by Iris Murdoch
‘I heard the car.’
‘Yes, he’s here,’ said Rose. ‘Would you like to see him? There’s no need to now if later would be better.’
‘He wants to see me?’
‘Yes, of course, that’s why he’s come!’
Gerard, who had made the arrangement with Rose by telephone, had misgivings which he had not expressed. He had simply not been able to make Duncan out. Gerard had expected, as Rose too had expected, some kind of gratifying scene in which Duncan would express relief, his love for his wife, his satisfaction that she had left ‘that man’, a touching gratitude to those who had stood by him and supported his faith and his hope. Gerard imagined that, after the first understandable shock, Duncan would unburden himself as never before, rehearsing now the fears and hopes with which he had lived during this awful interim, and expressing at least a sober confidence in a future where ‘all would be mended’. Duncan had declined any further meeting with Gerard, but they had talked on the telephone. Gerard had emphasised two things, that Jean had decided to leave Crimond, the parting was her initiative and her wish, and that Crimond had accepted her decision, so that they in fact parted by agreement. He added of course that Jean now very much wanted to see Duncan. He mentioned, vaguely, a car accident and a sprained ankle. Duncan listened to all this without comment, and eventually rang Rose to say that if Jean wished it, he would come. Rose, who had carefully composed what Gerard was to say to Duncan, was in fact not at all sure that she had understood Jean’s state of mind. She had been unable, talking to Jean, to make up any coherent picture of what had happened. Jean had been frantic with grief: grief, Rose could only assume, at having lost Crimond. For Rose recalled Jean’s first cry of ‘He’s left me!’ and did not believe in the ‘cold mutual agreement’ which Jean spoke of later. It was Gerard who had been so anxious to hurry on the meeting with Duncan. Rose felt it was premature. But Jean had actually said, in answer, it is true, to Rose’s repeated questions, that she wanted to see Duncan, and Rose had passed this on without qualification to Gerard. Gerard was certainly far from clear about Duncan’s state of mind, even after he had realised how absurd his earlier expectations were. Duncan’s laconic coldness on the telephone had expressed a continuation of his attitude of ‘what is it to me?’, though he had, evidently after reflection, told Rose (not Gerard) that he would see Jean. But did he wish to see her perhaps simply to revile her? Might he even attack her? Duncan was Gerard’s old friend, but he was also a fey creature, a big unpredictable bad-tempered wild animal. Of course, as Gerard later told himself, Duncan must feel the gravest doubts about the story of Jean deciding to leave and Crimond agreeing, and had excellent reasons for believing that Crimond would never let Jean go.
‘Bring him up then,’ said Jean.
The door closed behind Rose. Jean moved toward the centre of the room. She stroked down her untidy hair with her fingers and looked up at the darker blue latticed square where the picture had been and where the colours were still ‘jumping about’, sometimes the blue foremost, sometimes the white. Her pale face was now flushed, her cheeks red as if brushed with rouge. She moved a few steps back, turning to face the door.
The door opened and Duncan came in alone. He turned and shut the door quietly, then turned back toward Jean. He was smartly dressed in a dark suit, one of his best, with a blue and white striped shirt and a dark tie. He had shaved carefully and combed down his wavy crown of dark, now rather longish, locks. He looked huge in the room, fatter perhaps, bulky, broad. They stared at each other. Jean, trembling, clawed at her throat again. As Duncan moved towards her she felt fear but did not move. She could not have spoken.
She saw a strange frightening look upon his face. Then he said, ‘Suppose we sit down? Suppose we sit down there?’ He pointed to the green sofa.
Jean backed awkwardly, then sat. The sofa groaned under Duncan’s weight as he sat down beside her. He turned his big head towards her. Shrinking a little away, she looked at him.
‘Do you want to be with me again, Jean?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, yes –’
‘Then that’s settled.’
He put his arms round her, enveloping her, and they both closed their eyes. The strange look had been his attempt to control an agonising tenderness and pity which he now allowed to distort his face as he looked away over her shoulder.
