«When you will something a simple formulation is often the best. Besides, morals is simple.»
«And we must be moral, mustn't we?»
«In the end, yes.»
«In the end. That's rich. Are you going to leave Priscilla with Christian?»
This took me aback. I said, «For the present.» I could not decide what to do about Priscilla.
«Priscilla is a complete wreck. You've got her on your hands for life. I've had second thoughts about minding her, by the way. She'd drive me mad. Anyway, you'll leave her with Christian. And you'll go there to see her. And you'll start to talk with Christian and you'll start discussing how your marriage went wrong, just like Arnold said you ought to do. You don't realize how confident Arnold is that he's the centre of every complex. It's little people like you and me who are mean and envious and jealous. Arnold is so self-satisfied that he's really generous, it's real virtue. Yes, you'll come to Christian in the end. That's where the end is. Not morality but power. She's a very powerful woman. She's a great magnet. She's your fate. And the funny thing is that Arnold will regard it all as his doing. We are all his people. But you'll see. Christian is your fate.»
«Never!»
«A muddler hoping to be forgiven. That sounds humble and touching. It would possibly be very effective in one of your books. But I've got a kind of misery that makes me blind and deaf. You wouldn't understand. You live in the open with all of you spread out around you. I'm mangled in a machine. Even to say it's my own fault doesn't mean anything. However don't worry too much about me. I expect all married people are like this. It doesn't prevent me from enjoying cups of tea.»
«Rachel, we will be friends, you won't run away into remoteness? There's no need to be dignified with me.»
«You're so self-righteous, Bradley. You can't help it. You're a deeply censorious and self-righteous person. Still, you mean well, you're a nice chap. Maybe later I shall be glad you said these things.»
«Then it's a pact.»
«All right.» Then she said, «You know there's a lot of fire in me. I'm not a wreck like poor old Priscilla. A lot of fire and power yet. Yes.»
«Of course-«You don't understand. I don't mean anything to do with simplicity and love. I don't even mean a will to survive. I mean fire, fire. What tortures. What kills. Ah well-«Rachel, look up. The sun's shining.»
«Don't be soppy.»
She threw her head back and suddenly got up and started off across the square like a machine which had just been quietly set in motion. I hurried after her and took her hand. Her arm remained stiff, but she turned to me with a grimacing smile such as women sometimes use, smiling through weariness and a self-indulgent desire to weep. As we neared Oxford Street the Post Office Tower came into view, very hard and clear, glittering, dangerous, martial and urbane.
«Oh look, Rachel.»
«What?»
«The tower.»
«Oh that. Bradley, don't come any farther. I'm going to the station.»
«When shall I see you?»
«Never, I expect. No, no. Ring up. Not tomorrow.»
