'Don't bother,' I said, 'I have the car.' I moved toward the claret bottle to give myself some more. Somehow or other my foot came into contact with it and it tilted soundlessly over. A big red stain spread on the white absorbent carpet. I said, 'Damnation!'
'Don't worry, my darling,' said Antonia. 'It'll come out!' She jumped up and went through a white communicating door into the bathroom. In a moment she was squatting at my feet deluging the carpet with water from a bowl. The stain faded to pale pink.
'And if it doesn't come out,' said Palmer, 'we'll put a rug over it. I forbid you to worry about it, Martin. But, my dear fellow, can you get yourself home all right? Shall I drive you?» He sat there smiling and swinging his naked leg.
'No, of course not,' I said. 'I'm perfectly capable. I'm terribly sorry about the carpet. I'd better go. I've left the crate in the hall. Will it be all right there?'
'If you wouldn't mind putting it in the cellar,» said Palmer. 'Don't think of unpacking it, just leave it there. Our maid comes at some unearthly hour, and what with paper boys and milkmen and other mysterious persons who come and go when Antonia and I are asleep, it would be better to have it out of the way. It's very kind of you indeed.'
'I'm terribly sorry,' I said. I looked down at Antonia who was still mopping the carpet.
She rose quickly and kissed me on the cheek. 'You're not to worry. Is he, Anderson? Promise?'
'I promise,' I said with an embarrassed laugh. I began to back towards the door.
Antonia sat down again on the bed and they both watched me go. The light from the candlesticks shone upon her golden head and his soft silver one. They watched me, smiling, she infinitely soft and tender, he candid, confident, brilliant. Across the white bed their shoulders leaned together, and they glowed at me out of a centre of white and golden light. I closed the door on them as one closes the door of some rich reliquary or glorious triptych. The light was left within.
Sixteen
I stumbled cursing down the cellar steps. The crate was infernally heavy. I got it to the bottom and kicked it. The bottles rattled reproachfully. An electric light, unshaded but dim, showed the bleak musty cavern that was Palmer's cellar. The place seemed darker than usual and a sulphurous odour of fog mingled with the smells of rotting wood and cold damp stone. I sat down on a broken kitchen chair. I had hurt my foot kicking the crate.
I found that I had thrust my glass into my pocket, and it occurred to me that I might as well drink some more wine. Reaching out from a sitting position I got hold of the neck of a bottle and hauled it from the crate. I took a little time unfolding my corkscrew again and getting the bottle open. I poured out some wine, slopping it over my trousers and on to the floor. I drank it quickly and poured out some more.
It was cold in the cellar and the smell which I had identified as fog seemed to be getting stronger. I shivered and turned up the collar of my overcoat. I found myself wondering what the inside of a gas chamber could be like. The wine was cold too, harsh and unlike itself, a strange unfamiliar potion. It left an ill taste on my tongue. My head was spinning a little and I had an uneasy sensation in the stomach which was either fear or indigestion.
There was a sudden noise very near by. I jumped up hastily and retreated a few steps across the uneven cellar floor. My heart struck against my side like a gong. A figure had appeared on the cellar steps. For a moment in the obscurity I could not see who it was. Then I recognized it was Honor Klein. We stared at each other. My heart knocked still, and for a moment I had the strange experience of seeming to stand outside and see myself, a tall stooping figure, my coat collar turned up, my hair wild, my eyes staring, and the wine half spilt. I found it difficult to speak.
Honor Klein came down another two steps. She said, 'Oh, it's you. I saw the light on and I thought it might be my brother.' She stood there, hands deep in the pockets of her tweed coat, looking down at me broodingly, her eyes narrow, the line of her mouth equally hard and straight.
I said, 'Your brother is in bed with my wife.' I added, 'I just took them up some wine in bed.'
Honor Klein went on brooding at me. Then her face relaxed slightly and her eyes opened a little with an ironical light. She said, 'You are heroic, Mr Lynch-Gibbon. The knight of infinite humiliation. One does not know whether to kiss your feet or to recommend that you have a good analysis.' She said it as one might say 'a good thrashing'.
I said, 'You kindly introduced my mistress to my brother. That was charming of you.'
'She asked me to,' said Honor Klein after a pause.
'And why did you do so with such alacrity? I cannot credit you with a kind heart.'
The mockery had left her face and as she stared at me through the gloom the grimness of her expression seemed more and more weighted with melancholy. Her face was heavy and surly, like a face in a Spanish religious painting, something looking out of darkness, barbarous yet highly conscious. She said, 'Oh it doesn't matter. I did it on the spur of the moment. I thought it was time for her to see a new face.'
'It matters to me,' I said. 'I wonder if you have any idea what a destructive person you are? I should be grateful if you would keep your hands off my business in future.'
'We are not likely to meet in the future,' said Honor Klein. 'I am going back to Cambridge almost at once.'
'You speak as if it were the North Pole,' I said. 'I wish it were! And I'm not the only one who'll heave a sigh of relief.'
'What do you mean?'
'Palmer and Antonia aren't exactly delighted to have you hovering over them like a carrion crow.'
Honor Klein looked at me and her face twisted for a moment. Then she said, 'You are drunk, Mr Lynch- Gibbon, foully drunk, and even when you are sober you are stupid. Good night.' She turned to go.
I said, 'Wait a minute.'
What happened next may seem a little improbable, but the reader must just believe me that it did occur. She paused and turned round again to face me. I set my foot on the lowest step and seized her arm roughly. Then I pulled her down towards me. She came stumbling, and for a moment we stood together at the foot of the steps, me breathing hard and crushing her arm in my grip, she tense and glaring at me. I had in retrospect the illusion that her entire face, then and during the moments that followed, had become black.
She pulled away from me with a sudden violence, trying to free her arm. It was odd that she did not seem particularly surprised. As she pulled I changed my grip and began to turn her about, twisting her arm behind her back. At this she kicked me very hard indeed in the shins. I pushed her wrist upward towards her shoulder blade and captured her other hand. I could hear her gasp with pain. I was behind her now and her weight came backward against me as I increased my pressure. She kicked me again, very painfully.
I relaxed my grip and curled one leg round hers, at the same time pushing her violently forward. She fell on her knees, and I half fell on top of her, losing hold of her arm. We rolled over each other on the floor. I gave her my weight, trying to find her wrist. On her back now, she came against me with both hands pushing and clawing, and endeavoured to drive her knee into my stomach. She fought like a maniac; but it was remarkable too that throughout our brief battle she did not cry out once.
We were both impeded by our overcoats, and I was also impeded by being extremely drunk. She was even stronger than I would have expected. But it took me only a moment to get hold of her wrists. I crushed them both together in one hand, leaning my weight upon her until she became still. I could see her face just below mine, the black hairs on her upper lip, the white of her teeth. I lifted myself a little and with my free hand struck her three times, a sideways blow across the mouth. She closed her eyes and tried to turn her head away. I saw that clearly in retrospect too.
After I had hit her the third time I began to wonder what I was doing. I let her go and rolled off her. She got up without haste while I got myself into a sitting position. My head, suddenly asserting its existence, felt terrible. She brushed down her coat and then without looking at me and still without haste she mounted the cellar steps.
I sat quiet for a minute feeling extremely confused. Then holding my head, which felt ready to break open, I got shakily to my feet. I got myself up the steps and into the hall. The front door was open and outside, hung like a
