The Sea, the Sea

calling her ‘Mary’) I said, ‘Why don’t you go through to the kitchen? Would you like a drink?’ I needed one, and in their situation I would have been frantic for one, but neither of them seemed to feel the necessity and in fact they ignored the question.

Titus went through into the kitchen and Hartley followed and they stood beside the table, holding on to it, and looking at each other with stricken glaring faces. Hartley’s look expressed timid supplication and fear, his a kind of shamed disgusted pity. There was so much pain in the room, it was like a physical barrier. I stood watching them, wanting to help, to interrupt. ‘Won’t you have some supper? Let’s have some supper, shall we? Let’s talk-’

Titus said, ‘Of course I never lost your address.’

Hartley said, ‘I mustn’t stay. Would you like to come over to our place? But you mustn’t say you’ve been here. Would you like-?’

Titus shook his head.

She went on, ‘Ben doesn’t know you’ve come, he’s gone out, walked over to a farm to ask about a dog.’

‘About a dog?’ said Titus.

‘Yes, we’re thinking of having a dog.’

‘What kind?’

‘A Welsh collie.’

‘Will he bring the dog back with him?’

‘I don’t know.’

At least this was something like a topic of conversation.

I was tired of being invisible and inaudible, so I shouted, ‘Have a drink, have some supper!’

Titus, without looking at me, waggled his hand in my direction, then said to Hartley, ‘Come in here.’ She followed him into the little red room and he shut the door in my face.

I now decided, none too soon, that I had better leave them alone. Besides, now that Hartley was here, I had to work out in more detail the dangerous and decisive next steps. I stood for a moment thinking in the hall. Then I ran upstairs to the drawing room and pulled out some writing paper. I had found in a drawer some embossed Shruff End paper which must have belonged to Mrs Chorney, and on a glossy sheet of this stuff I wrote:

Dear Mr Fitch,

Just to say that Mary is over here with me, and Titus too.

Yours sincerely,

Charles Arrowby.

I pushed this into an envelope and ran out of the house.

I was somewhat surprised to find a warm summer evening in progress. Perhaps the house was cold, perhaps I had been feeling cold, perhaps I felt that ordinary time ought to have stopped. The grass on the other side of the road was a pullulating emerald green, the rocks that grew here and there among the grass were almost dazzlingly alight with little diamonds. The warm air met me in a wave, thick with land smells of earth and growth and flowers.

I ran across the causeway and then along the road in the tower and Raven direction, and then around the corner to where the bay was visible. Here, obedient to my orders, Gilbert had parked the car. I wanted it out of sight in case I had to tell Hartley some lie about it later.

Gilbert was sitting on a rock, looking at the brilliantly lit blue water. He jumped up and ran to me.

‘Gilbert, could you take this letter now and deliver it at Nibletts, at the bungalow, you know, it’s the last one in the road.’

‘OK, boss. How are things in there?’

‘All right. Go now, there’s a good chap. And then come back again and wait here.’

‘What about my supper? Can’t I come into the house?’ Gilbert, bursting with curiosity, was longing to busybody around.

I would not have it. ‘No, not yet. You’d better buy yourself a sandwich at the Black Lion, and then come back here. I don’t quite know what’s going to happen.’

‘Nothing violent, I hope?’

‘So do I. Hurry, now.’

‘But, guv’nor-’

‘Go.’

‘I can stay for a drink at the pub, can’t I, I’m dying for a drink-’

‘Yes, but not long, four minutes.’

Looking at Gilbert’s disgruntled face I was unpleasantly reminded of Freddie Arkwright. And now there were Arkwrights everywhere, and they had got hold of Ben.

I ran back, and the car passed me at the causeway. I went into the house (which was cold) and on into the kitchen and poured myself out half a tumbler of dry sherry. I did not listen at the door of the red room. I went out onto the grass and climbed a little way up onto one of the rocks whence I could see the sea and began to sip the sherry.

So far so good. But how would Hartley behave when I began to put the screw on? And what would Ben do when he got my note? When would he get it? If he walked both ways to Amorne Farm and back, and allowing half an hour for the dog, he should be back at Nibletts about nine thirty. It was now a little after eight. I remembered that I was hungry. The sherry was making me light-headed. However if the bloody Arkwrights ran him home in the car he might be back soon after eight thirty. On the other hand, if he walked back with the dog he might not be there till nearer ten. What did he suddenly want a dog for anyway? Did he want to programme the animal to attack me?

I decided on reflection that it did not too much matter what time Ben got back, as he would probably make no move tonight. He would wait, at first expecting Hartley and Titus to turn up, and then grinding his teeth. I imagined him even finding a dark satisfaction in his own mounting rage. Not a nice man.

I finished the sherry and went inside. The murmur of voices in the little red room continued. I thought then that really the longer they talked the better. Every minute that passed could bind them closer to each other, and also would use up more of the dangerous time. When they got hungry they might come out. But more likely they were too agitated to feel hunger.

In spite of my fears I was not. I sat for a while eating biscuits and olives, then I scraped the remains of the kedgeree onto a plate and took it outside again, together with a glass of white wine, and resumed my sea view. I felt very odd, excited, nervous, a bit drunk, but clear in the head.

Almost at once however I heard Titus shouting. He evidently could not bring himself to shout either ‘Charles!’ or ‘Mr Arrowby! ’ but called out several times, ‘Hello there!’ followed by various urgent owl hoots.

I considered ignoring these cries, but decided I had better not, even though it was far too early to expect Ben. I returned precariously to the lawn with my plate and glass.

Titus and Hartley were standing outside by the door, she wearing that distraught frightened look which I now knew so well.

Titus said, ‘Look, Mary thinks she’d better go. I’ve told her there’s lots of time but she wants to go now, OK?’

Hartley said, ‘Could I have the car at once, please?’ She spoke in a hard almost angry tone.

Titus said, ‘I looked out the front, I couldn’t see it. She’s getting very bothered.’

‘Nothing to bother about,’ I said. I went into the kitchen and they followed me. ‘Won’t you have some supper?’

‘I must go,’ said Hartley. Her moment, whatever it had been, with Titus, was now over, and the cruel husband-dominated time whose slave she was had driven even Titus out of her head. The old panic was back. How I detested that fierce almost relentless look of fear upon her face. It made her ugly. While in the wood, when she kissed my hand, she had looked beautiful.

Titus said, ‘Come on, where’s the car, she’s got to go home.’

Titus had evidently forgotten that his task was to keep Hartley at Shruff End. Or more likely, he had been infected by her fear. I had been too tactful in my explanations to Titus, too vague. I had not told him everything that