by Angus Wilson
Suddenly he heard himself saying in a clear, artificial voice ‘I’m so glad that we should have become such good friends, Sven, and I hope you are too. I don’t expect you realize what a very lonely man I am in some ways. Oh! I know how lucky I am in my family, but they’re terribly narrow. I felt perhaps that you were feeling that too. Richard, for example’ by now Edwin was talking at breakneck speed ‘he lives in books, takes no pleasure in the life around him. Now you must find that very strange, being so strong and lithe and well-made. Yes I’m afraid the truth of the matter is that my family are all what we call in England kill-joys, that is they get no real fun out of life. That’s what I’ve so admired about you, you obviously get so much fun out of life. I think it’s probably because I’ve allowed my wife to dominate the family so. You’ll think it funny of me to say so, but I’m not really very much of a woman’s man. I think women are inclined rather to be kill-joys. Do you think so?’
‘Do I?’ said Sven ‘do I think that women kill joy? No, oh no. Certainly not that’ and he began to shake with laughter, but seeing Edwin’s face twisted with combined excitement and alarm he controlled his amusement and added ‘but I think I so well understand what you may mean, you must tell me about this. But not here, I think, for it is now getting so dark and a rain spot has fallen on my face so that I think there will be a storm. Shall you not tell me in the town down there?’
‘Of course!’ said Edwin eagerly and he began to clamber down the hill. ‘We’ll go into Milkford and I’ll ring up from there to say we’ve been caught by the storm. If we can’t get a car we may have to stay the night there. You won’t mind that, will you? It’ll give us a real chance to get to know each other, and they say the Bull’s really a very decent old pub.’
At first there had only been a few heavy drops of rain falling through the trees in the wood. Richard, who had reached the death of Stefan Trofimovich, positively refused to move, and even Mrs Rackham who was being once more horrified and entranced by the vulgarity of Mrs Elton preferred to take no notice. Then quite suddenly the storm had burst over their heads – the picnic things all shook under the blast of the thunder-clap and the whole wood was lit up by a great fork of lightning which seemed to strike obliquely at the nearby stream. Before a second and more deafening thunder-clap had sounded, Mrs Rackham had jumped to her feet.
‘Come on, Richard, pack up the picnic basket. We mustn’t stay under these trees with this lightning about. Make for the car and the clearing. Help me with the rugs, Elizabeth. Monica,’ she called ‘don’t stand there, my dear, we’ll all get drenched soon if we don’t move, apart from the danger of the lightning.’
But Monica stood a little away from them, her face chalk-white and her eyes round with terror. As the next fork of lightning zigzagged viciously in front of them she began to scream.
‘Edwin, Edwin! My God! where are you? Oh pray God nothing happens. We must find him, we must find him’ and she turned and ran down the little path. She had hardly gone a few paces when she tripped on a tree root and fell on her face, bruising her cheek and cutting the side of her chin.
Richard made as though to move towards her and then blushing scarlet, turned in the direction of the car. But already Elizabeth had run to her mother and, throwing herself on her she sobbed,
‘Mummie darling, Mummie darling, let’s go away from this place.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Monica,’ said Mrs Rackham ‘pull yourself together. You’re scaring the child out of her wits.’ She took her daughter’s arm and started to pull her to her feet, but Monica pulled her arm away roughly ‘We must find him’ she said and began to weep bitterly.
‘Stop this at once’ said Mrs Rackham sternly ‘Edwin’s perfectly capable of looking after himself’ and she led her sobbing daughter to the car. By now the rain was pouring down. Monica’s fashionable hair style was washed across on to her face and strands of hair got stuck to the cut on her chin, meanwhile the blood ran down on to the white dress beneath. As they came to the clearing there was a blinding flash of lightning, followed by a crash. In a few moments smoke was ascending from the other side of the stream – one of the larches had been struck.
‘You must drive, Richard’ said Mrs Rackham ‘Your mother’s not at all well’ and she helped her daughter into the back, as she did so she heard her mumbling ‘Oh God! don’t let it happen! Oh God! don’t let it happen!’That any daughter of mine should be superstitious over a storm, she thought.
‘It’s lucky, there’s only the four of us this time’ said Richard, as he started the car.
Elizabeth kicked his leg ‘You silly, thoughtless idiot, don’t let Mummie hear you’ she said.
I’ve failed again, thought Richard. When I was reading about Stefan Trofimovich’s death, I wanted to be there so that I could make him happy, to tell him that for all his faults I knew he was a good man. But when my own mother is in trouble I can’t say anything. It all sounds all right in books, but when I see people’s faces – all that redness, wetness, and ugliness and the noises they make –I feel ashamed for them and then I’m speechless and that makes me angry and I say cruel things. It was just like that when Sven was unhappy over that girl, I wanted to be his friend as Alyosha was to Kolya, to tell him that I knew he was often bad, but that I didn’t mind but it was no good because I couldn’t show my sympathy. I shall always live like this, cut off, although I think I understand more clearly than others. But how can I speak to Mother of her fears about Sven and that they are absurd? No I must always be shut in like this.
