He thought: ‘I haven’t told her yet. I can’t help it. But I must soon. Should I break all this peace now, say, ‘Delia, I am married, it was all a mistake, but she won’t let me go, not yet anyway’? What does it matter whether I’m married or not? There can’t be marriage between us while Brook … It’s only one more obstacle.
She said: ‘It doesn’t smell like autumn today, but like spring. It’s a sort of warm buttery smell there is in the air, and reminds me of picnics when I was about five.’
‘Would you like to have a boat?’
‘No, thank you; unless you would …’
He shook his head, and there was silence for a while. Presently she began to hum, and then to sing in a low sweet tone:
‘I try to be merry but it is no use;
My case is very hard.
She left me as silly as a farmyard goose
When she married that railway guard.’
He said, watching her: ‘ You’re happy, aren’t you? At least I’ve made you that.’
She smiled, pursed her lips, smiled again. ‘Just at this moment I don’t care for anything or anybody. I woke up last night in the middle of the night and thought, Is this happening to me, me? And I turned over and groaned in horror. But during the day … I think you must be a banshee – or whatever they call them in Ireland. You’ve cast a spell.’
‘It’s nothing like as complicated as that. All I’ve done is help you to realize your natural self, to become sweet and passionate instead of stiff and constricted. And I’ve helped you to forget you’re married to Brook. Isn’t that about it?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Or at least …’
‘I’m only sorry,’ he said, ‘that my spell doesn’t carry you right through the night. When I wake up I’m filled with joy that I shall be meeting you again next day. Your conscience is still very uneasy, isn’t it?’
‘At times.’
‘I can’t think why you worry about Brook. You never loved him. And he’s happy enough in London. What the eye doesn’t see, you know.’
The words had slipped out easily. She glanced quickly at him. After a few moments she said:
‘Why are you two people, Stephen?’
‘Am I? I didn’t know.’ He sipped at his cup. ‘Perhaps you’re right. But aren’t we all? You’re about six people – and never the same two days together.’
‘And are they all equally likeable?’
‘Likeable? They’re lovable! Variety is the–’ He stopped. ‘Well, go on; what were you going to say about me?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you mean you didn’t like me as much sometimes as others?’
She half smiled at him through her lashes. ‘It isn’t a question of liking … But sometimes I think I know you, understand you. Everything’s fine. And then suddenly a stranger’s there – says unexpected things.’ One felt suddenly separate again, alone.
He put his hand over hers. ‘Such as what?’
She looked down at his hand. ‘Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, don’t they say? Perhaps the contradictions are in me.’
‘Perhaps the beauty is in you,’ he said. ‘Just at the moment you look like one of the seraphim come down from the Golden Gate to pick up your halo – and a very young seraphim, about seventeen. But glory be, I know that really your brain’s working away inside your head like a squirrel in a cage. Tell me, what’s the matter?’
‘When can we go away together, Stephen?’
He looked at her with a flicker of surprise. ‘Do you feel that way about it?’
‘Now that it’s come to this. If we must sin, let’s do it openly. Then at least there’ll be no need to cheapen it any more.’
He said: ‘D’you think I like sharing you with any man, even Brook, in any particular?’
Still they were not quite talking on the same plane. ‘ Then …’
He turned her hand over, patted it, his face puckering briefly with the effort of decision.
‘I can’t drop my affairs in Manchester in a day. Somebody will have to take over. I shall have to have it out with Dad. I’ll write him to come down this weekend. Yes, I’ll do it tomorrow. It may take a fortnight. Will that do?’
‘Of course,’ She was watching him, satisfied but unsatisfied, sure of his sincerity but seeking some inner grace that he hadn’t yet got to give. ‘Are you quite certain?’
He turned and smiled now. ‘ Yes, my very dear. Certain, certain, certain.’
The warmth was creeping back into her. ‘And you’ll not regret it?’
‘No. Not ever. And you?’
‘No, not ever,’ she said.
They drove back when the sun went down, and he left her where he had picked her up. They were not to meet that evening.