Rose, now back in London, was surprised a few days later to receive the following letter.
My dear Rose,
I wonder if I could call on you to discuss a matter of importance? I suggest Tuesday of next week at ten. Could you let me know by letter if that is suitable, and if not suggest other possible times? Do not try to ring up, as I have had my telephone disconnected.
With kind regards,
Yours
David Crimond.
The letter upset Rose, frightened her, made altogether a disagreeable impression. She assumed that the ‘important’ matter must be Jean, and that Crimond wanted her to intercede or interfere or mediate on his behalf. What impertinence! Rose at once started to write a reply saying that Jean was happily reunited with her husband, and Rose could see no useful purpose to be served by a meeting. While writing this she reflected that perhaps after all Jean had given a truthful account when she said that the parting had been mutual, and in that sense willed by Jean. After Duncan’s reappearance the idea that Jean had left Crimond was of course emphasised by her, and also by Rose. Crimond’s appeal, if that was what it was, was at least valuable as evidence for this view of the matter. After further reflection, and before she had completed her indignant letter, Rose began to wonder if there were not possibly something else which Crimond wanted to say to her. Crimond’s motive in thus coming, a motive anyway, might even be his wish to display his indifference to Jean’s departure. Rose wondered uneasily if this something else might concern Gerard. Perhaps it was in this quarter that her mediation was being asked for? Perhaps Gerard had for some reason refused to see Crimond, and Crimond wanted Rose to remove a misunderstanding? It might be something to do with the book; and the wild idea even occurred to Rose that Crimond wanted her to persuade Gerard to provide a preface! Anything which connected Crimond with Gerard made Rose feel very uneasy. On reflection she thought it was more likely to be something about Jean and Duncan, though not necessarily what she had assumed at first. Perhaps Crimond simply wanted confirmation that Jean and Duncan were now reunited. Rose felt very disinclined to talk to Crimond about her friends, such talk, however careful, might be misleading and seem disloyal. However, she could be brief and it was an opportunity to set the whole matter completely beyond doubt. Last of all it occurred to her, and seemed quite likely, that Crimond was coming formally to thank Rose, and through her the Gesellschaft, for their financial support all these years! He had, in this, preferred her to Gerard, since Gerard would want to ask questions about the book. She decided to see Crimond. Her instinct was to tell Gerard at once, but she thought better of it. The meeting was best kept to herself until afterwards, until she knew what it was about and could compose a suitably calm and rational account for general consumption. If she told Gerard now he would fuss and speculate and make her even more apprehensive. So Rose wrote a reply saying simply that she would await him at her flat at the time suggested.
Duncan and Jean were still at Boyars, being looked after by Annushka. Rose and the others were, after so much anxious speculation, overjoyed at what at least appeared to have happened. On that rainy morning, after Duncan had gone upstairs, Rose had sat in the drawing room with the door open unable to do anything except wait and listen and tremble. Annushka brought her some coffee. Should she take coffee to Mr and Mrs Cambus? No! Annushka was just as anxious as Rose, but they exchanged no words on the subject, not even looks. Time passed. Rose walked up and down the drawing room, wandered into the dining room, into the library, into the study, into the turret room, into the billiard room, stood on the front steps and look
ed at the rain, listening for any sound from up above. What did she fear? Cries, screams, the sound of weeping? Nothing could be heard at all. Then, at a moment when she was back in the drawing room, Duncan came down the stairs. He looked stolid and enigmatic. He said nothing at once but marched across to the fireplace, followed by Rose who had run to meet him.
Duncan replied, gravely, ‘I think it is all right.’ But by now something in his face, a sort of composed complacency, had told Rose that things were not bad, were perhaps good.
‘You mean,’ said Rose, anxious for clarification which could be clumsily obtained now and might be more difficult later on, ‘You mean you’ll be together again, really and truly together?’ She avoided asking: have you forgiven her? That might not be the way to put it at all.
