An Accidental Man (41 page)

‘Well, don't worry so,' said Matthew. ‘Nobody will make you do anything you don't want. Look, I'll take you over to Charlotte's.'

‘No, no. I don't want Charlotte to know — I was — with you —'

She is right, thought Matthew. Anyway better not to involve Charlotte. Dorina will want to go back to Valmorana tomorrow. He said, ‘Would you like to stay here?' He was about to say, After all, why not. Of course you must. But he checked himself and left the question blank.

Dorina's face contracted and she closed her eyes for a moment. She said, ‘I'll go to a hotel. Only I don't know what hotels cost now and I don't know if I've got enough money.'

‘Nonsense,' said Matthew. ‘You just stay here. After all, why not. Of course you must.'

‘No.'

‘We can't start looking for a hotel for you at this hour of the night in the pouring rain, it's ridiculous. Stay here, Dorina, just tonight, and tomorrow we'll think what's best to do. Ludwig is away. No one will know. You understand me. No one will know.'

‘I can't decide —'

‘Then don't decide yet. Just eat and drink a little more and talk to me a bit. Dorina, there's nothing to be frightened of, you know that, don't you.'

‘All right. Yes. Forgive me, Matthew, I'm sorry to be so helpless and spineless. I do feel — better — now —'

Good, he thought. If there was prayer he had prayed for her. But he must not waste what might be a unique chance of making her talk to him.

‘Dorina, forgive me and don't answer unless you want to. Do you really want to go back to Austin? If you don't wouldn't it be better to make it clear and go away somewhere? Many people would help you. I'm not suggesting myself, of course, because, well, you know. But I could put you in touch with others who could help, people, perhaps, that you don't know yet, new people.'

‘You mean doctors, clergymen — ?'

‘No, no, no, just people! Don't feel yourself so presceuted! There are
other
places in the world, you don't have to sit paralysed in
this
spider's web! But you haven't answered my question.'

They were sitting now close to each other. Matthew leaned forward and patted her arm, smiling. How wise he had been to embrace her. If they had not touched each other the tension now would have been unendurable. His desire for her was vague, diffused in benevolence and compassion and the simple liveliness of affection.

Dorina was drinking some more of the brandy and soda. Her rather gaunt cheeks were pinkly flushed. She regarded Matthew with grave deep evasive eyes. How strange it is, he thought, that I have Dorina with me in my house in the middle of the night and no one knows she is here.

‘I can't leave Austin,' she said. ‘I am married to him. He must be saved through me, and I through him.'

‘You are very solemn,' said Matthew. ‘And your decision is probably right. I just thought you should realize and conceive of other possibilities.' What a traitor Austin would think me, Matthew reflected, if he could hear these words. Yet all I want is for this hunted creature to feel a little free. No more than that.

‘There are none.'

‘All the same —'

‘Have you discussed me a lot with Mavis?'

Matthew hesitated. ‘Yes.'

Dorina was silent a moment. Then she said, ‘There are things I've never said, even to Mavis.'

‘Well, say them to me.'

‘I am afraid of Austin. And I am afraid for him. I can't quite distinguish these.'

‘I know.'

‘Matthew, Austin once told me that he murdered Betty, he drowned her.'

This, thought Matthew. He said at once, as coldly as he could, ‘He lied, of course.'

‘Yes,' said Dorina. ‘I knew it wasn't true, of course. He said it to impress me, perhaps to frighten me. That is — what Austin does. Yes.'

‘Then — don't worry —'

‘Yes. Except that I
am
frightened. And — haunted — but it's not Austin's fault — Oh, Matthew — I am so tired —' Tears were coming again.

It was no good after all trying to talk to her tonight. ‘You'd better go to bed,' said Matthew, ‘here. We'll keep you a secret. Just rest now and I'll fix your bedroom.'

He ran upstairs, turning lights on. The bed was made up in Ludwig's room. He took off the counterpane and turned back the blanket. He laid out his own best silk pyjamas, pulled the curtains and hurried downstairs again.

Dorina was fast asleep.