On Thursday as he went into his club to lunch he met Dan Massington. He would have nodded and moved on, but Massington said:
‘Hullo, old chap, don’t see you much at the club these days.’
‘No? Well, no. I’ve been busy. One thing and another.’
Massington raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re fond of fishing, I gather.’
Stephen stared, a little impatient. ‘Not specially. I haven’t done any for years.’
‘Not? I must be mistaken. I thought I saw you angling at Northenden yesterday.’
Under Massington’s cynical gaze Stephen felt a sudden flicker of anger following the shock. His thoughts raced.
‘At Northenden? I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Troubled waters, old chap. Believe me. Can’t blame you for poaching, of course. Should do the same myself given half the chance.’
‘Possibly you’d make a better poacher than a peeping Tom.’
He knew at once he had said the wrong thing. He should have met Massington on his own ground, laughed with him.
Massington said: ‘You’re guileless for your type, Crossley. Holding hands is best done under cover of darkness. Otherwise the world notices these things.’
‘You’d be amused, no doubt.’
‘I was indeed. More amused than you’d ever guess. I’m related to the Fergusons, you know.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘It was bound to happen sooner or later – a girl like that married to a spineless weakling. I shall laugh like hell when Brook finds out.’
‘Is there any reason why he should?’
‘Oh, it would spoil the whole joke if he didn’t.’
‘No doubt you’ll go out of your way to tell him.’
‘Good heavens, no. Not gentlemanly, old chap. Of course, one wouldn’t be above dropping the merest hint.’
‘Naturally not. I wonder you haven’t gone hurrying. If you haven’t enough money, perhaps I could pay the cab fare.’
Little spots showed in Massington’s cheeks. He smiled. ‘ Pay me later. It doesn’t matter now.’
As he moved on, Stephen felt the impulse to call him back, to plead or threaten; but neither course seemed to have any prospect. He went into the dining-room, furious with himself for losing his temper.
There could now be no more of this turning away from the future. The crisis was coming too quickly and had to be faced. During the afternoon he sat rather morosely in his office and thrashed the whole problem out more thoroughly than he had ever done before. He was not a man who liked unpalatable decisions, but this was a turning point in his life and he recognized it as such.
He had not arranged to meet her that day. Mr Slaney-Smith did not vary his routine because his friend was away. Monday was washing day, Thursday was Slaney day, and it was her business to be in to entertain him. But by five Stephen was in a ferment with his new resolutions, and he decided to pay her a formal call. He found her just putting her music away.
‘Stephen!’ she said in an undertone as soon as Hallows had closed the door.
‘It’s six weeks since I was officially here last, and I asked to see Brook.’
‘What is it? Has something gone wrong?’
‘Shall we be d
isturbed?’
‘Any minute.’
‘It’s Massington.’ He told her briefly what had passed.
‘Then – do you really think he will – say something?’
‘I don’t know. But we can’t risk it. And I’ve been thinking all round. I can’t ask Dad to come this weekend. In truth, if he cuts up rough he’s quite capable of coming straight to this house and blurting the whole thing out to the Fergusons. And that’s impossible with you still here. You must leave before I tell him.’
‘When?’
He glanced at the door. ‘I should like you to leave before they come back.’
‘Before Saturday?’
‘Yes.’ He watched her face. ‘You could go Saturday morning. Travel up to London as they leave it. I can find you a hotel somewhere quiet, where you could be staying a couple of weeks till I join you. It’s the only way.’
A shock to feel it just round the corner; tonight, tomorrow, and then … But it was like an operation which had to be faced; if health and happiness lay on the other side …
She said: ‘If Dan Massington knows, then it’s out of our hands.’
‘I could come with you to London, see you safely in, and then go to see Dad. Then back here till he finds someone else. Have you much to pack?’
‘No … I shouldn’t take much.’
‘You’ll do it, then?’
‘Yes …’
He took her hand. ‘It’s a big move. All afternoon I’ve been thinking. I’ll make it up to you, Delia.’
