by Iris Murdoch
'What has that got to do with it? God, it you mean you went there to make a survey of my marriage —
'Oh, I wouldn't put it like that, said Emma cosily. 'Now do sit down dear boy, and stop making me nervous. You haven't touched your drink.
Randall stood before her open-mouthed. He thought, this woman has talked to Ann, has talked to Ann about me. She has been all over Grayhallock leaving her snail's traces. She has even got hold of Ann, she has stolen even Grayhallock from me. He said half shouting 'Look, what are you saying? Are you mad or what?
' Never mind, Randall, said Emma, 'and please don't shout. Never mind. One must not play the god in other people's destiny. In any case, one can never do it properly. She spoke in a tone of rather casual disappointment.
'Emma, said Randall, pulling the chair back and banging its two front feet on the ground, 'don't pretend that it's you who have done this. It is I who have done it.
'Yes, yes, said Emma soothingly. 'Don't let's quarrel about it, anyway. Do sit down, my child, and stop being unpleasant to me and spoiling the afternoon.
Randall felt frantic. There was something of whicht he must convince her, of which he must convince himself. There was something which he must not in these moments let her forever steal. He said, 'You're going to lose your, gaiety girl. You won't like that!
Emma just murmured, 'Why, Randall, Randall, I believe you re drunk! Whatever will Lindsay think when I tell her? .
Randall lifted his glass and for a moment intended to hurl it on the ground. The word. agreement' flashed luridly before him like a neon sign. Then he put the glass down with a crash and turned and ran out of the door. He ran out of the flat and into the road and didn't stop running until he reached the corner.
He walked on breathless and found that he was talking to himself aloud and cursing. He was still unsure what had happened, but he knew that he had been defeated. Emma had made it appear that even this had been decided, had been arranged, by her and Lindsay. Even here he was excluded, even here his action was stolen from him. He knew of course that it was only an appearance, a cheap magician's trick. It was not really so. Or was it? How deftly, how cleverly, had not Emma sowed the seeds of doubt in his mind! He would never understand, he would never know the truth, he would never be at peace.
The curious calm which he had felt this morning concerning Lindsay was completely destroyed. Frantic doubts and anxieties about her flooded and overwhelmed him. He must telephone her at once, he must see her, somehow, that very day. She must never be allowed to go back to Emma's flat. Would he ever, in the end, really get her at all? As the spur of this terror drew his blood he revolved a whirl of instant schemes for driving at breakneck speed to Leicester.
Yet, by some devilish chemistry, even in the midst of this he felt as he walked on more slowly now, a quite new and different pain. Emma had destroyed his peace not only concerning Lindsay but concerning Ann. It was as if he were now being made to face that horror squarely for the first time; and he recalled with a groan something from which he had averted his eyes, something which he had been putting off till this time, till the time of his criminal freedom. The question of Miranda.
Chapter Twenty-two
MIRANDA was already there when he arrived. The hayloft was full of a half light, a shadowy light impregnated with scattered grains of gold, and by the open door, through which the swallows darted softly to and fro, a square of sunlight fell upon the worm-eaten floor.
Miranda was sitting at the far end of the loft, perched on a beam.
Two of her dolls sat beside her. Randall strode towards her and leaned his head against her side in a sudden abandonment: 'My little bird!
The beam reached to his breast, so that Miranda was seated a little above him. She put her two hands over his shoulders and laid her head down upon his, holding him close for a moment. Then she gently pushed him away.
After his defeat at the hands of Emma, Randall had remained for some time in a state of frenzy. He had telephoned Lindsay's Leicester number in vain, and had been beginning to believe the most terrible and fantastic things when at the third attempt he got hold of her. Lindsay by telephone was perfection itself. She had been rational, masterly and loving. The last, especially, he by now voraciously required. When he had suggested that she should not return again to Emma's flat she had replied reasonably enough that after all she must go back some time to fetch her things. So it had been agreed that she should for the moment, go back to Notting Hill. But the way in which she now assumed that things were moving into their last phase was tacit and beautiful. It was she who had, with a clairvoyant perception and with the firmness of an able general settling outstanding problems in a due order, raised the question of Miranda. And Randall had agreed that he must, now at last, speak to his daughter. He said nothing to Lindsay about the money. But he knew she knew.
