to suggest to Lindsay that she was dominant. Lindsay bestriding him had better remain a private fantasy.

  Lindsay smiled. The strength passed without remainder into the smile. The other side of a turning screw. 'The world would not account either of us honest. I wonder how much you really fear the world. Randall?

  Randall did not know. He said emulating her toughness, 'Time will show. He added, 'I suppose we are rather unprincipled, aren't we?

  'We don't live by abstract rules, said Lindsay. 'But our acts have their places. They belong to us.

  'Their places in a pattern, said Randall. 'Yes. In a form. Our lives belong to us. But he thought at once, I am talking nonsense. My life has not belonged to me for years. And then he thought, but it will belong to me, and he felt the shaft of light go through him. To cover up his last remark he s
aid. 'Ann lives by rules and her acts don’t have places, they don't belong anywhere. It's a very depressing thing to witness. I wonder why it's so depressing? It makes me so gloomy sometimes I want to die. Ann is abstract. He spoke with a sudden passion. What was it he so positively hated here?

  'Morality is depressing, said Lindsay. She was smiling slightly and drawing her finger in and out of the wet rings on the table to make a complex rosiform pattern.

  'Your morality is not, said Randall. 'It invigorates, it inspires, it gives life. You have a marvellous moral toughness. You are so completely honest and genuine. You do me immense good.

  'Get me another drink, Randall dear.

  He rose and went to the bar. Simply drinking with her was paradise. He looked about him. A group of people had come in. A fat elderly woman joined them. She kissed each of them. They all began to chatter. Randall looked on them with amazement and affection. Wonderful ordinary people whose lives worked.

  'You know, he said to Lindsay as he got back with the drink, 'I long to spoil you. It's almost incredible to me, and somehow marvellous, that you've never been out of England. Think of the places there are to show you I'

  'Ah, it is I who would spoil you, she said. 'I would show you things you never dreamt of if you turned out to deserve them.

  There was in her cool stare a pinpoint of yearning which Randall perceived with joy, while at the same time he felt, at her so turning him away from her lack of experience, a pure compassion. Strength flowed into him. 'We're pretty evenly matched, aren't we?

  She smiled now, and just touched him on the nose with her finger. 'Lindsay, Lindsay, he said, in an overflowing of tenderness. 'This is the beginning of something? We will go away together, won't we?