”I love everything.”
”But you don’t understand about death. Do you know what I think?” said Bruno, staring hard at the dressing gown in the dim light. “I think God is death. That’s it. God is death.”
12
Danby closed the door of the fan-lighted sitting room behind him and leaned against it. His heart was beating like a steam hammer.
Diana was standing tense and erect near the French windows. They stared at each other without smiling.
The distance between them was a huge airy magnetic space. Danby moved into it slowly, pushing the little rounded chintz chairs out of the way with his feet. Diana stood rigid. When he was a yard away from her he stopped again.
Then very slowly he came nearer, opening his hands, not with a grasping gesture but with a praying gesture, or perhaps a gesture of benediction. The blessing hands descended, outlining, a foot away, her figure. With a very deep sigh he put his hands behind him. Another step forward and the stuff of his jacket was lightly touching her breast. She slowly leaned her head back and, hands still behind him, he kissed her on the lips. They remained for some time, immobile, eyes closed, lip to lip.
”The metaphysic of kisses,” said Danby. He put his arms round her now, caressing her slender neck and running his hands very slowly down the length of her back. The fragility, the flexibility, of the human neck. He could feel the pain of her heart beating strongly against his own.
”You made quite a ceremony out of that.”
”The first time I kiss you is worth a ceremony. This is the first of thousands.”
”Or the first of few. Who knows?”
”What am I saying? Millions.”
Her hands were still hanging at her side.
”I am a very determined and highly organized hedonist, Diana.”
”We aren’t in love.”
”Yes we are. In a way suited to our advanced age.”
” ‘The heyday in the blood is tame’?”
”I don’t feel at all tame, my dear. What about it?”
”I’ve told you. I love my husband.”
”Well, that was a jolly good kiss from a girl who loves her husband. Come on, be a sport, put your arms round me. Or if you can’t manage that, at least laugh at me!”
”Dear, dear, dear Danby. God, you’re sweet!” She laughed. Then she threw her arms round him and burrowed her head violently into the shoulder of his jacket.
Danby tried to lift her head. He took hold of her hair and drew it back and kissed her again. “Number two. Let’s sit down, shall we?”
There was a small plump tasselled sofa against the wall.
There was just room for two. The chilly lucid afternoon sun was beginning to slant into the room. “Number three.”
”I shouldn’t have let you come here,” said Diana. She was relaxed in his arms now, thrusting back his white hair from his face.
”But you did because you wanted to see me.”
”I’m afraid I wanted very much to see you.”
”Oh goodie!”
”But it’s all ridiculous, Danby. This is the sort of argument that ends in bed-“
”Goodie, goodie!”
”Only that’s not where we’re going.”
”We’ll see. There’s no hurry. I’ve only kissed you three times. Number four coming up.”
Danby began to unfasten the front of her dress. Her hand fluttered for a moment trying to stop him and then gave in. Burrowing through white lace his hand covered her left breast. They became still, gazing at each other with wide vacant eyes.
After a moment Diana struggled to sit up. Only she did not do up her dress but left it hanging open. “Let’s try to talk rationally. Tell me about yourself. You say there was a girl and she went to Australia. How long ago was that?”
”About four years ago.”
”And how long had you been together?”
”Three years.”
”What was her name?”
”Linda.”
”You didn’t think of marrying her?”
”No.”
”Why not?”
Danby thought. He had removed his hand from its first wonderful position and was beginning to edge it up a little under her skirt. She was wearing a different dress today, much smarter, a sort of oatmeal silk affair with buttons all the way down. Convenient. “She didn’t want it. And I think I couldn’t marry again.”
”After-Gwen?”
”After Gwen.”
Diana sighed. “Did Linda mind about Gwen?”
”Linda didn’t mind about anything. She was a cheerful girl.”
”I wonder if I am. And you’ve been alone ever since?”
”I’ve been alone ever since.” Danby did not feel that he was exactly telling a lie. Well, in a way perhaps he was telling a lie. When Diana had asked him the question at the dance hall he had cashiered Adelaide on the spot, provisionally of course. He could probably manage to look after Adelaide somehow. Diana was an enchanting surprise. One would see what happened and meanwhile not to worry. There was no point in putting Diana off right at the start.
Danby was playing his part of the determined seducer a little dreamily. He was not in fact at all sure exactly what he wanted from Diana. He wanted to go to bed with her. That much, in ways which were far from metaphysical, was abundantly clear. But just how the thing would work he had not thought out or even considered. He remained vague, almost impassive, taking each step when he felt an overwhelming urge to take it; as he had that morning felt an overwhelming urge to telephone Diana and ask to see her.
Danby felt no general scruple about going to bed with other men’s wives, though in fact he had rarely done it. He felt that one ought not to cause pain, but a discreetly con ducted affair caused no pain, and might produce a great deal of happiness, fresh, gratuitous, extra happiness. It was a sense of that extra, of having stolen a march on dull old life, that so much pleased him and made him feel himself, really, a benefactor. He had been a benefactor to Linda and to Adelaide. Why should he not be a benefactor to Diana, who showed every sign of being a rather bored middle-aged wife at a loose end? It was clear that she had intensely wanted to see him again. As for Adelaide, well he might find some way of accommodating them both, and anyway such thoughts were premature. He might not make Diana at all. And if he did, he might find himself very much more in love with her than he yet was. He would deal with these problems as they arose. Meanwhile, the idea of cuckolding Miles, which was not absent from his mind, was rather agreeable. He would get nowhere with Miles. Here was a pleasant way of enlisting, with out Miles’s knowledge, Miles’s kind cooperation.
”A love affair has a beginning, a middle, and an end,” said Diana. She had captured his questing hand.
”Well, let’s let this one have a beginning anyway.”
”Women want things to be forever.”
”Women have an exasperating habit of talking in general terms. When and where shall we begin?” There was a difficulty here, of course. He would have preferred not to operate in Miles’s house. But his own was always full of