The rendezvous with Miranda had been arranged in conditions of secrecy with the help of Nancy Bowshott. Randall had walked from the station across the fields and through the hops, reaching the stable block, which stood on the edge of the wood, without misadventure. He was terrified of an encounter with Ann; and as he came distantly within sight of the house, terror, pity, and a dreadful old indestructible tenderness devoured his heart. But the prospect of Miranda, the sight of Miranda, drove these things away.
'You've grown! said Randall. It was true. She had changed. She was dressed in a light jersey and trousers, her long legs swinging. He saw, on a level with his eyes, the slight lift of her breasts under the jersey. He stood leaning against the beam beside her.
'You've been ages away! said Miranda.
He was glad to find her completely composed, as self-contained as she always was. He feared her emotions, he relied hopefully upon her reason.
'I'm sorry, said Randall. 'I've been going through a bad time. The presence of his daughter made him feel suddenly very sorry for himself.
'Poor Daddy!
'Look, Miranda, said Randall. He felt he must talk quickly, although they ran little risk of interruption in the abandoned loft. 'Look, girlie. I must talk to you seriously about what I'm going to do. You're almost grown-:-up now, and I'm going to talk to you as if you were grown-up. And you must help me.
'Is it about going away? said Miranda. She swung her legs. Swift as a racing shadow a swallow passed behind her head to its nest with a soft flurry of wings. There was a distant jargoning.
'Yes, said Randall. 'I'm afraid so. He did not look at her. He leaned on the beam, like a prisoner in the dock. He said, 'Listen, Miranda. I don't know how much you know about this — but I've fallen in love with somebody, somebody else, somebody in London, and I want to leave your mother and marry this person. It was very hard to say. It sounded, in this place, beside Miranda, suddenly unreal.
'I know.
'How did you know? said Randall. He lifted his eyes to his daughter's. Her pale freckled face, under its tousled cap of autumn reds, was poised above him. She was beginning to resemble Ann, as Ann had been when he married her. Only this was a thought to be shunned..
'Oh well, said Miranda, 'one does know these things. She added, 'Mummy knows, of course.
'Yes, said Randall. Had they, could they have, discussed it? 'And you're not angry with me?
'Of course not, silly. These things happen. She was wonderfully, almost appallingly, grown-up.
'You see, said Randall, 'I wouldn't go if you — didn't want me to.
He felt, after her last words, safe in saying this; and it was something he would wish to have said.
'Are you — asking my permission? It was almost cruel in its deliberate clarity.
'Well, yes, said Randall, suddenly afraid again. 'But of course you must go!
They had certainly got quickly to the point. Randall gave a long sigh and took her hand and pressed it against his brow.
'You don't think I've enjoyed it, Miranda went on, 'this quarrelly feeling between you and Mummy all the time» the scenes I've been made the witness of? A b
roken home is better than an atmosphere of violence. It sounded like a statement made in a police court.
'Oh God, said Randall, 'I'm sorry, Miranda. I've been a rotten father, he thought; but the thought was as artificial as Miranda's words. Poor Ann, he thought. But these words too were dead. They did not dare to go out and touch their object. At last with conviction he thought, poor me.
'Don't be sorry, she said. 'I'm saying I'd be relieved, relieved if you went, if it were all settled somehow.
Randall had a curious sense of being positively seen off. He said, 'Of course I'd never lose touch with you, you know that. You could come and live with me and Lindsay if you wanted to. You'll love Lindsay, she's a dear person. We'd share you with — here. We'd all manage. Would we? he wondered.
Miranda was so cool now, but what really went on in that little head? When he had gone, positively gone, what grief perhaps would follow? From the idea of Miranda's suffering he turned away as from an object both too sacred and too terrible to contemplate. And it occurred to him how much she had always in fact spared him the sight of it. When Steve died, when the end came suddenly, when he had told her, how she had twisted from his embrace, running to her room and locking the door. And there had been a silence within more terrifying than any wail. Now too she would suffer in private. She'll survive, he thought, children just do survive, they get on. It was shabby, all the same.
