And then with a strange vicarious thrill which silenced his officious conscience for the time he envisaged the lovers in flight. And with that his thought returned to his own affairs and to Emma.
Hugh had felt, during the interim between his action and its results, unable to see Emma. Too much depended upon the issue and he did not want, as it were, to spoil the effect of his reappearance in a new situation of which he would be the acknowledged author. Also, he did not want to be chaperoned by Lindsay and that this would be, if he went sooner, with impish cruelty insisted on by Emma he was fairly sure. He had, about his ultimate reception by the abandoned Emma, oddly few fears or misgivings. He knew her well enough to think that she would greet his coup with admiration rather than resentment. He had not been to see her; but he had sent, every day, and with a luxurious pleasure, letters, chocolates, and flowers. She had not replied. And now, an hour and a half after Ann's telephone call, he stood upon Emma's doorstep. He had rung up to ask if he could come and she had briefly said yes.
'I miss my pretty one, said Emma. 'You'll find me dull.
She had not responded to the gentle drama of Hugh's arrival. He had imagined the scene far otherwise. She made no secret of her bereft state. But her remarks about it had a peevish and casual air, and she had spent the first ten minutes of their encounter complaining about her charwoman. There was a depressing lack of intensity. Hugh was at a loss.
The flat looked odd too. It had a sort of stripped appearance, like Aladdin's palace in a state of partial demolition. When Hugh commented on this, Emma replied. 'She took her things and a lot of mine as well. You just wouldn't recognize the bedroom.
'Why didn't you stop her?
'Ah well, said Emma vaguely, 'I wanted her to have them really. I told her she could take a few mementoes.
‘You parted — in anger?
Emma laughed. 'Lord, no! How could you think it? Surely you know what an old matchmaker I am.
'You mean you-
'I invented it, after all, Randall and Lindsay.
Now when she said it it seemed true. Yet Hugh did not know whether to believe her. His imagination drew a blank. He had never been able to, would never be able to, picture that friendship. He was disconcerted too to find Emma claiming to have done what he thought he had done. He said, 'I wonder what Randall will make of it.
Emma was grave for a moment. 'Randall may be saved in the end because at least he loves something. Though I'm afraid» Lindsay may be only the symbol of it. Now you can give me some whisky. Did I tell you? I've decided to take to drink.
He poured out two glasses and then stood before her frowning and biting his nails. He pawed absently at his ear where a large ball of steel wool seemed to be grinding to and fro. He said, 'You're not angry with me, are you?
'You keep attributing anger to me. I can certainly be ill-humoured.
But neither lust nor rage dance attendance upon my old age. There is no citadel any more upon which the flags can wave defiantly. Why ought I to be angry, though?
'I didn't say you ought to, said Hugh. 'I meant —’ He hesitated. He did not want to lay claim to an act which had harmed her, if there was any way of getting out of it, and she had already shown him a way. Yet he did want the credit of an act performed for her sake. Yet again, he did not want, in disputing her own picture of the matter, to seem even for a second to pity her. And yet he had indubitably done something and he wanted at least to be noticed for it. A subdued noise like a distant pistol shot went off in his head and the grinding stopped.
Emma watched him with some amusement. 'If you want me to chastise you because you gave Randall a dowry, you'll be disappointed. It was a beautiful idea. I wish I had thought of it myself. Have you any spare cigarettes, by the way? I seem to be running out. Oh, those horrid healthy ones. Well, I'll have one all the same.
'I didn't exactly do it for Randall, said Hugh. He kept his eyes upon her pointed face which was veiled with fugitive lights of frivolity and humour.
'Ah, but you loved it, said Emma. 'Confess you loved it. What a wild reckless streak you have in your nature after all! And a light please, if you don't mind.
'You know I did it for you.
'Sweet of you to say so. I'm flattered of course. So bad for my character. But all our characters seem to have taken quite a beating lately, don't they? I think I'll have a little more whisky. This malt stuff is rather good. I much prefer an unblended whisky, don't you?
'Listen,’ said Hugh, sitting down beside her. He did not want his passionate intention, his entreaty, to be lost in her badinage. He did not want to be cheated of his scene. 'I am a selfish man and when I say I did it for you I mean I did it for myself. Be sincere with me, Emma, and don't mock me. Is it not a miracle that we are together again, and if it is a miracle is it not a destiny? Do not make my words seem foolish. You know they are truthful. I love you and I need you and you belong to me in the end.
'Good heavens, are you proposing to me? said Emma with a little shriek. 'I haven't had a proposal in twenty years!
'Stop it! He seized one of her hands.
'But wait — are you proposing? said Emma, her eyes humorous and intent.
He let go of her. 'I hadn't got as far as that.
They were silent for a moment and then both burst out laughing. I must say, I do rather love you, Hugh: There is something sublime about you. But I don't know if anything follows. Perhaps there is nothing but this.
'But — what?
'Well, just this; this understanding, this talk, this laughter, perhaps just this moment.
'If there is this much there must be more, said Hugh. 'When I said I hadn't got as far as proposing I didn't mean the proposal came later in the speech, but just that we couldn't yet know what we wanted exactly.
'Well, what do you want, roughly?
'Roughly, everything.
She laughed again. 'That is a lot, Hugh. Or is it? Aren't we perhaps dried up now, all hollow inside like shrivelled gourds, dry and rattling? Belonging to each other «in the end» is a rather metaphorical sort of belonging. The trouble is: it is the end already.
'No, no, no! He could not help being elated by the directness of their exchanges and by his sense of the continuity of the old love with the new. It was the same love, the same girl.
'Ah, you're pleased with yourself, really!
'Emma, he said, 'just don't say no to this in your heart. And let our good fates do the rest.
'My dear, I don't say anything in my heart. I'm a perfect phenomenalist. Or if anything is said it is something like «whisky» or «teatime». Can I have another of those horrible cigarettes?
'You know perfectly well we aren't old. People don't grow old.
Old age in that sense is an illusion of the young.
'I am old, said Emma. 'Or rather I lack an attribute of youth which you have got: a sense of the future, a sense of time. I am just a bundle of perceptions, most of them unpleasant. As for other people, either they're with me or they don't exist.
'Well, let me be with you!
'Oh, you're so tiring, Hugh', she said, looking at her watch. 'You must go out and get me some Gauloises before the shops shut.
'Don't be so complicated about it: he said. He was holding his breath, fearing now to press her too much in case she should say some words of rejection. 'You are lonely with Lindsay gone. Let me look after you a little. I'm sorry if I went too far today. Let us be simple and slow.
'Simple and slow', she murmured. 'How adorable you are. I'm really quite fond of you.
'You said a little while ago you loved me. Fondness is less.
'I have told you I am not a continuous being. My words cannot be used as evidence against me.
'But you'll let me come again?
'Perhaps.
'We'll see what happens, shall we?