Nevertheless when they arrived home, he took his mother’s arm ‘Don’t worry, darling, nothing could happen I’m sure’ he whispered. But Monica did not hear him, she was listening to the maid.
‘Mr Newman phoned, ma’am, to say that he and Mrs Sodeblom are stranded at Milkford and will be staying the night.’
Monica walked straight into the drawing-room and sat, with set face, upon the sofa. ‘I am very tired, my dears, I’ll have my dinner in my room. Mother would you be very kind and see Agnes in the kitchen, I don’t want to be worried.’
Richard and Elizabeth began to speak at once, as Mrs Rackham went from the room.
‘Can I get you some books, Mother?’
‘Shall I help you to undress, Mummie?’
But such offers were premature, for at that moment a can sounded in the drive outside and a few minutes later Edwin rushed breathlessly into the room.
‘Oh! you’re here before us’ he exclaimed ‘So you got my message. As the storm cleared, I thought it wasn’t necessary to stay the night.’
Sven had come into the room very quietly behind Edwin and now his voice sounded, speaking very slowly.
‘Mr Newman was so kind, he was so anxious that I should stay and see Milkford. But I thought you would be alarmed at our absence, Mrs Newman. See, however, he has bought me this lovely ring, the stone has so strange a name – garnet. But he has not forgotten you, Mrs Newman’ and as Edwin motioned him to be silent, he went on ‘But, no, Mr Newman, you must show your wife the gift or she will be upset that you gave me so lovely a ring and nothing for her. Look, it is a beautiful sapphire pendant, is it not a lovely stone? I chose it for you myself, I have a great taste for jewels.’
Monica got to her feet ‘It is a pity’ she said ‘that you speak such ghastly English. You say unfortunate things that a boy of your age cannot understand’ and she walked from the room.
A few moments later Mrs Rackham returned. ‘Look’ said Sven ‘at the lovely pendant the kind Mr Newman has bought for Mrs Newman.’
‘Oh! but Edwin how sweet of you! It’s charming looking’ said his mother-in-law.
‘But Mrs Newman does not at all seem to like it’ said Sven.
‘Oh! she will tomorrow’ said Mrs Rackham ‘she’s very overtired tonight, the storm upset her a lot.’
The rainfall ceased after dinner and there was a calming silence as Monica sat before her dressing table, talking to her mother. Suddenly Edwin came into th
e room. He began to talk quickly as though he feared interruption.
‘I’ve been talking to the children’ he said ‘and Sven thinks he ought to return home by the next boat – that is in three days – I think he’s right probably. He’s got his exams coming on and I don’t know that it’s been quite his sort of holiday or’ and he laughed ‘that we’re exactly his sort of family.’
Monica said nothing, but Mrs Rackham declared approvingly ‘I’m sure it’s a very wise decision.’
‘I’m glad you think so’ he said ‘because I was wondering if you’d mind looking after the three of them until he goes. I’ve suddenly remembered Don Giovanni comes off next week and it may not be done again for some time.’ He put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘Would you like to go up to the flat for two nights on our own?’ he asked.
Monica nodded her head ‘Yes, darling’ she said ‘I would.’
‘You’ll have to wear that new pendant to celebrate’ said Mrs Rackham.
‘No’ said Monica ‘I shan’t do that. I don’t think I shall ever wear that pendant. And now’ she said, gathering her dressing-gown around her ‘I must go and see that all Sven’s clothes are properly mended. I can’t have Mrs Sodeblom thinking we didn’t look after the child, she was so good to Richard’ and she swept from the room.
Safe, thought Edwin, safe, thank God! But the room seemed without air, almost stifling. He threw open one of the windows and let in a refreshing breeze that blew across from the hills.
About the Author
One of Britain’s most distinguished novelists, Sir Angus Wilson was born in 1913. Educated at Westminster and Merton College, Oxford he joined the British Museum as a cataloguer before being called for service in 1941. His literary career began with a collection of short stories published in 1949. These were followed by other short story collections, novels and plays.
Co-founder with Malcolm Bradbury of the MA programme in creative writing at the University of East Anglia, Wilson was appointed professor in 1967. Chair of many literary panels, including the Booker prize, and campaigner for homosexual equality, he was knighted in 1980. He died in 1991.
Copyright
This ebook edition first published in 2009
by Faber and Faber Ltd
Bloomsbury House
74–77 Great Russell Street
London WC1B 3DA
All rights reserved
© Angus Wilson, 1949
The right of Angus Wilson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
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ISBN 978–0–571–25308–1 [epub edition]