'Will you live abroad? said Miranda. 'I should like to visit you abroad. She swung her legs. It sounded gay, like the prospect of a holiday.
'Perhaps, said Randall. 'We shall be Abroad a lot, I expect. Would they live abroad? He had scarcely thought about it. The barriers between himself and Lindsay had seemed so vast that his imagination had never properly overshot them. What would it be like? He lifted his head and saw close above them, glued to a rafter, a swallow's nest from which the young swallows were looking out, a group of strange little faces. They reminded him of Miranda's dolls.
'Don't worry about me, Daddy, said Miranda. 'And don't worry about Mummy either. She'll be all right.
'God! I hope so, said Randall. It sounded so weak. He looked up at her. Yes, she was changed. She was already a separate being, a possible judge.
'You know, Mummy will be relieved too, said Miranda.
'It's better to have a horrid thing than to have it hanging over you. And mummy will manage. She's awfully tough really. She hums all the time. I thought at first she was crying, but it was only humming.
God, I can't bear this, thought Randall. 'I'm glad you think she'll manage. I hope she'll be happier. I know you'll look after her. I am a swine, he thought; but this thought too was resolved into, poor me; and he felt near to tears.
'Mummy won't be happy, it's not her thing, said Miranda. 'But she's brave, and I think she's good. She spoke judiciously.
This must stop, thought Randall. He said, 'How are you in other ways, Miranda? How's school getting on?
'Very well, thank you, Daddy.
I'm a bloody travesty of a father, thought Randall. There was a sudden sound behind him, and he turned with a sick jump of the heart; but it was only a pigeon which had alighted at the sunny loft door. Miranda laughed. A swallow passed, and another almost above their heads began its long jumbled song. 'I suppose no one's likely to come here, are they? said Randall. 'No one saw you on the way?
No, said Miranda. The only person who might come is Penn, but I told him I was going to the churchyard to feed Steve's birds and he wasn't to come, so he'll be mooching around at the gate waiting for me to come back. He's got quite soppy about me, it's so funny! She laughed again.
'Really? I hope you keep him in order! Impertinent little puppy, he thought. And at the juxtaposition, so carelessly made by Miranda, of Penn's name with Steve's, his heart swelled. Life had been unjust to him, terribly unjust.
'Oh, don't worry! said Miranda. 'I just twist his tail. You will write to me a lot, won't you?
'Of course, my bird. I'll write ever so much. And you must write too. But you'll be with me half the time, anyway.
'I suppose Mummy will be my legal guardian: said Miranda. 'But of course she wouldn't prevent me from seeing you.
She seemed to have thought of everything: and in his gratitude for her calmness Randall had occasion to think too that she was, almost, making too little of his predicament. 'We shall see each other a lot.
We can't do without each other, can we? , 'Don't write to me at the Bowshotts', said Miranda. 'You shouldn't have done that. It's so undignified. You surely don't think that Mummy would open a letter addressed to me?
'Well, no, said Randall. 'It was just that letter —’
'You must write quite frankly. 'You know that no one will see your letters except me. And I'll burn them if you like.
In her remarkable grasp of the situation, her expert reassurance of him, Randall felt again the curious sense of being bundled off. He said, 'You're wonderful, Miranda. I can't tell you how grateful I am. He put his Ann round her knees and looked up into the pale steady face of his child.
Again, as if she did not want to be moved or softened, she pushed him off. 'When you go away now, will you never come back? Randall took a deep breath. He was certainly being put through it.
Never was a long time. He said, evading it in his thought, 'I suppose that's it.
'Never after today?
There was no avoiding it. 'Never after today.
'I can pack up your papers and stuff, you know, said Miranda. She had thought of that too. 'Thank you. But we can see about all those things later.
'I've brought you something to take away now, she said. She took up a parcel which had been lying on the other side of her on the beam, next to her dolls, and put it into his hand.
