him a lot.»
«So you see, the real drama is between you and him. I'm just a side issue as usual.»
«No, no.»
«I don't mean a literal wink, you fool. Ah well, my little bid for freedom didn't last long, did it. It ended in a sordid undignified scrabbling little muddle and Arnold taking over once again. Oh God, marriage is such an odd mixture of love and hate. I detest and fear Arnold and there are moments when I could kill him. Yet I love him too. If I didn't love him he wouldn't have this awful power over me. And I admire him, I admire his work, I think his books are marvellous.»
«Rachel, you can't!»
«And I think that review of yours was spiteful and stupid.»
«Well, well.»
«You're just eaten up with envy.»
«Let's not argue about that, Rachel, please.»
«I'm sorry. I feel so sort of broken. I feel resentment against you for not having had the grace or luck to- rescue me or defend me or something. I don't even know what I mean. It isn't that I want to leave Arnold, I couldn't, I'd die. I just want a little privacy, a little secrecy, a few things of my own which aren't absolutely dyed and saturated with Arnold. But it seems to be impossible. You and he are going to start up again-«What a phrase!»
«You'll be talking your intellectual talk together and I'll be outside washing up and hearing your voices going on and on and on. It'll be just like the old days.»
«Listen, dear Rachel,» I said. «Why shouldn't you have a private place? I don't mean a love affair, neither of us has the temperament for that. I dare say I'm terribly repressed, not that I mind. And an affair would involve us in lies and would be wrong-«How simply you put it!»
«I don't want you to encourage you to deceive your husband-«I'm not asking you to!»
«We've known each other for years without ever coming really close. Now we suddenly blunder up against each other and it goes all wrong. We might now recede again to the previous distance or even farther. I suggest we don't. We can be friends. Arnold was holding forth about how he and Christian were friends-«Was he?»
«I suggest that you and I settle down to construct a friendship, nothing clandestine, all cheerful and above board-«Cheerful?»
«Why not? Why should life be sad?»
«I often wonder.»
«Why shouldn't we love each other a bit and make each other happier?»
«I like your 'a bit.' You're such a weights-and-measures man.»
«Let's try. I need you.»
«That's the best thing you've said yet.»
«Arnold could hardly object-«He'd love it. That's the trouble. Sometimes, Bradley, I wonder whether you have it in you at all to be a writer. You have such nai've views about human nature.»
«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.»
«Rachel, you're sure Julian doesn't know anything about-anything?»
«Quite sure. And no one's likely to tell her! Whatever possessed you to buy her those expensive boots?»
«I wanted time to think of a plausible way of askinS her to saY she hadn't met me.»
«You don't seem to have employed the time vel7 profitably.»
«No I-didn't.»
«Good-bye, Bradley. Thanks even.»
Rachel left me. I saw her disappear into the crowd, her battered blue handbag swinging, the plump pale flesh ex» her upper arm oscillating a little, her hair tangled, her face dazed and tired– with an automatic hand she had scooped up the hanging shoulder strap. Then I saw her again, and again and again. O^fшrd Street was ful1 of tired ageing women with dazed faces, push*ing blindly against each other like a herd of animals. I ran across the road and north –wards towards my flat.
I thought, I must get away, I must get away I must Set away. I thought, I'm glad Julian doesn't know about all that. I thought, Maybe Priscilla really is better off at Notting ^ilL: thought, Perhaps I will go and see Christian after all.
As I now approach the first climax of my bool^ let me pause, dear friend, and refresh myself once again with some direct converse with you.
Seen from the peace and seclusion of our present haven the events of these few days between the first appearanc^ of Francis Marloe and my Soho Square conversation with Rachel *»
With these observations I introduce an analysis of my recent (as it were) conduct which I now wish, my dear, to deploy before you. As far as Rachel was concerned, I acted out of a mixture of rather graceless motives. I think the turning point was her emotional letter. What dangerous machines letters are. Perhaps it is as well that
