For Love or Money (19 page)

T
HEY
were running late at the testing-centre. George looked at his watch. There ought to be at least another hour before Mrs. Williams’s test was over. Several youths, awaiting their turn, were nervously pulling at cigarettes. On the waiting-room table rested a pile of well-thumbed
magazines
: old copies of
Vogue
and
Queen
, and
Lilliput
and
Playboy
for men. George had already looked at a couple. The usual pages were missing.

Mrs. Williams was sitting, vast and dauntless, in a corner, looking through a copy of
The
Highway
Code
. She looked up irritably in George’s direction.

‘I’ve already told you, there is absolutely no reason why you should stay sitting here kicking your heels about and getting on my nerves.’

George got up and walked across to the door.

‘Good luck.’

She nodded to him and went on reading.

 *

Across the road was a bus stop. George stopped for a moment’s reflection. Regent’s Park was only ten minutes away. On the front of the next bus to arrive he saw a notice: ‘To the Zoo’.

 *

The noise in The Monkey House was deafening and the smell offensive. But one could laugh at monkeys. They did not demand pity like the eternally restless lions and tigers or
the still and solitary birds of prey. Nor did they fill one with feelings of inadequacy like the sleek gracefulness of
swimming
seals and sea-lions. George smiled indulgently as he watched a couple of smaller animals fighting for half a banana. Monkeys were definitely ideal temporary
companions
.

Further down the line of cages George saw a vast black gorilla. A small group of people were watching attentively. He moved up closer. A woman was pushing long sticks of uncooked spaghetti through a keyhole at the side of the cage. Nonchalantly the animal extended an ungrateful hand after he had consumed each offering. The next stick was
momentarily
withheld. George saw the creature’s dark eyes roll angrily. The woman turned to George and said, smiling
conspiratorially
:

‘He goes mad when he doesn’t get what he wants.’ She put her face close to the hole and said: ‘Don’t you, you
ungrateful
old beggar?’

The animal bounded across to the other side of the cage almost immediately after she had spoken and started
hurling
himself against the bars. He picked up handfuls of straw and hurled them impotently at the bars. Behind their
protective
sheet of glass the spectators laughed delightedly. George was not amused; with mild disgust he heard the woman cooing: ‘Say “please”, there’s a good boy.’

At last the long-promised spaghetti was proffered and snatched. George could see that the animal’s tormentor was going back to talk to him again. He tried to back away but found that the crowd had built up behind him. The woman was old and her hair was dyed red. Her eyes were brown and slightly protruding.

‘He doesn’t know who’s good to him‚’ she said.

George felt impelled to say something now that there seemed no way of escape.

‘Is he your favourite?’

‘He’s the most interesting. He’s got such cold cruel eyes. Wicked, that’s what you are,’ she said, turning her face to the keyhole again.

Now that there was no more being offered, the gorilla was
sitting in a corner of his cage looking at the floor with an indifferent gaze.

‘He doesn’t like taking things from men. His keeper says he enjoys what I bring him more.’ She paused and fixed George with her fishy eyes. ‘He’ll stare out any pretty woman who catches his eye.’

‘He looks a bit sad at the moment‚’ said George.

‘It’s been all that taking over the years. Never had to do a thing himself. Just take, take, take, every blasted day. No wonder he looks sad, poor old beggar.’

‘Well, he’s got no worries now, anyway,’ said George with feeling.

‘You ought to be in the jungle, that’s where you ought to be. He ought to be bringing in food for his children and protecting his wife. It’s not natural for a great brute like that to be stuck here waited on hand and foot.’

George murmured ‘Good-bye’ and started to push his way through the crowd. The Monkey House had not been such a good idea. He now felt profoundly miserable. How like men are monkeys. They sit and look sad, they bound around and look sad again. They take and are afraid of taking,
protecting
their feelings with anger and resentment. How like a cage was the small room he now lived in and with none of the compensations enjoyed by a well-fed gorilla. He thought of the blank wall his window faced out on to and the noise of the old woman’s radio next door. How could any sane men keep their heads held high with pride in the knowledge that they were self-supporting, if they lived in bed-sitting rooms?

 *

Back to the jungle, he thought, as he pushed his way out through the turnstile.

 *

On his arrival at the testing-centre, Mrs. Williams greeted him with her characteristic charm:

‘I’ve been waiting for almost ten minutes and I’ve got people in this evening.’

‘Did you pass?’ asked George hopefully. Another ten
lessons
with her was not a thought to be cherished.

‘Of course I did. The man said I was a natural driver and could have done it on half the number of lessons.’

