«So you think he is-?»
«He had a pretty long session with her in that pub. And again last night when-«Don't tell me. Is he?»
«Oh Jesus Christ.»
«That was in the pub. Last night I gather they-All right, all right! I just wanted to say I'm on your side. We'll bring Priscilla here if you like.»
«It's too late. Oh Christ. Rachel, I don't feel terribly well.»
«Oh confound you, Bradley. Here. Take my hand. Take it.»
Under the opaque glass of the veranda it had become very hot and sultry. The earth smells and the grass smells were exotic now, like incense, not rainy and fresh. Rachel had edged her deck chair close up against mine. I could feel the nearby weight of her sagging body like a gravitational pull upon my own. She had wound her arm in underneath my arm and rather awkwardly taken hold of my hand. So two corpses might ineptly greet each other on resurrection day. Then she began to turn over towards me, her head pressing onto my shoulder. I could smell her perspiration and the fresh clean scent of her hair.
One is very vulnerable in a deck chair. I had been wondering what kind of hand-holding this was. I did not know what sort of pressure to give her hand or how long to retain it. When her head came thrusting onto my shoulder with that gauche aggressive nuzzling gesture I felt a sudden not unpleasant helplessness. At the same time I said, «Rachel, get up, please, let's go inside.»
She shot up out of the chair. I got up more slowly. The slack canvas gave little leverage, and her speed was remarkable. I followed her into the dark drawing-room.
«I beg your pardon, Bradley.» She had already thrown open the door into the hall. Her staccato voice and manner made clear what she thought. I realized that if I did not take her in my arms at once, some quite irreparable «incident» would have occurred. I closed the door into the hall and took her in my arms. I was not reluctant to do so. I felt the hot plumpness of her shoulders and again the heavy nuzzling head.
«Come and sit down, Rachel.»
We sat down on the sofa and immediately her lips were pressed against mine.
At the same time, like the excellent Arnold, I was keeping my head, or trying to. I kept my lips upon Rachel's and we remained immobile for a time which began to seem absurdly long. I held her meanwhile rather stiffly, but firmly, one arm still round her shoulder and the other holding her hand. I felt as if I were, in two senses, arresting her. Then we drew apart and studied each other's eyes: possibly to find out what had happened.
The first glimpse of someone's face after they have made an irrevocable gesture of affection is always instructive and moving. Rachel's face was radiant, tender, rueful, questioning. I felt bucked. I wanted to convey pleasure, gratitude. «Oh, dear Rachel, thank you.»
«I'm not just trying to cheer you up.»
«I know.»
«There's a real something here.»
«I know. I'm so glad.»
«I've wanted to-draw you closer-before. I felt shy. I feel shy now.»
«So do I. But-Oh, thank you.»
We were silent for a moment, tense, almost embarrassed.
Then I said, «Rachel, I think I must go.»
