Alexander hesitated. He said, 'New York, actually,' and looked at Georgie. I looked at her too. She looked down into her glass.
We were all silenced again. That had been an unlucky move and I could see Georgie's averted face stiffen and grow burning red.
I said hastily, 'How nice. And where will you live? Mainly at Rembers? Or up in town?'
'Both, I expect,' said Alexander. 'But we certainly intend to inhabit Rembers properly, not just at week-ends.' He answered vaguely conscious of Georgie's mounting distress.
'That will be good for Rembers,' I said. 'It's a house that loves people. It will be good for it to have a real family in it, to have children there again.'
As I said this and promptly wished it unsaid, I heard Georgie draw a sharp breath. She closed her eyes and two tears rolled suddenly down her cheeks.
Antonia heard the indrawn breath and turned her head. She saw Georgie's face. Then she said Oh, her mouth worked, her brow reddened, and her own eyes, like two great wells, were instantly overflowing. She bowed her head over the glass which she was holding stiffly in front of her and her tears fell into the champagne. Georgie had covered her face with her handkerchief. I looked at Alexander and Alexander looked at me. After all, for better and worse we had known each other a long time.
Twenty-four
Extreme love is fed by everything. So it was that the shock of Georgie's decision, once the immediate pain had been suffered, opened as it were a channel down which my desires with an increased violence ran in the direction of Honor. The thing seemed intended; and in that perspective Georgie's action, though hideously upsetting and painful, counted chiefly as a clearing of the decks. I was, it seemed, to be deprived of consolation. I was to be stripped, shaved and prepared as a destined victim; and I awaited Honor as one awaits, without hope, the searing presence of a god. There was nothing which I could reasonably, even, expect: yet all was in the waiting. It was not until I was positively pushing open the door at Pelham Crescent that it occurred to me that I might not, in the course of my embassy, set eyes on Honor at all: so closely did I think of the brother and sister as being connected.
I closed the front door behind me and hung up my dripping raincoat. I had set out far too early from Hereford Square and had spent some time walking about in the rain trying to become calm and rational. All the same, my heart nearly choked me, so high did it leap, as I knocked on the door of Palmer's study and went in to the lamplight and the quiet interior, warm and dry and close-fitting as the inside of a nut. Palmer was alone.
He lay outstreched on the divan. He was in pyjamas, with the purple dressing-gown and thick red slippers. Although he had his back to the light I saw at once the greenish shadow on his cheek, the remains of the black eye. I saw it with surprise, having forgotten that I had struck him, or having not quite in retrospect believed that his flesh was vulnerable. He was fumbling when I came in with a large box of paper handkerchiefs. A wastepaper basket full of crumpled paper was beside him and his first words were, 'My dear fellow, don't come near me, I've got the most devilish cold!'
I sat down on a chair against the wall, as if I were in a waiting-room. I looked at Palmer wearily, passively. Perhaps after all I had only come to be judged and punished. I waited for him to act.
He sneezed violently several times, said, 'Oh dear, Oh dear!' and then 'Do have some whisky. There's some on the side, and ice in that barrel thing. A cold always goes straight to my liver so I'll stick to barley water.'
I helped myself and lit a cigarette and waited. It now seemed clear to me, desolately, that I was not going to see Honor; and if this, inconclusively, was the end it was a terrible one.
'How is Antonia?' said Palmer.
'Very well,' I said.
'I doubt that,' said Palmer, 'but she will recover. Falling out of love is chiefly a matter of forgetting how charming someone is. She will forget soon.'
'You demon,' I said. 'You speak as if you were not, yourself, in the least involved.' I spoke dully, however.
'No, no,' said Palmer. 'Don't misunderstand me. I was very carried away by your wife, very carried away indeed.' He sneezed again and said 'Damn!'
'Have you succeeded in forgetting how charming she is?' I asked.
'Do you want me to?' said Palmer.
'Leave me out,' I said.
'Dear boy, how can I?' said Palmer.
'That's the trouble,' I said. 'No one can leave me out. Yet I don't fit in either. Never mind.'
'Why did you come?' said Palmer.
'Just so as to close the matter. Antonia likes things neat.'
'By «neat» do you mean tidy or pure?'
'Tidy. You flatter yourself, by the way. Elle ne vous aime plus. But your cooperation is needed to make an end. How exactly you do it I leave to you. These subtleties are in any case your province.'
'Does Antonia want to see me?' said Palmer. I looked at him closely. His clever eyes were upon me. His hand moved slowly to jettison a handkerchief. The darkly shadowed cheek seemed to suit him, suggestive of some half remembered picture of Dionysus. I thought, he is sure I have told her. I said, 'No.'
Palmer watched me a while and then sighed and said, 'It is better so.' He added, 'How are you, Martin?'
'Dead,' I said. 'Otherwise fine.'
'Come,' said Palmer, 'tell me, tell me.' His voice was caressing and persuasive.
I was surprised to find myself braced as for a resistance. I said, 'Nothing, nothing.'
'What do you mean, nothing?'
'I mean, no loose ends.'
'You are a liar, aren't you,' said Palmer.
I stared at him. It seemed impossible that he should not know all that was in my mind. I wondered what Honor had told him. I said, 'Palmer, I came here to take leave of you, on behalf of Antonia, and to arrange to remove the things which she left here. May we keep our attention on those two matters?'
'I've had her things packed,' said Palmer. 'That will be dealt with. But do you seriously intend to stay with Antonia after all this?'
'Yes.'
'You are most unwise,' he said. 'You should take this opportunity to part. It will be far better for both of you – and harder later. I speak quite disinterestedly, of course.'
'Clinically,' I said. Some deep attentive thing within me responded to his words as to a longed-for summons. But I continued, 'We are not going to part. And anyway it's our business.'
'Your marriage is over, Martin,' said Palmer. 'Why not recognize it? Wouldn't you like to talk it over with me? Indeed if you like «clinically». I don't mean necessarily now this minute, but soon. I feel sure I could help you.'
I laughed. 'For the first time since I met you I find you capable of stupidity.'
Palmer looked at me with the deliberate gentleness of the professional doctor. I noticed that behind his head the row of Japanese prints had been replaced. He said, 'What seems to you my stupidity is simply my need. We don't want to lose you.'
'We,' I said, 'for heaven's sake?'
'Honor and I,' said Palmer.
I tried very hard, deepening my frown, to let my face reveal nothing. 'What would not losing me consist in?'
'I don't know,' he said. 'Why should we be able to define it beforehand? Let me be simple. I think it is important for you both that you should leave Antonia. You want to leave Antonia; and this is not a moment for placating your very abstract sense of duty. On the whole, «do what you want» costs others less than «do what you ought». You will destroy Antonia slowly if you stay with her. Be resolute. And don't be ashamed to accept help. The
