by Dodie Smith
I walked home and intended to go straight to bed but there was a note in my cubicle from Lilian saying, ‘Come up quickly – marvellous news about Moll Byblow. And I’m happy too – but not a word about that until we can talk privately.’
When I opened the door of Zelle’s room I had a sudden memory of my first sight of it. Now, as then, Zelle was on the window-seat, Lilian in the armchair and Molly in front of the gas fire making toast. Now, as then, I sat down on the bed. But my mood was very different, for then I had come back from being made love to in the dimly lit street in Hampstead.
Molly had already told her story, but was more than willing to tell it again. She and Hal had, the previous day, driven a long way into the country and gone to a small hotel. From the outset Hal had been almost silent, Molly embarrassed and miserable. They had barely exchanged a word during the drive or at tea in a lounge where people stared at them.
‘We didn’t go up to the bedroom until after tea,’ said Molly, ‘and then poor old Hal did try to be a bit more cheerful. He said, “Well, this is very jolly,” but soon relapsed into gloom and sort of whistled through his teeth all the time we unpacked. He put out his pyjamas and I put out my nightgown. He looked at the nightgown and said, “Jolly, what?” then quickly looked away from it. I said what about a walk before dinner and he seemed quite pleased at that idea so we went out and traipsed round the village. He kept saying it was jolly pretty and I kept agreeing. Then I noticed the huge figure of a man carved in the chalk of a hill, so I said what about going to have a look at it? Hal said jolly good but it was some way off so we’d need to go in the car – which we did, and drove to the foot of the hill. Then we walked. It was steep and Hal kept pulling me up and saying “Ooops a daisy”. I can’t remember that he said anything else till we got up to the chalk man.’
Molly explained that the chalk man only looked like a man when viewed from the distance. Close to, all she saw were white paths deeply cut in the grass. Anyway, she was too puffed to be much interested so she just flopped down by one of the paths to get her breath. Hal sat down too, and they both admired the view; and then they said nothing for so long that Molly felt she really must try to make conversation.
So she began to talk about the chalk man, asking Hal if he thought he was prehistoric – ‘I mean the man, not Hal of course. He said it was jolly likely but he wasn’t much of a one for any kind of history. Then I thought I’d try to puzzle out the shape the chalk paths made, so I opened my lorgnette and set to work. I made out his head and his two arms and his body – they were higher up the hill than we were – and I found his legs, which were lower than we were. And then, my dears, I found that at the top of his legs there was just everything there; usually it’s down there only it was up there and wildly exaggerated – unless prehistoric men were very extraordinary, which they well may have been. Of course I realise they didn’t mean to be indecent but you would think that, since those days, someone would have let the grass grow tactfully or carved out some tiny pants – though they’d have to be enormous pants, really. And the awful thing was that I’d plonked myself down beside the most indecent path of all.’
I asked if Hal had noticed this and she said he had and she discovered that he thought she’d done it on purpose. ‘Just as I was gazing at where we were sitting, he said he thought he’d better take me back to London – because, though he quite understood I was a modern girl who wanted to try things out, I’d now got him so nervous that he didn’t think he’d give satisfaction, not that he’d been found wanting up to now.’
Then there had been a period of wild misunderstanding, with Molly accusing Hal of accusing her of being sex-mad and Hal not even denying it – ‘Though he said he was all for it, within reason.’ And then the truth had gradually come out that she’d feared he didn’t want to marry her and she had been trying to show him he needn’t.
‘Of course it was frightfully complicated,’ said Molly, ‘and the more I explained, the less sense it made. But he finally saw – and said he’d like to wring Lilian’s neck for putting the idea into my mind, not that she meant to. And then he was marvellous, and we laughed and laughed about the chalk man. And then we quietened down and watched the sunset and Hal actually said he loved me – which he’s never managed to get out before. And I said, me too, right from the beginning. And he said him, too, right from the beginning. And then he said he’d been a fool and I said, no, I had. Really, you’d have loved it, Mouse, because we were practically poetic.’