‘We hope so.’ (Rose was glad of that ‘we’.) ‘It appears that we don’t, in spite of recent events, hate the sight of each other. Rather the contrary.’
These few words were, characteristically, the extent of Duncan’s report.
‘Oh I’m so glad!’ said Rose, ‘I’m so glad!’ and kissed him.
Then, with his permission, she ran upstairs to Jean. Jean cried, Rose cried. Jean had scarcely more to say, except for murmuring that she was relieved and happy and felt she had come out of a nightmare into the real world.
Then Jean came downstairs, Rose ran to tell Annushka, who already knew of course and came into the drawing room to be kissed by Jean and Duncan. Rose opened a bottle of champagne, she and Jean cried some more, they had lunch.
After lunch Jean rested, Duncan sat in the library reading Gibbon, Rose telephoned Gerard. Then Rose rested. She fell into a marvellous sleep and dreamt about an exceedingly beautiful garden in which Rose and Jean and Tamar were dancing with some children. After that they all had tea and talked ordinary talk. Rose suggested and they agreed that Rose should return to London and leave them to themselves for a while at Boyars, so that Jean’s ankle could get better: the sprained ankle had assumed a special importance, symbol perhaps of deeper and more painful dislocations. Rose stayed that night and then departed. Of course she and Gerard agreed in the discussions which at once ensued that there was so much to mend, so much to be said, so many gestures to be made and accepted, it would be a long time before those two could be at peace together. Rejoicing was premature, what had really happened remained to be seen. They did rejoice however, and were glad to think of Jean and Duncan together at Boyars, and to have an interval before the anxieties attendant on their return to London, and reintegration into something like their former life. It was agreed that nothing could ever be the same, after the honeymoon at Boyars the recriminations were bound to begin, there was so much resentment and so much pain to be somehow worked through and worked off, it would be a long time before their reunion could be established as secure. Besides, what had really happened between Jean and Crimond, and how would what had happened affect Jean and Duncan? Might Crimond suddenly reappear in the role of Demon King? Along these lines Rose and Gerard and Jenkin went on speculating for some time, and Gulliver and Lily and Patricia and Gideon and everyone in Duncan’s office and large numbers of other people less closely concerned had the pleasures of similar, and often less charitable, speculation.
Rose would have been happy in these days, for she believed, having seen them together, that Jean and Duncan would be ‘all right’, had it not been for her anxiety about Tamar. Jenkin had of course not divulged to anyone what Tamar had told him. Gerard, after a cautious enquiry, sheered off the subject which was evidently secret, and he said nothing to Rose about Tamar’s extraordinary arrival at Jenkin’s house. Rose knew that Tamar had been ‘in a state’, had run away from home to stay with Lily, and was now back with Violet. Rose had written to Tamar asking her to lunch, but had had no reply. Gerard and Jenkin seemed to have nothing to say on the subject of Tamar’s troubles. Neither had Lily, whom Rose had rung up. Violet’s flat was not on the telephone. Rose had been making up her mind to write to Violet, or else to appear unexpectedly at her flat one evening, when the drama of Jean’s accident took her to Boyars. On her return to London there was still no letter from Tamar. Rose had written to Violet but had had no reply.
Now it was Tuesday, and the bell at Rose’s flat had rung punctually at ten. Crimond had come up the stairs and was in Rose’s sitting room.
Rose’s first surprise was the extraordinary effect upon her of Crimond’s presence in the room. It seemed like some fault of nature. How could he be here? Of course she had seen him not long ago at Gerard’s and had, even more lately, been alone with him in his house. But to find him standing there in her own room, waiting for her to ask him to sit down, was positively weird. She felt the electric field round about him and it made her twitch.
He had left his overcoat in the hall, the door was shut, the electric fire was on. Outside the sun was shining on the white stucco fronts of the houses opposite. Crimond was wearing a black jacket, perhaps the one in which she had last seen him, and a clean white shirt and a tie. The jacket was visibly frayed and worn, but he looked, for him, quite presentable. On the last occasion he had resembled a priest. This time he looked more like a penurious young writer, tired, rootless, clever, frail. He gazed at her with a sad look, then looked around at her room. He said, his first words, ‘I’ve never been here before.’
