He looked at me helplessly. I wondered why he took such pains to explain this to me. War records—what do they matter now, one way or another?
He conjured in my mind a vision of old men in clubs, discussing the election of a possible new member. “They tell me he has a very fine war record.” “Oh! really,” and the matter is settled.
“You’ve no idea what it was like in Havre,” said Marlowe. “It made one restless, impossible. If I could have been in the thick of it like you—seen men die round me—I don’t know, perhaps …”
He stopped, uncertain of his words, unable to continue.
One didn’t talk of these things—besides, it had all happened so long ago. I think we were both aware that this was not a discussion that would lead him anywhere.
“When I got back to England after the War, I messed about in London for a while. I didn’t know what to do with myself at all. I got in with a crowd of people, all a little jaded, and rather excited about nothing, do you know? We killed time, we went to parties—we didn’t even really amuse one another. That sort of thing has never appealed to me. Then I married.
“My marriage was a terrible failure, right from the start. You see, I started the whole thing because I was bored.”
So much for marriage. His sentence was typical, not only of the man, but of most of us—this thoughtless, postwar generation.
“Besides, I was sorry for her,” he continued. “I’m very easily touched by people, especially women. She was unhappy at home, and longed to be independent. She told me some wretched story about a man who wanted her to go to New Zealand and live with him—they had had an affair for a year or so—and then, before she could make up her mind, he died of pneumonia. Of course, when we met she was going on the rebound, and, as I told you—I was bored, nothing to do. Kate and I were just caught up in the mesh of things. Perhaps we both thought there was a certain safety in marriage. Anyway, it all happened without much forethought—we imagined and pretended that what we were doing was for the best. Outwardly, I fancied this, but in reality I was tortured by doubt. Why, on the eve of my wedding I told myself ‘You’re making a terrible mistake,’ but it was too late. I did not see what I could do. How does one get out of that sort of thing without appearing an appalling cad?
“No, I’m convinced now, as I was then, nothing could be done. Kate and I had to go through with it.
“How can I explain to you? You see, I’m not really a very physical person, and unless I have someone who is sympathetic, who understands my countless changes of mood, it’s hopeless—hopeless. I suppose she was disappointed in me, it was natural. However, it is worse than useless to try to draw a picture of this to you.
“Well, I found it impossible to continue living on the little income my mother had left me. I had to find something to do.
“Do you know Beachcomb, that place on the East Coast that some enterprising fool tried to push as a fashionable seaside resort? I believe a pile of money was lost there. I got the job of running the sports centre.
“It wasn’t bad fun at first. They gave us a bungalow facing the sea, and a decent little garden. Kate used to potter about there, she was fond of gardening, and she scraped up acquaintance with the various locals. After a year the life got on my nerves to such an extent I thought I should become insane.
“The petty atmosphere of that club, day in, day out, the endless rows at the hotel, people being rude, not paying—and then it always seemed to fall on me, the job of peacemaking—of patching up quarrels.
“Then Kate started to make silly scenes of jealousy over nothing at all.
“Oh, I dare say many other fellows would have found the life ideal, no actual worries, decent pay—long summer months in the open air and that sort of thing.
“Let them try Beachcomb in the winter, though, when you can get through all your work in the morning, and then idle away the rest of the day playing billiards with chaps who haven’t an ounce of brain in their heads.
“And then going back to your wife, and finding her in tears because you had left her alone. Row after row!”
“That sort of atmosphere kills anyone like me, my nerves went all to pieces. I scarcely knew what I was doing. Then—well, the inevitable happened. I—made a fool of myself over a girl, and it cost me my job. She was stopping at the hotel for the summer with an invalid aunt. Nan she was called. God—what a lovely thing she was—very fair, thin, only eighteen. She used to come up to the club and say she wanted lessons in golf. It was an incredibly hot summer that year—Beachcomb became almost attractive, and I neglected everything.
“I guess the sun must have gone to my head, nothing seemed to matter as long as I saw that child every day. We used to swim together—go for moonlight walks—you know the sort of thing. I never stopped to think for a moment. My life with Kate was a farce; I was miserable, wretched, and here was this lovely creature willing to give up her time to me.
“I’ve always adored anyone young, anyone gay. I couldn’t help
