rich? Oh Bradley, to be able to tell you that, it's good, it's good! I'm going to have a new life, Bradley. I'm going to hear the trumpets blowing in my life.»
«Goodbye.»
«I'm going to be happy and to make other people happy. GO AWAY!»
The last command was, I almost instantly grasped, addressed not to me but to someone behind me who was standing just outside the window, which gave directly onto the pavement. I half turned and saw Francis Marloe standing outside. He was leaning forward to peer in through the glass, his eyebrows raised and a bland submissive smile upon his face. When he could discern us he put his hands together in an attitude of prayer.
«Come upstairs. Quick.»
I followed her up the narrow stair and into the front bedroom. This room had changed. Upon a bright pink carpet everything was black and shiny and modern. Christian flung open the window. Something flew out and landed with a clatter in the road. Coming nearer I saw that it was a stripy sponge bag. Out of it tumbled an electric shaver and a toothbrush. Francis scrambled for them quickly, then stood, consciously pathetic, his little close eyes blinking upward, his small mouth still pursed in a humble smile.
«And your milk chocolate. Look out. No, I won't, I'll give it to Brad. Brad, you still like milk chocolate, don't you. See, I'm giving your milk chocolate to Bradley.» She thrust the packet at me. I laid it on the bed. «I'm not being heartless, it's just that he's been at me the whole time since I got back, he imagines I'll play mother and support him! God, he's a real Welfare State layabout, like what the Americans think all the English are. Look at him now, what a clown! I gave him money, but he wants to move in and hang up his hat. He climbed in the kitchen window when I was out and I came back and found him in bed! Wow! Look who's here now!»
Another figure had appeared down below, Arnold Baffin. He was speaking to Francis.
«Hey, Arnold!» Arnold looked up and waved and moved towards the front door. She ran away down the stairs again with clacking heels and I heard the door open. Laughter.
Francis was still standing in the gutter holding his electric razor and his toothbrush. He looked towards the door, then looked up at me. He spread his arms, then dropped them at his sides in a gesture of mock despair. I threw the packet of milk chocolate out of the window. I did not wait to see him pick it up. I went slowly down the stairs. Arnold and Christian were just inside the sitting-room door, both talking.
I said to Arnold, «You left Priscilla.»
«Bradley, I'm sorry,» said Arnold. «Priscilla attacked me.»
«Attacked you?»
«Maybe I ought to have stuck it out somehow, but it was all-well, I won't go into ungentlemanly details-I was just thinking it would be best for both of us if I cleared out when Rachel turned up. She didn't know I was there, she was after you, Bradley. So I hopped it and left her holding the baby. You see, Priscilla wound her arms quite tightly round my neck and I couldn't even sort of talk to her-Perhaps it was very ungallant-I'm terribly sorry, Bradley-What would you have done, I mean mutatis mutandis-«You funny man, you,» said Christian. «You're quite excited! I don't believe it was like that at all! And what were you saying about me, you don't know anything about me! Does he, Brad? You know, Brad, this man makes me laugh.»
«You make me laugh too!» said Arnold.
They both began to laugh. The hilarious excitement which Christian had been holding in check throughout our interview burst wildly forth. She laughed, wailing, gasping for breath, leaning back against the door with tears spilling from her eyes. Arnold laughed too, without control, hands hanging, head back, mouth gaping, eyes closed. They swayed. They roared.
I went straight on past them out of the door and began to walk quickly down the street. Francis Marloe ran after me. «Brad, I say, could I talk to you a minute?»
I ignored him and he fell away. As I reached the corner of the road he shouted after me, «Brad! Thanks for the chocolate!»
