The Book And The Brotherhood

somewhere, she could not recall where, and was feeling cold. Conrad, looking in hastily, failed to see her.

Meanwhile Rose had run into Lily Boyne. Lily and Rose liked each other, but there was caution and incomprehension on both sides. Lily thought that Rose regarded her as rather uneducatedand 'common'. Rose was afraid that Lily thought that Rose regarded her as uneducated (which Rose did think) and 'common' (which Rose did not). In fact Rose did not

ploqmms this concept, but vaguely posited something of the sort. She feared Lily might think she was 'snooty', which Lily did not think. Rose found Lily rather 'bouncy' and could not

always get the 'tone' of her witticisms or answer them spontaneously. But Lily admired Rose for being calm and sensible and kind and nice, which not all of Lily's acquaintances were,

and Rose admired Lily for being tough, and imagined her to be brave and 'worldly' in ways which remained, for Rose, mysterious and obscure. They did not know each other very well. Lily Boyne had come into the ken of Gerard and his friends through Jean Kowitz (Jean Cambus, that is, but her maiden name somehow lingered as some maiden names do), who had met Lily a few years ago in a context of 'women's lib', and come to know her better in a yoga class where they both

frequently stood on their heads. This was before Lily became briefly, famous. Lily had been, as Gulliver once remarked, one of those people who are simply famous for being famous. Lily was now, or rather was credited with being, a rich girl. She had emerged from a poor and chaotic home, started adult life at a polytechnic, played about with pottery and graphic design, imagined herself a painter, then earned her living as a typist. In due course, and in a moment of reckless despair, she married a frail penniless art student called James Farling. How often since had she blessed that pale unhappy boy for having actually persuaded her to marry him! She kept her maiden name of course. Soon after the marriage a series of unforeseen demises in the Farling family brought the family fortune, about which Lily had known nothing, to rest upon James. James was an unworldly boy who cared little for money and had in any case been, before the intervention of the fates, remote from inheritance. Rich, he still cared little, and was only just prevented by Lily, who cared much, from handing it all over to his indignant surviving relations. Then, urged by his wife to spend, he bought a motor bike, riding which, on the day he bought it, he was killed. After that the family fell upon Lily to destroy her. Lily fought back. Her case seemed clear, but clever lawyers had already been at work to find flaws in James's claim. It became a cause celebre. In the end the matter was settled out of court, after Lily had surrendered numerous goodies. Lily did not emerge without discredit since, in her rage, she had told some transparent lies. But she was, for a short time, a popular heroine, the 'poor girl', fighting against the avaricious rich, the lone woman fighting a cohort of men. It was in the latter role that she attracted the ardent attention of Jean Kowitz who was at that time very concerned with various women's liberation causes. It was almost as if Jean had fallen in love with her, so angry and excited did she become on Lily's behalf. Rose too was drawn in and saw quite a lot of Lily, who also, through Jean, became acquainted with Gerard and the rest. When the fighting was over and the publicity died down Jean rather ‘went off’

Lily; she took a high line about Lily’s telling lies. But Rose kept up with her, partly feeling sorry for her. For Lily's wealth brought her little happiness, and was in any case being steadily eroded by a stream of plausible men. She li, acquired expensive tastes and the idea that she deserved fame. She seemed to have few friends and little notion of how to conduct her life.

^`Rose!'screamed Lily, 'what a perfectly scrumptious dress! You always get it right! So simple, so absolutely you!'

They had met near to the Waterbirds marquee and had to raise their voices. The sound of shoes drumming upon the hollow wooden boarding made a continuous ground bass.

`You look lovely,' said Rose, 'rather oriental. I adore those trousers.'

Lily, who was alone, was dressed in baggy orange silk trousers, drawn in at the ankle by spangled bands, and a floppy white silk blouse weighted by gold chains and anchored by a purple sash into which a transparent silvery scarf covering her shoulders was also tucked. This gear had by now begun to come adrift, the trousers escaping from the bands, the blouse from the sash, the silver scarf hanging down behind on one side. Lily was shorter and thinner than Rose, very thin in fact, and had a thin almost gaunt pale face and short dry weightless fair hair and a long neck. It is possible for a girl to have too long a neck, and Lily's could be said to be on the border between the swan-like and the grotesque. She had a way of accentuating it by thrusting her head forward and staring out of her face as through a muslin mask; she experienced this as cat-like, as 'putting on her cat face'. Her lips were exceedingly thin, a continued cause of distress. Her eyes, ‘melted sugar eyes' one of the plausible men called them, were a disconcerting pale brown with a dark rim and blue and brown stripes leading in to the pupil, thus resembling some of sweetmeat. She was wearing a lot of make-up, also in need of attention, and had generously outlined her lips with p-mit. She spoke with a drawling north London voice which had become deracinated and sometimes sounded American.

‘I came with that shit Crimond’, said Lily, 'now he's ditched me, the swine. Have you seen him anywhere?'

‘No,' said Rose. 'I wonder if you've seen Tamar?'

`The little thing, is she here? No, I haven't seen her. Christ, what a din. How are you these days?'

‘Fine -'

`Let's meet -'

`Yes, let's be in touch.'

They parted. Tamar, seeing Rose talking to Lily, retreated toward the archway which led through into the deer park.

As Gerard emerged from Levquist's staircase he found Jenkin Riderhood waiting for him at the bottom.

As he came out he was conscious that the night sky, which had never really darkened, had become very faintly lighter, and this touched him with a sad prophetic emotion. In the intense concentration of his encounter with Levquist Gerard had completely forgotten everything else, where he was, why he was there, even the references to his father, Sinclair, Rose, had appeared as part of Levquist's thought rather than of his own. Now he suddenly remembered the news which Gulliver had brought to them. First of all however he said to Jenkin,

`Have you found Tamar?'

`No, but I met Conrad. He'd lost her and was still looking'

`I hope you gave him a wigging.'

`It wasn't necessary, he was in a terrible state, poor boy.'

`We must – what's the matter, Jenkin?'

`Come with me. I want to show you something.'

Jenkin took hold of Gerard's hand and began to pull him along across the trampled grass through the scattered strolling of bemused dancers, some still enchanted, some happy beyond their wildest dreams, some concealing grief, some simply drunk, the fading magic of the new light showing their faces more intensely. Near the end of the arcade a youth was being sick, his partner standing guard with her back to him.

Jenkin led Gerard to the 'sentimental' tent where he had danced with Rose, and where a wilder strain of music could now be heard. An eightsome reel was in progress; but the floor had emptied, and an audience, standing in a dense ring, was watching eight evidently expert dancers, the men wearing kilts, who were performing in the centre. One of these was Crimond. It was evident who, in the rotatory movement of the dance, his partner was. Jean Cambus had hitched much of her long red dress up over a belt round her waist, revealing her black-stockinged legs, and her flying skirt came little below her knees. Her narrow hawklike face, usually as pale as ivory, was flushed and dewy with sweat and her dark straight heavy shoulder-length hair, whirling about, had plastered some of its strands across her brow. Her fine Jewish head, usually so stately and so cold, had now, her dark eyes huge and staring, a fierce wild oriental look. She did not, in the weaving of the dance, turn her head, her small feet in low-heeled slippers seemed to dart upon the air, only when her gaze met her partner's did her glaring eyes flame up, unsmiling. Her lips wire parted, indeed her mouth was slightly open, not breathless but as if with a kind of rapacity. Crimond was not sweating. His face was, as usual in repose, pallid, expression-less

even stern, but his slightly freckled skin, which normally Imiked sallow so that he could have been called pasty- faced, was