I asked where they went for the night.
‘Oh, back to the hotel,’ said Molly. ‘Hal said that was quite all right, now that he understood. And everything was blissful – anyway, it will be. I did get an inkling.’
They were to be married as soon as possible. ‘And we both want hundreds of children,’ said Molly. ‘Now I must concentrate on toast-making. I’m ravenous.’
She knelt in front of the gas fire with her two long red plaits dangling down her back. The quality of her happiness went particularly well with toast-making and toast-eating. Lilian was far more excited and though she talked only about Molly I could have guessed – even without her note – that she was excited in her own right. Zelle said very little. I wondered if she was thinking about seeing Adrian Crossway the next day.
Soon Molly said she must go to bed and get a long night’s sleep. I would have gone too, but Lilian asked me to wait while she had another cup of tea. She gulped it down the minute Molly was out of the room and then got up to go, so I realised she had stayed just to give herself a chance to talk to me. The minute we were out on the landing she said, ‘Up on the roof, quick!’
It was chilly on the roof after the warm room; as we walked over to the parapet I hoped Lilian would not keep me out long. Then she began to talk and I forgot about being cold, forgot about everything except what she was saying. With triumph and delight she informed me that Mrs Crossway was bringing a suit for divorce.
‘She had a detective watching the flat on Wednesday after noon. He actually came to the door and rang the bell. Of course we didn’t answer but he could easily have heard us talking before he rang – he could have listened through the letter-box. I didn’t know it was a detective then, but when we came out there was a man in the corridor looking furtively casual, so I had hopes – I asked you to pray, remember. Anyway, Mrs Crossway had it out with Rex this morning and he admitted everything. He said it was no use denying it. And the marvellous thing is that he doesn’t mind – well, he did at first but he seemed to change when he saw how wildly hopeful I was. Suddenly he was his very kindest self. He’s never been as sweet to me as he was today.’
I asked if he was going to marry her.
‘Well, of course. I’ll be named in the case. Mrs Crossway wouldn’t hear of an arranged divorce. She’s left the house for good – and I’m going to see it on Sunday. He says we might as well come out into the open now.’
I longed to get away without saying anything but I did manage: ‘I hope you’ll be very happy.’ Presumably I didn’t make a success of it for she instantly said: ‘Oh, God, you mind! You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. It’ll make no difference to his fondness for you. And I’ll be in a position to help you. Perhaps someday I can persuade him to give you a part.’
‘No, thank you, Lilian. He says I can’t act.’
‘Well, why can’t he teach you, the way he taught me? Anyway I can make sure you meet lots of interesting people and find the right man to marry – somebody young. I want to ask you something. Promise you won’t be angry.’
‘I shouldn’t think I would.’ I was too stricken to imagine having the spirit to be angry.
‘When you went to the barn that night, are you sure that anything really happened? It’s so hard to believe it of Rex – with you. And you’re so innocent you just might think – Well, I once knew a girl who believed she’d been seduced when there’d been nothing that actually counted.’
I was surprised at the roundabout way she was putti
ng it – she who could be almost crudely blunt. Then it dawned on me she was still treating me as an innocent because she so wished me still to be one. She wanted to get me off her conscience and, in her own mind, off his too. So I let her believe what she wanted to. It needed some embarrassing inventions and I had to endure much relieved laughter from Lilian, who promised to buy me a book on sex. I thanked her, feeling deeply apologetic to my dear aunt who had, on my fifteenth birthday, presented me with valuable works by Dr Marie Stopes.
Before we dropped the subject Lilian swore she would never mention it to Rex. Then she said she was cold and we ought to go in but there was something else she needed to say – ‘It’s about Zelle. We must all of us be very kind to her. You see, I had to tell Rex what she is. I loathed doing it, because I’m really fond of her, but it was only fair to let him warn Adrian.’