Priscilla had been much relieved when I had agreed to go and fetch these objects, to which she seemed to attach an almost magical significance. It was agreed that after their abstraction Roger should be formally asked to pack up and send the rest of her clothes. Priscilla did not imagine that he would impound these, once her jewels were saved. She kept saying that Roger might sell her «precious things» out of spite, and on reflection I felt that this was indeed possible. I had hoped that my really, all things considered, very kind offer of a salvage operation would cheer Priscilla up. But once this source of anxiety was alleviated, she started up again an almost continuous rigmarole of remorse and misery, about the lost child, about her age, about her personal appearance, about her husband's unkindness, about her ruined useless life. Uncontrolled remorse, devoid of conscience or judgment, is very unattractive. I felt shame for my sister at this time and would gladly have kept her hidden away. However someone had to be with her and Rachel, who had heard a good deal of these repinings on the previous day, agreed, dutifully but without enthusiasm, to stay with Priscilla during my Bristol journey, provided I returned as early as possible on the same day.
The telephone rang in the empty house. It was office hours, afternoon. I was looking at my well-shaven upper lip in the telephone– box mirror, and thinking about Christian. What these thoughts were I will explain later. I could still hear that demonic laughter. A few minutes later, feeling nervous and unhappy and very like a burglar, I was thrusting the key into the lock and pressing gently upon the door. I had brought two large suitcases with me, which I put down in the hall. There was something unexpected which I had perceived as soon I crossed the threshold, but I could not at once think what it was. Then I realised that it was a strong fresh smell of furniture polish.
Priscilla had so much conveyed the desolation of the house. No one had made the beds for weeks. She had given up washing dishes. The char had left of course. Roger had taken a savage satisfaction part one 75 in increasing the mess and blaming her for it. Roger broke things deliberately. Priscilla would not clear them up. Roger found a plate with mouldy food upon it. He smashed the plate upon the ground in front of Priscilla in the hall. There it lay, with the pieces of broken plate and the muck spread upon the carpet. Priscilla had passed by with vacant eyes. But the scene as I came through the door was so different that I thought for a moment that I must be in the wrong house. There was a quite conspicuous air of cleanliness and order. The white woodwork shone, the Wilton carpet glowed. There were even flowers, huge red and white peonies, in a big brass jug on the oak chest. The chest had been polished. The jug had been polished.
Upstairs the same rather weird cleanliness and order prevailed. The beds had been made with hospitaline accuracy. There was not a speck of dust anywhere. A clock ticked quietly. It felt eerie, like the Marie Celeste. I gazed out into the garden at a sleek lawn and irises in flower. The sun was shining brightly but a little coolly. Roger must have cut the grass since Priscilla's departure. I went to the long lower drawer of the chest of drawers where Priscilla said she kept her jewel case. I dragged the drawer open, but there was nothing in it but clothes. I jumbled them up, then searched other drawers there and in the bathroom. I opened the wardrobe. There was no sign of the jewel case or of the mink stole. Nor could I see upon the dressing table the silver goblets or the malachite box which were supposed to be there. I felt very upset and ran into the other rooms. One room was simply full of Priscilla's clothes, lying on the bed, on chairs, on the floor, looking so bright and gay and odd. On my rounds I saw the blue-and-white striped china urn, which was considerably larger than Priscilla had suggested, and picked it up. As I stood at a loss upon the landing, holding the urn, I heard a sound down below me and a voice said, «Hello, it's me.»
I came slowly down the stairs. Roger was standing in the hall. When he saw me his mouth opened and his eyebrows went up. He was looking healthy and distinguished, wearing a well-cut grey sports jacket. His grey-brown hair was brushed back over his head in a neat dome. I put the vase down carefully on the chest beside the brass jug with the peonies.
«I came to get Priscilla's jewellery and stuff.»
«Is Priscilla with you?»
«No.»
«She isn't coming back, is she?»
«No.»
«Thank God. Come in here. Have a drink.» Roger's voice was prissy and plummy, rather loud, a pseudo- varsity voice, a public-relations voice, a public-speaking cad's voice. We went into the «lounge.» (A lounge lizard's voice.) Here too all was neat, there were flowers. The sun was shining.
«I want my sister's jewels.»
