by Iris Murdoch
‘I had to see you. So many things have been happening. I’m sorry to arrive so late, but as I told you—’
‘Yes, yes, your bike. Tell me some of the things that have been happening.’
‘Well—Frances has decided not to marry Andrew.’
‘Ah—’ Millie let go of the red shawl which fell in a heap behind her. She moved forward and began quickly picking up the fragments of the Chinese vase. ‘It’s so cold in here, we could do with a fire, couldn’t we.’ She put the fragments of the vase on the table. She advanced on the fireplace and bent to put a match to the paper and sticks. ‘Hand over a couple of those little logs, would you?’
‘Millie, did you hear what I said?’
‘Of course I did, but what am I supposed to say about it? I’m sorry.’
‘It won’t make any difference to us, of course. That’s what I wanted to come and tell you. I’ll manage about Frances.’
‘Have you told Frances about us?’
‘No.’
‘That’s just as well, perhaps.’
‘Why—?’
‘Christopher, I think I can’t marry you after all.’
‘Millie, what on earth are you talking about?’
‘I just can’t. I’d be no use to you.’
‘Is this because of Frances?’
‘No, it’s nothing to do with Frances. I just can’t do it, it would be wrong. Please forgive me. I should never have let the idea exist at all.’
‘Millie, I can’t let you say this—’ He got awkwardly and stiffly to his feet, stretching out his arms towards her. Millie continued to stare down at the crackling sticks, whose light flickered on her face, showing a serene exhausted smile.
‘Millie, my darling—’ Christopher took her hand, lifting it from her side. It was heavy and limp. Her hand was familiar to him, and as he touched her his fingers became aware of something unusual. He looked down and saw that she was wearing a ring adorned with diamonds and rubies. He recognized the ring.
When Millie saw Christopher’s expression and saw what he was looking at, she withdrew her hand with an exclamation and moved away from him.
‘Millie, why are you wearing Andrew’s ring?’
She pulled it quickly off and laid it on the table. ‘Because Andrew has been wearing my ring.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Well, why should you, with such an awful lot going on. I’ve just seduced your would-be son-in-law. I didn’t mean to tell you. I just forgot about the ring. I never seem to be able to do wrong with impunity. What an unlucky girl I am!’
‘Millie, do you actually mean that you—’
‘Yes. I was in bed with Andrew when Pat turned up. I’d invited Pat to be my lover, only I didn’t think he would oblige, so I made do with Andrew instead. It was all most unfortunate and I’m a very disappointed woman.’
‘Millie, are you seriously saying that you and Andrew—’
‘Yes! I’ve said it as clearly as I can. Do you want me to say it again?’
‘How can you talk in that tone?’
‘Well, a woman caught in my situation has got to adopt some tone, and it’s not easy to combine devastating frankness with calm dignity. What tone do you suggest?’
‘I just can’t believe you.’
‘Have a good try. The fact is I’m in love with Pat, I’m desperately in love with Pat and I have been for ages, only of course it’s hopeless, and it would have been hopeless even if Andrew hadn’t been here tonight. And our thing would have been hopeless even if you hadn’t found out about Andrew. I really think you’d better go, Christopher. Oh, hang it, you can’t, you haven’t got a bike.’
‘In love with Pat. I see.’
‘Yes, the real thing. I’d let him walk on me. If only I’d just wanted the best and stayed true to it, it would have come to me. It did come to me, and I muffed it.’
‘But you said it would have been hopeless anyway. And you have a rather quaint idea of the best. One night in bed with Pat Dumay. You know he’d have hated you in the morning.’
‘Yes, you understand Pat. But you don’t quite understand me. I’m an odder fish than you imagine, Christopher. Perhaps one night would have been enough, perhaps it would have been everything, and perhaps such hatred would be purer than the purest love. But it’s all lost now. I’ve been unfaithful to my own code. You muddled me, the money business muddled me. And now he despises me and I expect you do too. I think I’ll have some whiskey.’
‘So you took Andrew. And that was why Frances refused him. I see it all now. It was because of you. I knew you were pretty irresponsible, but I didn’t think you were utterly wicked.’
‘Oh God, you don’t think that?’ Millie jarred the whiskey bottle back on to the table. ‘I’m not that bad. I didn’t do anything with Andrew, it didn’t enter my head, until after he’d told me Frances had turned him down. Honest, Christopher. You can’t really believe I’m capable of—’
‘I’m afraid, Millie, that I think you capable of anything.’
They stared at each other in silence. Then Millie took the bottle again and unsteadily poured some whiskey into her glass. She murmured, ‘It’s funny. At this moment I think I’m almost in love with you. I told you I was a bit odd.’
‘There was obviously some guilty secret between you last Monday when you had the boy to tea with Hilda. I thought he was behaving very strangely. But I didn’t dream—’
‘Oh, that. That was just a silly joke I played on him, it’s not even worth explaining.’
‘Frances could have had no other reason for refusing Andrew. It was all fixed up.’