Matthew looked down at her as she lay nestled into her spread and tangled hair, her lips parted, her body twisted, one sandal off. He undid and took off the other sandal. She had pretty feet. Then, speaking to her softly, as one might to an animal, he began to pick her up. She murmured faintly and took hold of his hand as he gathered her and jolted her well up into his arms. Her head was on his shoulder, once more. He mounted the stairs slowly and awkwardly, leaning his weight against the banisters. In the bedroom he tilted her carefully on to the bed and then found himself on his knees beside her. He kissed and released the hand that still so confidingly held on to his. He pulled the blanket loose and drew it up over her shoulder. He thought, Dorina, Austin's wife. He remained on his knees a moment longer and directed a wordless prayer to whatever great and powerful heart might yet throb in the universe with some consciousness of good. Then he rose and turned out the light and went downstairs.

Alone in the drawing-room he finished the brandy. He felt excited, surprised, alert and satisfied, as if he had just added another marvellously beautiful object to his collection.

‘I'm going to go and see Dorina,' said Ludwig, ‘as soon as we get back.'

‘Please yourself,' said Gracie.

They were alone in the sunshine on a small hemmed-in beach. Sea lapped idly on a strip of pale brown sand. It was low tide. The sand was scattered with tiny creamy-white shells, each one a little masterpiece. Above the sand was a layered pavement of flat smooth faintly striped stones in various shades of lucid grey. Beyond the stones was a coronet of jagged bluish rocks and beyond the rocks an undulation of vivid green hillocks, then the sky, empty, drained of colour, vibrating with light. There was an immense silence.

The sea was golden near to the shore, then a spotty purple, then a glittering blue until at the horizon there was a dark line lightly sketched in to divide sea from sky. Sitting almost upon this line was the sturdy fortress form of Fastnet lighthouse. Never, even in America, had Ludwig felt quite so far away from the ordinary significant world. He had felt elated and a little frightened. He was very very much alone with Gracie.

Gracie was skimming flat stones along the glossy smooth water, making them bounce. She could make them leap even a dozen times upon the watery skin. Ludwig could not do this at all. His stones cut straight into the sea and sank.

They were both dressed for swimming, Gracie in a flowery skirted costume, and Ludwig in black trunks, but only Ludwig had been into the water. Gracie had so far refused to swim at all, maintaining it was too cold. It was, indeed, icy.

‘And I'm going to see Charlotte.' Ludwig sat down on a rock.

‘Did Matthew suggest this?' Gracie skimmed another stone.

‘No.'

‘You've talked an awful lot with Matthew, haven't you?'

‘Yes, but not about that.'

‘All right then, fine, fine.'

‘But you're mad at me.'

‘No, no.' Gracie came to him, prancing with long sand-encrusted legs. She leaned up against him and licked his shoulder. ‘Mmm. Salt. Nice.'

‘But, Gracie, you are mad, you mustn't be.' Ludwig had been alarmed to find that it had needed a bit of nerve for him to tell Gracie that he was going to see Dorina and Charlotte. Whatever was his marriage going to be like if he already feared his future wife's opposition to actions which he had concluded to be right?

‘I'm not “mad”, you silly billikins. And I'm not being bloody-minded either. I just think it's useless and will lead to trouble. You're so clever and yet when it comes to what you do you can't foresee the least thing. If you go to see Char she'll think you're patronizing her, and she'll be right.'

‘Well — yes —' Garth had said just this about his own visit to Charlotte. This had partly dissuaded Ludwig from going to see her. This, and having other things to think about. ‘All the same, I think one should go to see people in trouble and take the risk of offending them.'

‘It's not a risk, it's a certainty. I'll deal with Aunt Char, later on, financially I mean, in a dignified and business-like way. Which oddly enough she'll perfectly understand and accept. You just don't know what these touchy elderly ladies are like.'

‘Maybe.'

‘When you say you want to go and see her you aren't really thinking of her, you're thinking of yourself. You want to have the relieved comfortable feeling that you've done all you can. Then you can relax and forget about her. Aren't I right?'

