The Nice and the Good

yearning which was soothed by her touch. And yet at such moments the checking of the inclination of his whole body towards hers racked every nerve and muscle. To sit there inertly while she caressed his hair or stroked his knee required an exertion of physical strength which made him ache. And all the while vivid imagery of embracing her, kissing her passionately, taking her on to his lap, surrounded Barbara with a golden aura of pain.
I thought it might have got better, Willy said to himself, but it seems to have got worse. I shall have to do something, I shall have to go away, if things go on like this I shall go mad.
He began deliberately to think about Mary and at last a sweet soothing faintness began to creep over him like a light mist. He was not in love with Mary, but he loved her very dearly, and he had been more profoundly moved and delighted by her proposal than he had yet been able to express to her in the two affectionate, confused, inconclusive meetings he had had with her since the scene in the graveyard. Perhaps he would marry Mary and take her right away. Perhaps that was the solution.
Why should he not even now make a dash for happiness?
Was it too late? Had the past really broken him?
Willy lay motionless face downward on his bed as the sun went down toward the sea and the evening made the landward colours seeth with vividness and then faded them into a luminous blue midsummer dark. He lay there wide-eyed and listened quietly to Theo who tapped for a while upon the door and then went slowly away.

Twenty-two

'Ye highlands and ye lowlands,
Oh where hae ye been?
They hae slain the Earl of Murray
And hae laid him on the green.'
'Oh shut up, Fivey!' Ducane shouted through the drawing room door.
The kitchen door banged. The drawing-room door banged.
'Sorry, Willy,' said Ducane. 'My nerves are on edge.'
'What seat?'
'Oh nothing. All this sunny weather is getting me down. It's so unnatural.'
'I wonder if those curious spots will go away in the winter.'
'What are you talking about, Willy?'
'Those freckles on your butler or whatever he is.'
'Good heavens! I'd never thought of that. I hope not. I rather like them!' Ducane laughed. 'You make me feel better, Willy. Have a drink.'
'A leetle whisky, maybe, just for a nightcap. Thanks.'
'You're very brown. Been basking in the sun?'
'Just lazy.'
'You seem cheerful, Willy.'
'Just crazy.'
'Octavian and Kate got off all right? V 'Yes, with the usual hullaballoo.'
'I hope they'll like Tangier. I thought it was just like the Tottenham Court Road myself.'
'They will like anywhere.'
'Yes. They're happy people.'
Both Willy and Ducane sighed.
'Happiness,' said Willy, 'is a matter of one's most ordinary everyday mode of consciousness being busy and lively and unconcerned with self. To be damned is for one's ordinary everyday mode of consciousness to be unremitting agonizing preoccupation with self.'
'Yes,' said Ducane. 'Kate and Octavian are hedonists, yet they aren't deeply preoccupied with themselves and so they can make other people happy.'
Ducane thought, this is a moment at which I might be able to make Willy talk about himself if I tried very hard. I think he wants to talk about himself. But I can't do it. I'm too burdened with my own troubles. He said, 'Things all right generally down there?'
'Yes and no. I don't see them much. Paula's worried about something, she's got some sort of secret nightmare.'
She's not the only one, thought Ducane gloomily. He said, 'Sorry to hear that. I must try to see a bit more of Paula.' How instinctively I assume that what everyone needs is help from me, Ducane thought bitterly.
'Yes, do that, John. And poor Barbara's still very upset about the cat.'
'The cat hasn't turned up?'
'No.'
'I expect it will. Barbie's a very sweet kid, but hopelessly spoilt of course.'
'Mmm.'
Ducane was feeling almost demoralized and as this was very unusual he was correspondingly alarmed. He was a man who needed to think well of himself. Much of the energy of his life issued from a clear conscience and a lively self-aware altruism: As he had had occasion to note just now, he was accustomed to picture himself as a strong self-sufficient clean-living rather austere person to whom helping others was a natural activity.
If Paula was in trouble then obviously what Paula needed was the support, the advice, the compassion of John Ducane. To think this was a reflex action. Ducane knew abstractly that one's ideal picture of oneself is likely to be misleading, but the discrediting of the picture in his own case had not brought any clear revelation of the shabby truth, but just muddle and loss of power. I cannot help anyone, he thought, it's not just that I'm not worthy to, I haven't the strength any more, I haven't the strength now to stretch out a hand to Willy, I'm enervated by all this mess and guilt.
He had spent part of the previous evening with Jessica and had agreed blankly to 'go on seeing her'. They had argued in a bitter hostile way about how often Ducane should see her.
Ducane had insisted that it should be only once a fortnight.
Jessica had not screamed, she had not wept. She had argued shrewdly, coldly. She had interrogated Ducane, asking him once more if he had a mistress, which he had again denied.
They had stared at each other with suspicion and anger and had parted brusquely. Ducane went away thinking though he was now too wary to say it: when two people have become so hard and unforgiving to each other they ought to have the wit and the strength to part. But then he felt, on reflecting on the evening, so extremely ashamed of his unkind behaviour that he took refuge in feelings of uncertainty and weakness.
He had also seen McGrath again and had given him some more money. He regretted having become so angry with the man on the first occasion, as it was at least worth discovering whether McGrath could be persuaded to sell any more information about Radeechy. Ducane noted wryly that his earlier scruples about corrupting McGrath and demeaning himself seemed to have vanished since he was now in any case on commercial terms with the fellow. McGrath, however, who was still uncertain, as Ducane intended him to be, whether or not Ducane was really settling down to pay him a regular wage for not posting the letters to 'the two young ladies', was evasive, hinted at things he might reveal if suitably rewarded, and made another appointment. In fact Ducane doubted whether McGrath had more to tell. As for the matter of the letters, Ducane told himself that he was just playing for time, and that was indeed all he could do. He must, at some suitable opportunity, inform Kate and Jessica of each other's existence and prepare them for an unpleasantness. They were rational women and it would probably pass off all right. The only serious damage would be to his own dignity and that could be salutary damage.
At least this was what Ducane thought some of the time. At other moments the whole thing was a nightmare. He writhed at the idea of their seeing him as a liar and a traitor. His behaviour to Jessica, already so inconsistent and unkind, would seem, on this revelation, that of a shabby trickster. Jessica was certain to believe