‘It wasn’t all fixed up. And she could have had any reason for refusing him. He’s not very clever. He’s not even all that good-looking.’
‘You say this just after you’ve dragged him into bed with you.’
‘All right, I’m vulgar as well as wicked. But it’s true.’
‘Where is he now, by the way?’
‘Half-way back to Dublin, I hope. He was supposed to slip out just after I came down again. What a pity, you might have borrowed his bike.’ Millie started to laugh again, but stopped abruptly. ‘You can’t believe it, Christopher, you just can’t believe that I would have seduced Andrew while he was engaged to Frances. I couldn’t possibly have done anything so cruel; I’m not cruel, I’m just silly. And anyway I wanted Andrew to marry Frances just as you did because of us.’
‘But you said just now you were in love with Pat and you knew our thing was no good anyway.’
‘Yes—I do seem in rather a muddle, don’t I. But I swear I didn’t—’
‘You might have done this deliberately to break up Frances’ engagement so as to have an excuse for dropping me. I regard you as an utterly mad and destructive person and I always have.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have envisaged marrying me.’
‘I entirely agree I shouldn’t.’
They stood now facing each other across the table. What on earth is happening, Christopher asked himself, why are we shouting like this, am I dreaming? His weariness, his wet clothes, the strong dose of whiskey, made him feel dazed and light-headed. The figure of Millie stood out before him with a ghastly sharpness, an object detached from a flat background. He swayed, then went and sat down heavily.
‘Anyway, it’s not going to happen now,’ said Millie in a dull voice. She began to push the ring about the surface of the table with her finger. ‘I know it all serves me right. If you behave rottenly you can’t complain when other people don’t realize just how rottenly you’re prepared to behave. But, Christopher, you must believe what I said. Andrew came and told me that Frances had turned him down, and then, just to cheer him up you know, I suggested—’
‘How long had it been going on?’
‘It had been going on for about two hours when Pat arrived, and—’
‘I don’t mean that! How long before today?’
‘Not at all before today.’
‘Why d
id you say our thing would have been no good even if I hadn’t found out?’
‘Because of Pat. Well, no, not because of Pat. Pat wasn’t really anything to do with that. I thought of these things in separate parts of my mind. It was no good anyway, it was a bad kind of idea. We don’t love each other enough, Christopher.’
‘I suppose it’s true,’ he said slowly, ‘we don’t.’
It was raining again. The wind blew the light rain against the windows in intermittent sighing gusts that were like a soft ripple of waves.
‘Well, there it is. God, I feel wretched. Damn, we’ve let the fire go out.’
Christopher got up and found his mackintosh. ‘I must go now.’
‘You can’t go in all this rain. And I haven’t got a bike to lend you.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll walk.’
‘Don’t be idiotic, Christopher, you know perfectly well you’ve got to stay here. There’s a room ready. You’d die of exposure walking all the way down the mountain.’
Christopher threw down his coat. He was ready to weep. ‘All right, all right.’
‘And here, you’d better take the ring to give back to Andrew. I don’t suppose I’ll ever see him again. Everybody hates me now.’
‘I don’t want the ring—Oh, all right, I’ll take it.’
‘Well, no, maybe you’d better not. It would hurt him so terribly to know you knew—’
‘I don’t care how hurt he is.’
‘You must forgive Andrew. He was very miserable and he’s so young.’
‘Oh, hang Andrew.’
‘You know, you should have given me a ring, Christopher, it might have protected me. Ah, well. I’ll show you to your room. The bed’s not aired, but I’ll get you a hot-water bottle.’
‘Don’t bother, I just want to be left alone now.’
They went out, Millie carrying the lamp, and mounted the stairs slowly together like an old couple.
‘This is your room. Are you sure you wouldn’t—’
‘No, thanks.’
‘I’ll light your candle for you. There. Oh, I forgot, would you like anything to eat?’
‘No, thank you, Millie.’
‘Christopher, you do believe me, don’t you, that I didn’t—’
‘Yes, yes, yes, I believe you.’
‘Christopher, I’m awfully sorry about everything.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Well, it does, but anyway. May I kiss you?’
‘Oh, go away, Millie.’
‘Good night, my dear, sleep well.’
‘Good night.’
Chapter Twenty-one
‘THE movement of renewal with which I had hoped to associate my wife failed largely because of a complete lack of response on her part. I appreciated later that it was of course foolish of me to expect from her any understanding of the symbolic nature of my action and its sheer difficulty, or even any conceptual grasp of what I had to tell her. A being devoid of theory, living almost entirely at the level of intuition, she condemned me for what I was, but when I positively desired, even needed, her judgment upon what I had done, she withheld it, and seemed incapable of censuring, even of perceiving, anything as definite as an act. Absolution requires a definition of sin. My wife was unable to give me absolution.’
Barney inhaled the fragrance of this paragraph and returned refreshed to consider the pad of paper on which, earlier that day, he had several times begun to compose a letter. It was Sunday afternoon.