‘Perhaps you are, dearest Poppy. You are such a wise little thing!'

‘I'm such a knowing little thing. As for the Dorina biz, you're just no more use there any more. Another two or three visits, and Austin would start being jealous of you. He probably is already. Any build-up of emotion between you and Dorina could only do her harm. Surely you see that.'

‘Yes — But if everyone argues in this way she'll be left quite alone.'

‘Married to Austin I don't see how she can avoid that, it's her destiny.'

‘I think I'll go and see her all the same.'

‘It'll end in tears, Ludwig. You don't think I'm jealous, do you?'

‘No, of course not, Poppy, how could you be! Anyway you know it's not just personal. I've been thinking, and — I mean, I do want us to be the sort of married couple who help people.'

‘How ghastly! Like my parents!'

‘No, not like that — Sorry —'

‘Dear Ludwig. It's just that I hate muddles and scenes and tears and all the
rubbish
that these people imagine is living the spiritual life or something.'

‘I don't think Austin has any illusions about the spiritual life.'

‘Austin is a huge fat egoist, as fat as a bull-frog. If I had a long enough pin I'd puncture him. I'd push the pin in until there was nothing left except a flabby grey skin lying in a heap on the ground. I
hate
that man.'

‘Dear me, you are fierce, Poppy. I'm rather afraid that he loves you.'

‘He was awful at that party. But oh dear I was even more awful. Ludwig, you have really and truly forgiven me, haven't you?'

‘Darling creature, of course!'

Gracie leaned harder against him and toppled him off the rock. They collapsed on to warm sand and lay holding each other. Their bodies were familiar friends now. They lay thus in each other's arms every night in the little hotel, watching through the window the Fastnet light constantly blinking in the depths of the blue dark, Fastnet speaking of eternity and of the keeping of faith.

Of course Ludwig had forgiven Gracie. Of course he understood. Yet the pain remained curiously clean and undiminished, that picture of Gracie held close in Sebastian's arms. The wound throbbed in him unhealing and somehow separated from his substance like a stigmaton. With this suffering, which he supposed would grow less and finally vanish, he did not burden Gracie, but endured it in silence proudly as a task of love.

‘Austin doesn't quite think it's all holy, but he attaches such cosmic importance to everything that concerns himself that it comes to much the same thing. If God was nasty he'd be rather like Austin.'

Ludwig laughed. He wanted to make love to her beside the sea. But although the beaches were invariably deserted Gracie would never let him. How wonderful, he thought, to possess her here with the sand upon her shoulders. ‘Gracie —'

‘No, please, Ludwig. Someone might come.'

‘Let's go back then. Quick.'

‘All right.
Do
you see, Ludwig, about Dorina? They'd make you play a role in their horrible drama. They both enjoy it, you know.'

‘I don't think Dorina does.'

‘Oh yes, she enjoys it. Even if she doesn't quite know that she does. She's the sort of woman who really loves show-downs and explanations and confessions and all that. There's a sort of cunning in it. They'd trap you and then pump all sorts of meaning into everything you did and said,
their
meaning, like pumping in poison. Ugh!'

‘You do feel it strongly! Come on, Poppy.'

‘You won't go to see those people, will you?'

‘No, I won't. Come on, come on, come on.'

The hired car took them back to the tiny hotel which stood in a fringe of golden seaweed, its feet almost in the water, reflecting its pinkly washed walls in the quiet sea.

Ludwig lay exhausted on the bed beside his lovely fiancée. It was evening. The sea was a uniform colour of glowing glossy light blue, the sky a darker bottomlessly absolute blue, the monumental lighthouse etched in clear radiant grey. Soon they would rise, have a bath, dress in fresh light clothes, descend to the bar and sit holding hands and drinking Irish whisky.

‘Poppy.'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm in paradise.'

‘Me too.'

‘Poppy.'

‘Yes.'

‘Shall we buy a cottage in Ireland?'

‘Mmm.'

‘Shall we?'

‘No, Ludwig. This is lovely, but I don't think I could really live in Ireland. There's too much trouble all the time.'