So Lilian knew about Zelle. Still, I wasn’t going to admit that I did, not yet. I just said: ‘What about?’
Lilian, in her hardest voice, said: ‘I’m going to stop treating you as an innocent. Bill isn’t really Zelle’s guardian. He keeps her. Molly and I guessed almost from the beginning but we didn’t want to disillusion you.’
It seemed pointless to pretend I hadn’t known, and I was quite pleased to say Zelle had told me. I also said I couldn’t see why Adrian Crossway had to be warned, as he had his wits about him and anyway was only helping Zelle to do something worth while.
‘Rubbish,’ said Lilian. ‘He was very much attracted – he admitted it when Rex telephoned him. And he was more than grateful to be told the facts.’
‘Does that mean he’s going to drop her?’
Instead of answering, Lilian quickly looked towards the entrance to the roof. There was someone standing there, but whoever it was instantly turned and went down the stairs.
I said, horrified, ‘Was it Zelle? She does sometimes come up here at night.’
‘Anyway, she couldn’t have heard, surely? Not right across the roof, when we were talking so quietly.’
I said it was more likely she thought we were having a private conversation and didn’t want to butt in – ‘If it was Zelle.’
‘Molly and I must have it out with her and make her realise we like her as much as ever. You must have had a shock when she told you the truth. What about your princesse lointaine?’
‘In a way, I still see her as that. And she’s given Bill up now she’s interested in good works.’
‘You mean now she’s interested in Adrian,’ said Lilian. ‘But, oh God, has she? Then she really must be in love. That’s damped my spirits. Poor Zelle! Come on, we must be mad, staying up here in this wind.’
The next day I had to be at the theatre in the morning, so that Eve could go to her hairdresser. But when I got to the office I found she had cancelled her appointment and was there, waiting to break the news; she said she hadn’t felt she could face telling me the night before. She was relieved when she heard I knew already and even more relieved when I said (trying to sell the idea to myself as well as to her), ‘I’ve no right to mind and I don’t intend to. If it hadn’t been Lilian it would have been somebody else.’
‘Quite true,’ said Eve, ‘once Mrs Crossway was determined to find grounds for divorce. Still, it’s worrying on his account. What kind of a wife will Lilian make him?’
‘Admirable, I should say. She’ll run his house well and put up with his affairs – which is what he asks of a wife, isn’t it?’
Eve gave me a surprised look. ‘That sounds ugly, coming from you. But there’s no denying it.’
I said I hadn’t meant it to sound ugly. ‘I wasn’t condemning. He is as he is and I was just accepting it.’
‘Which is what I’ve done for twenty years,’ said Eve.
She told me to take the afternoon off but did not argue when I said I’d prefer not to. I think she was as glad of my company as I was of hers.
Shortly before the curtain fell she mentioned that Mr Crossway would be coming up to see her after the matinée; so I cleared off to the Throne Room and worked on the play I was typing. I felt sure he would leave without seeing me. But he came in and closed the door. I was so at a loss that I just went on typing. He sat on the table and, after a few seconds, said: ‘Could I, at a convenient moment, have your attention?’
I looked up, met his eyes, and in the same instant felt both agonised and completely at ease with him. The ease, the sense of intimacy, somehow increased the agony, but I managed to say quite lightly: ‘We have played our farewell scene.’
He smiled. ‘No, we haven’t. And as far as I’m concerned we never shall play it. We only said farewell to … to an interlude that should never have happened. And I want to say now, as I said then, that I’m deeply fond of you.’
I said: ‘You didn’t mention “deeply” before.’
‘Then perhaps absence has made the heart grow fonder. Anyway, the “deeply” was sincere. And we’re going to meet very often, I hope. Lilian is devoted to you. She doesn’t, I take it, er – know about us?’
I shook my head. ‘And never will, from me.’ I didn’t explain just what she didn’t know; it seemed better not to, as she had promised never to admit she knew anything at all.