Dear Frances,
I feel it is my duty to pass on to you a piece of information which has lately come into my possession. I know for a positive fact that your fiancé has been having a love affair with Lady Kinnard. I am sorry to be a bringer of bad news, but I feel it is my duty …
He thrust the sheet aside and picked up a second version.
My dear Frances,
It is sad to be a bringer of bad news to one one loves—and I think you do, you must, know the sincerity of my attachment to you. But there are moments when it is one’s tragic duty to shatter a peace of mind which rests upon a misconception.
He studied this for some time, altered ‘sincerity of my attachment’ to ‘warmth of my affection’, and then put the paper down again.
Was it really his tragic duty to shatter a peace of mind which rested upon a misconception? Barney was in a state of excited distress with which his experience that morning at the Easter Mass had mingled to produce a turmoil of emotions, now dark, now singularly light and glittering. The crowded church, the high exultation of the choir, the unveiled images, the heaped-up flowers: these impressions, as of emergence into a place of dazzling brightness, contrasted strangely and yet significantly with the sinister, dangerous, thief-like adventures of the night.
Barney had yielded to the temptation to go to Rathblane knowing quite well that he was doing something idiotic and improper. He was increasingly aware of all his activities as a mode of warfare against his wife, and the very fact that it was not altogether for Millie that he wanted to go made the action seem at first even more a wrong one. If Kathleen had only co-operated with him and entered into the drama of his change of heart she could, he felt, really have changed him. He would have given up seeing Millie. But in order to be able to do what he so pure-heartedly intended he needed a motive which only Kathleen could give him. Her inability to see the mechanics, as it were, of his good intentions he read as a condemnation of him far deeper than any he had ever before experienced. He felt suddenly that Kathleen regarded him as hopeless. All right, he would behave accordingly.
This was what he thought at first. But as he cycled toward Rathblane in the evening and breathed the mountain air and saw the quick fugitive sun on distant green fields and watched a rainbow grow slowly from the lower slopes of Kippure he experienced a youthful sensation of pleasure at being a man going toward a woman he loved. He no longer felt that this was part of his fight with Kathleen or had anything to do with Kathleen at all. In thus obeying his heart he was doing something essentially innocent. He needed to see Millie and there was a redeeming simplicity in satisfying the need. Perhaps his whole moral scheme had become too complicated? If he could only get out of the old familiar web of guilt and justification and back to the things he just wanted to do and the doing of them, then he might become innocent and harmless as he had once been. As the sun went down behind Kippure and the fields glowed a luminous dusty gold before becoming dark it began to seem to Barney that his wants and his needs were very simple and without corruption.
He had obeyed the impulse to go where Millie was without having any special plan about what he would do when he arrived. He hoped of course to find Millie alone, to come to her as at their happiest times and be received by that especial laughter which she reserved for him, to be called to her joyously like an animal. The thought that this could still happen made him smile happily as he pushed his bicycle up the steeper parts of the road. If, however, he was unlucky and Millie had company he would have to decide whether to let her know that he had come or whether to remain concealed. At various times in the past Barney had observed Millie without revealing his presence. These experiences, invariably painful, yet gave him a guilty thrill and a pleasure even more obscure and profound. It was something that took him straight back to certain pleasures of childhood. And more reflectively he could treat this pleasure-pain as a gift which he gave to Millie, as a form of homage.
The thought that someone else might be there brought back again to his mind the melancholy prospect of her marriage to Christopher. Since what now seemed to him his mystical experience on Thursday Barney had set aside the whole problem of Christopher and had ceased to feel the temptation to tell Frances her father’s intentions. Now the problem and the temptation had reappeared, and constituted in fact an extra motive for going at once to see Millie. Unable in certain moods to believe in his misfortune, Barney felt that perhaps after all it was unlikely that Millie would really marry Christopher. Nothing was fixed, the futu
re was still uncertain. And although he did not really think that he could positively ask Millie what she intended to do, he needed to see her as a sort of reassurance. He felt that when he actually saw her he would be quite sure that everything between him and her was going to be all right and indeed better than ever.
On arriving at Rathblane in the darkness Barney had noticed a bicycle which he knew not to be Christopher’s leaning against the wall. On penetrating into the house by methods well known to him he had heard voices. With the thrilled curiosity which caused him such painful pleasure he had crept closer. He had then learnt first the identity, and then the errand, of Millie’s visitor. This discovery caused him at first simply an intense moral shock. Millie and Andrew were both quite suddenly revealed to him as wicked, and wicked with a blackness which faded his own moral frailty to the palest grey. After the first shock he felt amazed indignant jealousy, sheer fright at being the possessor of so potent a secret, and finally a childish misery that his Millie, who had played such harmless, pretty games with him, should elect to play this game with another. These reflections were interrupted by the arrival of Pat. Barney, who had been standing in the dark on the landing, heard someone enter below and hid himself quickly in one of the rooms opposite. Later he heard Pat’s voice in the dressing-room.