She said: ‘I don’t want anything ‘‘making up’’, Stephen.’
They rapidly discussed ways and means. At length he said: ‘Then that’s settled. You’ll come, as arranged tomorrow. Let’s not spoil it.’
She said, smiling: ‘All right. I’ll come.’
When he had gone she stood a moment by the piano, turning over the music with unsteady fingers. Only yesterday she had thought, All this can be postponed until later, the moment of flight, the direction of flight. They had ventured on a glacier and at first the movement had been barely perceptible. But slowly it had increased and at some point had passed the stage where it could be arrested. Now they were glissading down the slope and there was no escape from the precipice.
At supper she found Pridey had invited Robert Birch. Mr Slaney-Smith, who had gone very thin and scraggy of late, tried to taunt Pridey into elaborating his views on spiritualism, but Cordelia and Birch quietly collaborated in preventing a clash. Thwarted of his chosen prey, Mr Slaney-Smith tackled Birch on euthanasia, and having got a qualified agreement on this, he turned to Cordelia and began to tell her about his children, how well they had been brought up, and how one of them had got into trouble at school through refusing to stand when the Lord’s Prayer was said.
What would all these people think? That they would condemn her, for all their air of civilized broad-mindedness was certain. Even Mr Slaney-Smith, despite his advanced views. It was bitter to feel that her father and mother would be shocked beyond measure. Nothing of Mr Blake’s disapproval of the Fergusons would help him in the smallest degree to condone her immorality. She would write to them when she got to London; in the leisure time before Stephen rejoined her, she would write at length and explain it all. But can I explain it? Can I put it into words …
Hallows was bending over her. ‘If you please, ma’am, Mr Massington has called.’
Exposure now. An icy hand. Put off, even for two days. ‘ What does he want?’
‘He wished to see Mr Ferguson. I explained to him that they were both away. Then he asked to see you, ma’am.’
‘Tell him – to call again on Saturday, Hallows. Tell him Mr Ferguson will be back then.’
‘What’s that?’ said Pridey, looking up from his pipe. ‘Who’s called?’
‘Dan Massington.’
Pridey grunted. ‘Useless sort of fellow. Mischief-maker. Wouldn’t have anything to do with him, young woman.’
‘Tell him to call on Saturday, Hallows.’
When the butler had gone she waited tensely to know the result, whether Dan would consent to be dismissed. Silence had fallen at the table. Although the hostess, she was still the newcomer among these men.
Slaney-Smith said: ‘Haven’t seen the fellow for months. Wonder what he wants, what? Probably lost all his money at the races. You remember that time, Birch – no, it would be before your time, he turned up with a bailiff’s man – brazen as you please. We found him in the drawing-room, legs crossed, impudent. Mr Ferguson had friends …’
Robert Birch said: ‘I hope Brook is enjoying himself in London, Mrs Ferguson. He wrote me a note at the beginning of the week.’
She met his gaze. ‘Yes, he’s been buying lots of books. I’m looking forward to seeing them.’ I mean I was.
‘That Mr Crossley was here this afternoon,’ said Aunt Tish. ‘He didn’t know Brook was away either. Brook should tell people.’
Hallows re-entered the room, but went about his business without comment. She wanted to ask, to call him.
‘Well, has he gone?’ said Pridey, crinkling his eyebrows.
‘Yes, sir. After a slight argument, sir.’
… That night in her bedroom she took out Brook’s last letter and glanced through it.
… It was raining on Saturday, and I think I’ve got a cold coming through getting my feet wet … The National Gallery is magnificent, the pictures in it make our galleries look silly, but I went to a concert last night and the orchestra wasn’t nearly as fine as ours … I met a publisher today, and quite by accident he heard I was something of a poet myself, and he at once asked to see some of my work. Naturally I showed him a few things I happened to have with me …
… Father has been busy all week, and it’s not left me as much time as I’d wanted for seeing the sights. I long to bring you with me next time …
Next time … Next time … She did not sleep very well that night.