George said:

‘Perhaps we ought to be getting back if you’re in a hurry.’

In the car Mrs. Williams said:

‘Since you kept me waiting, I think the least you can do is to be gracious enough to allow me to drive back to my home.’

‘I don’t suppose I can move you.’

‘I do not take kindly to such rudeness, Mr. Benson. Even fat old ladies have feelings.’

 *

Mrs. Williams drove on in silence towards home and Hammersmith. She also drove faster than usual. George wondered what form her complaint would take and then tried to take his mind off it by calculating how much the school might charge him for the extra petrol. Why did he always have to meet domineering women? If any other man had been faced with the problems he had gone through, would he have done any better? There were things which age taught man: tolerance and humility. He looked at Mrs. Williams’s tight-lipped face and sighed. Even six weeks ago he would not have suffered anybody to treat him like this. He sat back in his seat more easily as they turned into the Cromwell Road. He was no longer gritting his teeth.
Humility
was a really wonderful thing. He turned to Mrs. Williams and said:

‘I must say, it feels as though you’ve been driving for years.’

‘If you think you can wheedle round me like that, you’re mistaken. Fat old women, like elephants, never forget.’

 *

The smile of martyrdom was still fixed on George’s face as the lorry hurtled out of the side street in front of them.

A woman on the other side of the road screamed and a man who had been looking out of his sitting-room window ran to the telephone.

When they finally lifted George into the ambulance, half a mile of motorists from Earl’s Court Road to Baron’s Court were cursing the Minister of Transport and wondering whether they would be having cold dinners.

At the hospital a woman was allowed to go home after three stitches and a glass of brandy.

T
HE
sale of Trelawn had taken place in late August and  it was now mid-September.

David was looking out of the drawing-room window on to the roofs of the cars in the Fulham Road. His mother sat on the sofa behind him. She had spent most of the last month arranging the furniture they had brought from Trelawn. David thought that the small flat was far too crowded. ‘We can’t possibly sell that, can we, darling?’

Today Ruth looked around her with satisfaction. Really it was amazing how much one could fit into a small place with a little ingenuity. Even if Trelawn had gone for ever, they would have plenty to remember it by.

The sale and their subsequent move had been something of a blessing, David reflected. They had taken his mother’s mind off other things. Nevertheless everything had got
undeniably
worse since he had brought back the news of Steven’s disappearance. She had become more possessive and clinging, and her voice tended to become furry with emotion over the least emotional reminiscences. He had taken to
going
for long walks to try and get away for the odd hour. If only she would read or do something, instead of just sitting there in a dim pool of nostalgia.

At last David turned from the window and said:

‘I think I’ll go for a walk until tea, if that’s all right.’

‘Don’t go now, darling, I wanted to have a talk with you.’ She hesitated and then added quietly: ‘You never ask me whether I’d like to come with you on your walks. I know I wouldn’t be much company but you must forgive old Mumsy. The last months have been so awful. If you had
asked I wouldn’t have accepted. It would just have been nice, that’s all.’

David heard the now familiar furry edge to her voice again. He said:

‘I just thought, knowing how much you hate London and everything, that you wouldn’t like to come. Besides, if I’d asked, you might have felt you had to.’ David frowned. He found himself lying so often now, and the more lies told the more impossible the final undeception became. He saw his mother’s smile of gratitude and lowered his eyes.

‘It’s ghastly to think that you’ll be going away to
Cambridge
so soon. But still, I suppose I must be patient. After all, the term isn’t so very long and when it’s over it will be nearly Christmas. I’ve brought a few of the old decorations, so we’ll have a tree.’ She looked around her apprehensively. ‘Of course we won’t be able to have a big one like we always used to.’

Why did she have to torture herself like this? David said comfortingly:

‘A small tree will be just as good, and besides,’ he went on laughingly, ‘we won’t have so many needles to sweep up.’

‘I really don’t deserve a son like you, darling. In spite of everything I’m still awfully lucky.’

David avoided her eyes. Ruth looked at him lovingly, her eyes filling. He was so sweet the way compliments
embarrassed
him. Even when little he had been like that. She blinked to try and disperse the tears without dabbing her eyes. Really it was too terrible the way one got all weepy over anything.

‘We’ll have lots of parties at Christmas. All your new friends must come. I know you’re going to make lots as soon as you get there. We’ll roll up the carpet in here and put the furniture in my bedroom, so that there’s plenty of room for dancing.’ She smiled. ‘You won’t mind if I pop in every now and then to see how things are going?’