Randall took it with surprise. It was soft and light. 'Is it a present?
'No — it's something of your own. Look and see! She seemed pleased with herself. Randall undid the string and began to pull the paper apart. The parcel contained the toy animals Toby and Joey. He turned and leaned against the beam, burying his face in his hands. The toys fell to the floor.
Miranda jumped down. She picked them up and dusted them and put them beside her dolls. 'There, Daddy, there. Don't take on so! Don't be, upset! You've got to help me not to be upset, haven't you? Don't, Daddy, don't!
'Christ in heaven, said Randall. He laid his cheek against the rough wood. A whole world of innocence was broken and gone forever. His world. Miranda's world. 'I'm sorry.
'Don't keep saying you're sorry, Daddy. Everything will be all right. Now do stop or I shall cry.
He straightened himself and picked up the toys again. Miranda was standing close beside him, so slender, older, taller. He said, 'I should like you to keep one of them for me. There, I'll give you Joey. That will make sure that we meet often. Because Joey must come and visit Toby, mustn't he?
'Of course! And now, Daddy, I think I'd better go back, in case Mummy's wondering where I am.
Randall looked at her as she stood there, Joey under one Ann, the dolls a-swing from her other hand, and he saw her, almost objectively, as a beautiful young girl. Her face seemed to have changed so much, even since he last saw her, to have formed, to have hardened. It was as if she had already had, in some indefinable but crucial form, experience. And where could experience have come to her; he half proudly wondered, but somehow from himself? He had, somehow, touched her consciousness and made her, beautifully, older. Soon she would be ready for love: and as he thought prophetically of the suffering which she would inflict, and how she would doubtless suffer herself at the hands of the god, he shook his head over her, sadly, but still with pride.
'Come along, my dear, she said. She had never used such words before. He wanted to embrace her, but could not. He kissed her hand. It was a strange gesture.
From the open loft door, as they moved towards the stairs, he saw, across the vegetable garden, the back facade of Grayhallock, flat and formal, its windows like so many eyes. The shadow of one of the t
owers stretched almost to his feet. He looked at the house, and the house looked back, cold, distant and preoccupied. It had never cared for him and Ann. A swallow rushed past his head, startling him into motion again; and as he descended the stairs he remembered his mother and her endlessly repeated questions about the swallows in the days when she was dying. That had been this spring and these swallows. But it seemed already that she had been dead for years.
'Don't be afraid of meeting Mummy, said Miranda. 'She's inside trying out a new flower arrangement. She's decided to enter the flower arrangement competition after all. Clare Swann is furious! The flower arrangement competition! How he had hated and despised it all. Yet now he felt an agonizing sense of exclusion. Never is a long time.
'That's good. Thank you, Miranda, thank you from my heart. You're sure you're all right yourself? I've been talking about me all the time.
'I'm fine. Oh, I didn't tell you, I met Emma Sands when she was down here. I had such a good talk with her. I think she's an awfully interesting person.
Emma again. Randall heard the name with nausea. The bloody woman cropped up everywhere. Emma talking to Miranda, Emma seducing Miranda: the idea was intolerable. Even here Emma had pushed in. Would he never be allowed to forget her? 'Yes, she is, isn't she? But you must run along. I'll write to you very soon, Miranda. I'll write tomorrow. Don't worry about me.
'And don't worry about me either. Good-bye, Daddy. Good luck. He took her hand again, looking into her face. Her lip trembled now. She looked away from him, shook her head, and then jerked from him and ran off towards the house.
Randall stood watching her until she disappeared. Then he turned back towards the hops. But when he had got under cover, in the shade of the heavy green festoons, he paused again. He would go and take a last look at the roses.
The great hop field, passing behind the stables, reached as far as the road, and he walked in concealment through the quiet loaded colonnades. The ripe papery hops smelt sweet-sour and beery. He crossed the road quickly and came among the roses. The empty expanse of the Marsh opened in front of him, greyish-green in the bright light. No one was in sight, and everything was exceedingly quiet in the midday heat.