Rose said ‘Yes’ to this evident truth. She noticed, now more particularly, his accent, which sounded rather affected, Scots overlaid with Oxford. She felt awkward, had not planned where they were to sit, had somehow imagined that their brief colloquy could take place standing up. She decided it would be more business-like, less like a social scene, to sit at the table in the window. She motioned him to a chair and they both sat down.
Rose said quickly and abruptly, ‘What do you want? Is it about Jean?’
Crimond had undone his jacket and put his forearms on the table, stretching out his long hands which were covered with fine red hairs. His nails were carefully cut but imperfectly clean, and the cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned. He considered Rose’s words and said, as if replying to some theoretical or academic question, ‘The answer is no.’
‘What is it then?’
Crimond made his thin mouth even thinner, looking first at the table and then at Rose. ‘That will take a little time to explain.’
‘I haven’t got much time,’ said Rose. This was not true. As Crimond continued to be silent, frowning, his pale blue eyes gleaming at her, she said, ‘I think I must tell you that Jean has returned to her husband.’
Crimond nodded, then looked away and took a long controlled breath, not quite emerging as a sigh.
Does he want me to sympathise with him! thought Rose. She said, ‘Is it about Gerard?’
‘Is what about Gerard?’
‘Your visit! You wrote saying you wanted to discuss an important matter! I’m waiting to hear what it is!’
‘No, it’s not about Gerard.’ He added, looking at her again and smiling faintly, ‘Don’t be impatient with me!’
I must be polite, thought Rose, it may be a ‘thank you’ visit after all. She said in a more conciliatory tone, ‘So the book is finished.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t say earlier that it was nearly finished. I didn’t intend to mislead you all. It was just psychologically difficult to say so. Perhaps I was superstitious, yes, I was superstitious, about the book. I thought I might never live to finish it.’
‘It has certainly taken a long time, you must feel quite lost without it.’ Rose and Gerard had of course discussed how, and whether, the break with Jean connected with the completion of the book, but had reached no conclusion. Perhaps the ending of his long task had disturbed Crimond’s reason. His appearance and his manner struck Rose as extremely odd, and she wondered again if he were actually mad.
‘Yes, it’s like death.’ He spoke solemnly, gazing at her intently. ‘It is – a bereavement.’
Rose looked away, looked at her watch. ‘Perhaps you will take
a holiday now?’
‘I’m afraid I am incapable of taking a holiday.’ There was a slight pause, during which Rose tried to think of some suitable commonplace. He went on, ‘I like your dress, it’s the same green as you wore at the dance.’
Rose, annoyed by his remark, said, ‘I didn’t see you at the dance.’
‘I saw you.’
That sounds like ill luck, she thought, if the wolf sees you first! Perhaps he really does want to talk about Jean? I certainly don’t propose to sit here making polite conversation! ‘You said you wanted to talk about something particular. Perhaps you could now say what it is?’
Crimond, who had been staring at her, looked away and again drew a long deep controlled breath. He looked about the room and seemed for a moment at a loss. ‘It’s something personal.’
‘About you –’
‘About me. Also about you.’
‘I don’t see how it can be about me,’ said Rose coldly. She felt a tremor of fear, and all sorts of horrible crazy possibilities suddenly made their appearance. She thought, he’s going to blackmail me – yet how can he – to get Jean back – or else it’s something against Gerard – or – she hoped she was not displaying her emotion. ‘Does it concern Gerard too?’
‘No,’ said Crimond, in a sharp peevish tone, ‘it does not concern Gerard, Why do you keep dragging him in?’
‘I’m not “dragging him in”!’ said Rose, beginning to get annoyed. ‘You’ve been so mysterious and sort of menacing. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I think you are full of ill-will towards us.’
‘You are very wrong,’ said Crimond, looking intently at her. He seemed now collected and very tense.