The Philosopher's Pupil (14 page)

He washed up his cup and his plate and made his way by a roundabout route to the Baths, where he went first, as has been recounted, to the Indoor Pool. As he emerged later, ready to swim, from the changing-rooms, he noticed something disturbing. The number 44, which was the number of the cubby-hole where he left his key, was the same as the number of his house and was also the last two figures in the number of his car. It was also his age. Little things were significant. It was a portent and all portents now were frightening.

Swimming, George did not see Diane, he did not see Brian and Gabriel, nor did he see Alex or Adam, all of whom saw him. He swam and swam, tiring himself, passing the healthful healing water through his gills, emptying himself in his solitude of the bitterness of living.

At last, exhausted, he crawled out, hauling himself up the iron steps and moving away from the pool. The pavement beside the pool edge was wet and slightly warm, but a step away the stone was dry and still sparkling with frost. George set penitential feet upon the frost and walked a little, shivering inside his quickly cooling body and turning to look at the footprints made in the frost by his warm feet. He felt slightly giddy and dazed by the emergence not only into the cold air but into the bright light. While he had been swimming in the semi-dark of the merciful steam cloud the sun had come out. The sky was blue. He walked along beside the high beech hedge which protected the Ennistone Rooms garden, and then turned along the other edge of the pool, by the yellow glazed wall, in the direction of the stews. He saw ahead of him, standing at the water's edge, the tall gaunt near-naked figure of William Eastcote. Eastcote was combing back and checking over with his fingers his thinning but persistent strands of wet hair. He was talking to a fat man whose swimming-trunks clung on almost invisibly beneath his paunch. The fat man had a big bony puckered face and stiff flat brush of grey hair which was evidently still dry. As he now turned his head George recognized John Robert Rozanov. Reaching the pool in three paces, George dived back again into the steam.

Alex had also seen Rozanov. Walking along beside Diana's Garden toward the stews, she stopped abruptly, then turned back. She did not notice Diane, who was still in the garden bursting to tell George that Rozanov, whom she recognized, was there. Alex's heart swelled and contracted, warming her whole body with a rush of consciousness. It did not occur to her to walk straight on and greet him. With the first glimpse came the need to hide, to wait, not to know - to know what, what was there to know? Besides, trim and handsome as Alex looked in her green skirted costume, she did not want to meet Rozanov with her hair dripping and her makeup washed away. She hurried along the warm verge of the pool until she came to where Ruby was waiting outside the changing-rooms, holding the bag with Alex's clothes. She grabbed the bag and whisked inside and pattered over the wet wooden duck-boards which gave out such an old melancholy exciting smell. She found a cubicle and sat down and peeled off her costume and sat there panting and holding her breasts until her face was calm and her heart was quiet. It was a great many years, she hated to think how many, since she had glimpsed Rozanov in the street, perhaps at the time when his mother died. But now, passing over all intermediate time, she recalled so intensely his monstrous handsome youthful face, how he looked when she might have reached out her hand to take him.

Ruby, who had noticed John Robert some time earlier, as he emerged from the changing-rooms with William Eastcote, had no such coy misgivings. She waited dog-like for Alex to come back for her clothes, then, released, she went along the side of the pool looking for him. She noticed Diane in the garden but as usual they exchanged no sign. She found Rozanov standing talking with Eastcote at the place where, coming from the other direction, George had seen him, and she stood quite near, her feet apart, her hands clasped, staring at him. Several other people who had recognized the philosopher were also standing nearby, but not daring to come so close. John Robert did not see her, however, but still talking went with Eastcote down the steps into one of the stews.

The ‘stews', as I explained earlier, are round holes about twelve feet deep and fifteen feet across, with a seat around the edge at the bottom. An iron staircase winds down into the water, which is just deep enough to allow the head and shoulders of the seated hedonist to emerge. The temperatures, at different graded levels in the different stews, are considerably higher than that of the pool, and in cold weather the atmosphere below is thickly and breathlessly steamy. Ruby peered over the side, but could see nothing of her hero.

