«Roger and that young girl. God, it sickens me!»
«I know. But Priscilla is the problem.»
«What am I to do, Rachel, what am I to do?»
Rachel, relaxed, barefoot, did not reply. She was gently stroking her face where I had imagined the bruise. We were reposing now in deck chairs. She was relaxed yet animated, in a characteristic way: what Arnold called her «exalted look.» A bright expectancy blazed in her pale freckled face and in her light brown eyes. She looked alert and handsome. Her reddish golden hair was deliberately frizzed out and untidy.
«How mechanical they look,» I said.
«Who? What?»
«The blackbirds.»
Several blackbirds were walking jerkily about like little woundup toys upon the clipped grass path.
«Just like us.»
«What are you talking about, Bradley?»
«Mechanical. Just like us.»
«Have some more milk chocolate.»
«Francis likes milk chocolate.»
«I feel sorry for Francis, but I do see Christian's point.»
«All this intimate friendly talk about 'Christian' makes me feel ill.»
«You mustn't mind so much. It's all in your head.»
«Well, I live in my head. I wish she was dead. I wish she'd died in America. I bet she killed her husband.»
«Bradley. You know I didn't mean any of those violent things I said about Arnold the other day.»
«Yes, I know.»
«In marriage one says things which are, yes, mechanical, but it doesn't affect the heart.»
«The what?»
«Bradley, don't be so-«How heavy mine is, like a great stone in my breast. Sometimes one feels suddenly doomed by fate.»
«Oh brace up, for God's sake!»
«You don't hate me for having seen-you know, you and Arnold, the other day?»
«No. It just makes you seem closer.»
«I wish, I wish she hadn't met Arnold.»
«You're very attached to Arnold, aren't you?»
«Yes.»
«It's not just that you care what he thinks?»
«No.»
«It's odd. He's awkward with you. I know he often hurts you. But he cares very much for you, very much.»
«Do you mind if we change the subject a bit?»
«You're such a funny fellow, Bradley. You're so unphysical. And you're as shy as a schoolboy.»
«That woman coming back bang into the middle of everything has been such a bloody shock. And she's got her claws into Arnold already. And Priscilla.»
«She's beautiful, you know.»
«And you.»
«No. But I appreciate her. You never described her properly.»
«She's changed.»
«Arnold thinks you're still in love with her.»
«If he thinks that it must be because he's in love with her himself.»
«Are you in love with her?»
«Rachel, do you want me to scream and scream and scream?»
«You are a schoolboy!»
«Only because of her I understand hatred.»
«Are you a masochist, Bradley?»
«Don't be daft.»
«I sometimes thought you enjoyed it when Arnold went for you.»
«Is Arnold in love with her?»
«Where do you suppose he went to when he left us today?»
«To the-Oh, you mean he went back to her?»
«Of course.»
«Hell. He's only met her twice, three times-«Don't you believe in love at first sight?»
«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.»