‘I should wait till I make lots of friends before you make too many plans.’

‘But I know that you’re going to. There was nobody as
clever as you at Edgecombe or the grammar school. I know that was the only reason why you weren’t happy. Naturally, I always secretly hoped that you would bring people home. But I know that there simply was nobody like you. You couldn’t have been ashamed of your home. You weren’t, were you dear?’

‘Of course not. I just wasn’t very good at making friends.’

How could he have asked anybody home? The only people he really knew at Edgecombe were Hotson and Chadwick and his mother wouldn’t have liked any of them at the grammar school. Anyway, there had never been any time for talking to anybody there. As soon as school had been over he had had to start the long bicycle ride. They had put his reticence and early departures down to snootiness. So there had never been a hope.

‘I expect you’ll meet lots of girls too, dear. At your age I had any number of young gentlemen. My father used to tease me horribly about it. I’m sure it did me good though. So you mustn’t mind if I tease you.’ She laughed and then looked sad. David guessed that mention of girls had led her thoughts on to his eventually getting married. Some months before they left Trelawn she had talked about living in a little cottage in the village after he was married. He would, of course, live in the house and could probably get a very reasonable job in Truro or Falmouth. They need never be very far apart. Their move to London had altered Ruth’s plans for the far-off future considerably. She would get a cottage in Wales and come up to London at the week-ends to see him. ‘I like the country so much more, so it’ll be no sacrifice for me to be there for the week-days. You must stay on here in the flat. It will help you to get properly started. Why, there’ll be long walks along the Welsh cliffs, really it will be no sacrifice for me, darling.’

‘In the Spring vacation we’ll be able to go abroad
together
. I’ve got enough out of the sale of the house to let us go away in the summer too. You’ve always wanted to go to Ireland.’

‘Yes, that’ll be lovely.’

‘But you must always remember that the last thing I want
to do is to force you to do anything with me that you don’t want to do. If something more interesting crops up I’ll understand. You mustn’t let me become a possessive old woman.’ The idea made her laugh. ‘That would be simply awful, wouldn’t it? When you and I go anywhere, I must feel that it’s because you want to go there. Really, I’d
probably
be quite happy all alone in Wales.’

David said nothing for a moment but the look of pain and anxiety on his mother’s face made him say:

‘I want to go abroad. I’ve never been and have always wanted to travel.’

Ruth got up, smiling. She said:

‘We’re going to have such fun. It all makes me feel so much younger. But now there’s masses still to do to get this place in order. I haven’t even lined the drawers in my
bedroom
with paper.’ She turned in the doorway. ‘We’ll be
having
tea soon.’

 *

As soon as she had left the room, David went over to the sofa. Beside where his mother had been sitting was a pile of letters. The top one was addressed to a house agent in Tenby.

 *

In her bedroom Ruth hummed gently to herself as she picked single sheets of newspaper and folded them into the shapes of the drawers. Occasionally a story would catch her eye and she stopped to read. A divorce, a fraud, a story about a woman who had had a successful eye operation, all gained her brief attention.

She had reached the last drawer when she saw it. Just one paragraph near the bottom of the back page of an evening paper. At first she thought she was going to faint. In spite of her trembling she managed to sit down on the edge of the bed without falling before she got there. Blindly she
repeated
the word: ‘Critical, critical, critical.’ The date at
the top of the page showed that it had happened a month ago.

 *

At half past five David put down the book he had been reading and got up. Hadn’t she said something about tea?

He knocked on Ruth’s bedroom door and entered. She was sitting at the dressing-table mirror making up carefully. David coughed cautiously. When she turned to face him, he could see that she was nervous and excited. She was fidgeting uneasily with a small eyelash brush.

‘I’ve just remembered, I’ve got an invitation to dinner this evening. Silly of me to have forgotten.’ She paused.
Visiting-time
would be over by seven-thirty. That would mean she’d be back by eight o’clock. ‘I must be going crazy in my old age, dear. It was a cocktail party, so I’ll be back in time to cook you supper.’

‘You’re getting that stuff on your hands, Mummy,’ David looked at her anxiously. In recent weeks she had hardly spent any time in front of a mirror.

‘So I am, darling. You see I only just remembered in time and have been in an awful rush. I’m quite stupid when I’m in a rush.’

‘Who’s giving the party?’

‘Oh, an old girl friend I haven’t seen for years. Not since before the war.’

‘I see,’ said David doubtfully.

‘Perhaps you could get me a taxi, dear? Otherwise I’m going to be late.’