‘Thank you. By the way, I’m considering a play which has a number of very small parts, little better than walk-ons, I’m afraid, but if it would amuse you to play one—’
I laughed, quite genuinely. ‘Would that be a consolation prize or a booby prize?’
He laughed too, then said: ‘Oh, my dear, absurd child, I’m not sure I ought not to send you away for your own good, but I should so hate to lose you. You have a genius for making impossible situations delightful. See you again very soon – that is, if you’re willing?’
I said: ‘Lilian permitting.’
‘Lilian encouraging, I assure you. She’s going to arrange a lunch party.’
He gave me one last most intimate, affectionate smile and went.
Was he again – I had never forgotten that overheard phrase of Eve’s – being kind to be cruel? I only knew I had been given back enough to live on. And dimly, dimly, I began to see a new Last Act to crown my play.
16
When I got back to the Club that Saturday night I went straight up to Zelle’s room wondering what had happened at her meeting with Adrian Crossway. Getting no answer to my knock, I thought she must have gone up on the roof or to have a bath; it was most unlikely she would be out as late as this. So I opened the door intending to go in and wait for her.
I switched on the light and then thought I must have come to the wrong room. This one was obviously unoccupied; not a personal possession was to be seen. I stepped back to look at the number on the door. But I had made no mistake and, when I looked again, I saw one trace of Zelle: the nail she had, against Club rules, knocked into the wall so that she could hang up her furry-eared baby faun.
I stood staring, remembering the room on the previous night with the girls strewn around, the gas fire glowing and the warm air filled with the smell of Veda toast. Now the room not only felt cold; it even smelt cold and as if a thorough cleaning had ousted all association with previous occupancy.
I went down to the village and found it in darkness. Molly, I knew, had gone with Hal to visit some of his relations. Lilian would be with my dear; I imagined her entering some restaurant, triumphantly radiant. Was there anyone I could ask about Zelle’s sudden departure? The other three occupants of the village – now probably asleep – hardly knew her.
Then, as I switched on my cubicle light, I saw a letter from her on my dressing-table. It said she had heard Lilian talking to me on the roof, so had not been surprised to get a telegram from Adrian Crossway saying he was ‘unavoidably detained’ in the country. He had added ‘writing’ but she doubted if he would. ‘Still, if any letter does come, please hang on to it for me, in case I send you an address. But I probably won’t. In a way, I’d rather not know if he writes or not. As long as I don’t know, I can pretend he h
as and that he’s said something nice. He might, as he’s such a marvellous man. Love to you all. I will always remember this summer. Don’t worry about me. I can always go back to being a char. Zelle.’
I felt terribly sorry for her. And I was sorry for Lilian, too, because I knew she would be harrowed. I didn’t blame her for making sure Adrian Crossway was warned, I even admired her for it; though I couldn’t have done it myself.
When I woke in the morning Lilian still hadn’t returned. I wondered if she had already installed herself at the Regent’s Park house. No, it was more likely she was at the flat. Darling Charlotte the Harlot brought my breakfast and advised me to have a long Sunday sleep; but I had other plans ahead of me and was thankful to have them.
For the first time, I was going to the office on a Sunday. I had told Eve I wanted to finish work on the young author’s play; the typing was done but I still had to sort and bind the copies. She had demurred until I said I wanted a job to occupy my mind. Then she handed over the keys. I did want a job and I did want to finish the play; but even more I wanted a place where I could put in some uninterrupted thinking, and I wanted that place to be the Throne Room.
It was a sunless day, cold and windy for September; suddenly it seemed out of the question to wear a summer dress. I put on my grey woollen dress and black cloak, and remembered I had worn them together for my very first visit to the Crossway.
The bus was nearly empty, as were the streets with their closed shops. And when I let myself into the foyer, the closed theatre felt most unlike its usual self. It had felt much the same during the period when it was ‘dark’, but I had never been alone in it then. Today, even after I was up in the office, the atmosphere seemed almost uncanny.