Friday, the third of November, dawned with a low fog. As she drove down into the town it thickened and grew yellower and got into her throat, even though she had ordered the closed carriage. It seemed to lie on her spirits, which had been so high and carefree and reckless at the beginning of the week. When the carriage turned into Ancoats the mean streets pressed down and together, and the women’s coarse voices echoed as in a confined space. Tomkins had to stop hurriedly once, the horses rearing in fright as a ragged child darted across under their hooves. The lights of the tiny shops were lit here and there, and at the works most of the lights were on. Simnel had bronchitis; the first fog of the winter always brought it; and his loose rustling cough punctuated the morning.
There was very little for her to do, but she stayed till twelve, knowing that this was the last time she would ever be here, that this was the end of her adventure in commerce. She didn’t regret it, but there is always a nostalgic pull about the thing you are leaving.
After dinner she drove round to the shop to take leave of her family. Outwardly the casual visit, but inside saying, ‘Good-bye, Father, good-bye, Mother; good-bye, little Anne, with your mothering instincts, and Sarah who wants to be a singer, and fat, bald, gurgling Evelyn Clarissa, and I’m sorry Teddy isn’t at home, and goodbye, shop, with your clamorous clocks and garden, with your old pear tree and drawing-room, rosewood piano and kitchen and all.’
Silly to be sentimental – in twelve months … ‘No, there’s nothing the matter; I just happened to be passing. Am I? Well, I don’t feel sad. But I ought to go soon. Yes. Brook’s due home tomorrow afternoon. Well, I expect I shall go with him next time; it was more convenient for him to go alone.’
She’d arranged to meet Stephen at six, and have supper with him at the Variety and then see the show again. Friday was a good night at the hall and the fog had kept no one away. Outside the yellow vapour curled morosely round the glittering signs, but within was warmth and talk and light.
Supper was served by Char, who breathed stale port and kindly benevolence over them.
Cordelia was a little damped by her presence. Char and her overblown brightness, like a shiny figurehead, was something to be vaguely frightened of, not personally but because she stood for things.
Later Val Johnson came in. A big heavy man with a Mongolian turn of feature and a thick creamy laugh, he stared back in admiration and lively goodwill; and Stephen said this was his friend, Mrs Blake, who was going to take over the management of his music halls.
‘Oh, no, I’m not,’ said Cordelia, laughing.
‘Come, come, is this a joke, eh?’ said Val Johnson with a lift of his expressive eyebrows. ‘Lemme in on it, now, both of you. A joke ’tween friends, eh?’
‘Perfectly serious, old man,’ said Stephen.
‘Quite the contrary,’ said Cordelia.
‘Because if there’s any truth in it, miss, madam, or otherwise,’ said Johnson, ‘lemme warn you against it. There are fates worse than death but no fate worse than dealing with music-hall folk. Into an early grave you’ll go and even the worms’ll have the laugh of you. Her-reh! Lemme warn you before it’s too late. I b’lieve there’s a keeper wanted for the monkey house at Belle Vue: now there’s a nice quiet job bi contrast. Or what about these gels who get pushed about in wheelbarrows on tight-ropes: that’s a nice safe job bi contrast. But music halls – gimme strength and lemme warn you!’
‘She’s going to be my boss, so she’ll be your boss,’ said Stephen. ‘It’ll pay you to keep on the right side of her.’
‘Pay me,’ said Val Johnson. ‘ Pay me? Nobody and nothing ever pays me. Six, ten, sixteen.’ He squeezed his face up into a great clenched fist of disgust. ‘Sixteen kids I’ve got – if no more’s come since Thursday – and the missus takes in washing. Washing! She ain’t particular. She’ll wash anything for fourpence. I’m a cut line. Her-reh! Thrupence ha’penny I give her every Sat’day night. But pay me. It’s sweated labour, this comic business. Talk of the song of the shirt. If they’d only pay me by the laughs I get – twopence a laugh, a penny a grin, a ha’penny a titter, I’d make me fortune and go and live in Salford.’
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