Obediently David turned.

 *

When she heard the front door shut, she jumped up from her stool and dragged a chair over to the wardrobe. She pulled down half a dozen hat boxes and carefully selected a simple black hat. Next she opened a drawer and picked out her jewel case. She chose a brooch consisting of a single large
diamond surrounded with pearls. It would look stark and austere on her black coat. She went over to the dressing-table and glanced at the result in the mirror. It would do very nicely.

In the sitting-room she poured herself a large gin. She was beginning to feel stronger when she heard David’s footsteps in the hall. Quickly she ran into the kitchen and emptied the bowl of fruit on the table into a paper bag.

 *

‘A visitor, Mr. Benson, a visitor … a visitor … a visitor.’ George heard the words dimly echoing. Slowly he crawled out of the vacuum of his anaesthetised isolation. ‘Come on now, Mr. Benson, wake up. You’ve never had a visitor
before
.’

Ruth saw his eyelids flutter and heard his breathing change. The nurse turned to her and said:

‘He isn’t used to talking, so you mustn’t tire him.’

 *

George still had a bandage round his head. One of his feet was raised and held up by several weights on a pulley. The bedclothes were humped up on a square frame over the lower part of his body. How utterly helpless he looked. Ruth came cautiously closer. She felt a warm rising feeling of love and pity under her diaphragm.

‘George, George,’ she whispered.

He opened his eyes again and shut them. When he
reopened
them he was surprised still to see somebody
remarkably
like Ruth standing beside his bed. Probably those drugs. He was about to call out for the nurse when the vision spoke again.

‘Can you recognise me, George? It’s Ruth.’

George moved his head from side to side. Ruth stared at him in terror. Perhaps they hadn’t been telling the truth when they had told her on the telephone that the accident had not affected his mind. She said louder:

‘It’s Ruth, who you used to live with. Ruth, you must remember Ruth?’

George saw from the corner of his eye that the man in the next bed had raised himself on to an elbow so that he could hear better. He was now in no doubt.

‘George darling, I read about it in the papers and came at once. I hope you’re not cross with me for not warning you.’

George strove to try and decide whether she was being sarcastic. What possible reason could she have come for, after everything that had happened, if it was not to mock him in his infirmity? If she had read it in the papers, why hadn’t she come earlier? Ruth watched his expression of bewilderment and no longer felt frightened. It was the same expression she had seen whenever he made a mistake with his needlework or didn’t know what answer to give to Steven.

‘You look so silly with your feet up in the air like that, darling.’ She was leaning forward towards him and smiling, smiling.

‘I expect so,’ he said defensively.

‘Don’t get all cross, you old bear. Because I’m not going to be cross with you.’

‘Good. I’m not feeling well enough for a row.’

‘I meant that, George. I want to forget everything … if … if you’re not living with somebody else. You’re not, are you … say you’re not.’

Her voice had risen to an imploring wail. George sensed the eyes of everybody else in the ward on them. The man immediately to his right was muttering: ‘Disgusting,
disgusting
.’

‘No, I’m not,’ he hastily agreed.

‘I’m so, so happy, darling. Then we really can begin again?’

George nodded his agreement. He was filled with a
profound
feeling of well-being, it caressed his shattered body with fingers softer than peach skin.

‘I’m happy too,’ he said at last. But what if this was merely a passing mood of sentimentalism fostered by pity? Her
rejection
when he had rung her up those months ago had been as real as this strange reversal.

‘Are you sure about what you’re doing?’

‘Yes, as sure as I ever am about anything, but you know how hopeless I am.’

‘But weren’t you equally sure about never seeing me again after I left?’

‘I know that you were foolish once but now time has healed. I’m not strong enough or silly enough to keep away from you for the sake of my pride. I only realised how much I needed you when I read about your accident. And besides I just
know
that some things can’t be undone whatever happens afterwards. Now I can look back more clearly
without
anger. I was only blinded for a little while. I must have known it for a long time, known I mean that I wanted you back because I had forgiven. It was only the article that told me, that forced me, to have the courage to discover whether you would ever come back.’

‘There are things which have to be felt rather than thought. I know that,’ said George hoping that this was the right answer.

Ruth nodded. George was afraid for a moment that she was going to cry. But she blinked away her tears and said:

‘I don’t think I’ve ever really felt so like crying with happiness. I thought it was all a lie, but now I know it’s true.’

She dabbed her eyes with a small handkerchief and sat looking at him, smiling through her tears.

It was only then that she was aware of the bag of fruit that she had been clasping all the time.