John Robert was saying in his rather hard decisive voice to William (Bill the Lizard) Eastcote, as they stewed at 45°C, ‘Thank God there's still no piped music here.'

‘Yes, some people wanted it, but it would make the whole scene quite unreal, and the great thing about the Baths is it's such a
real
place, if you see what I mean.'

‘I see very well.'

The only other inhabitant of the stew, recognizing Rozanov, moved away at once and climbed the steps in shy confusion. (He was in fact Nesta Wiggins's father, a ladies' tailor in a small way in Burkestown.)

‘So the Rooms have been done up again,' said John Robert, ‘and you can book in like a hotel.'

‘Yes.' Eastcote added, ‘You could be peaceful there, you could work undisturbed.'

John Robert was silent.

At that moment Adam came down the iron steps into the steamy hole. He stood on the steps with the very hot water up to his knees and looked to see who was there. He hoped the stew would be empty. He recognized Eastcote, but not Rozanov whom he had never seen.

William said, ‘Hello,' but Adam had already turned and skipped back up the steps.

Rozanov said, ‘How very like his father Rufus has become. That was Rufus, wasn't it?'

‘No. Don't you remember. I told you ages ago, Rufus died as a child. That is the other boy, Brian McCaffrey's son, Adam.'

‘Oh yes - you told me in London.'

The old friends had met occasionally over the years in the metropolis when Rozanov made philosophical visits.

‘He does resemble George, or rather Alan.'

‘I'm sorry Alan's not still around; an interesting man, though I scarcely knew him. You tell me Hugo's gone too.'

‘Yes, Belfounder died several years ago.'

‘What about all those valuable clocks?'

‘He left them to that writer, I forget his name.'

‘I'd have liked another talk with Hugo.'

‘There must be someone here for your purposes.'

‘For me to make use of!'

‘I don't mean it like that.'

‘Of course not, Bill. Damn it, there's you!'

‘I still play bridge, but that's not your scene! What about N?'

‘No.'

‘George McCaffrey, you said — '

‘No.'

‘Well, there's the priest. I told you — '

‘A Jew?'

‘Yes.'

‘That's good.'

‘Shall I —?'

‘Don't do anything. I want everything to happen slowly.'

‘Are things going to happen then?'

‘Perhaps only in my mind.'

‘Will you come to Meeting with me on Sunday?'

‘I love your Quakerish Meeting and your Quakerish ways, but it would be false.'

‘You mean it would seem false.'

‘You should have been a philosopher. How is your cousin Milton, still busy saving people?'

‘Yes, he's very well.'

‘How are you, Bill? You've got very thin.'

‘I'm fine.' But Eastcote had just had some disturbing news from his doctor.

‘I wish I was thin, I feel lean and hawk-like. May I have lunch with you? What a pity Rose has gone, I loved to see her at your table, it was like visiting some wholesome past.'

‘Well, she has gone too.'

‘Don't say “soon it will be our turn”.'

‘I wouldn't say that to you!'

‘You can say anything to me! Come, let's go, I'm boiled.'

They clambered up the steps, holding hard on to the iron rail, and emerged into the cold air, coming out of the steam into the sunshine.

‘There's the priest,' said Eastcote.

Not far away Father Bernard, not yet immersed, stood looking down at the water. He sported a certain peculiarity, not wearing swimming-trunks but a full-length black costume, rather loose and rumoured to be made of wool, as if it might be a bathing-cassock.

‘He looks a clown,' said Rozanov.

‘He is not that,' said Eastcote, ‘but he is an odd man.'

‘Why does he wear that costume? Is he scarred?'

‘I don't know.'

At that moment Father Bernard sat down on the edge of the pool and let himself slide down gingerly into the water, then swam away with an awkward breast-stroke. He was not a good swimmer.

‘Can't he dive?'

‘I don't think so,' said Eastcote.

‘He doesn't look as if he can swim either. He'll be in difficulties directly.'

‘Some non-swimmers are not fools.'

‘Do you tell me so? I live so out of the world! Where did I leave my glasses?'

As John Robert turned he came face to face with Ruby, who was still standing near the railed top of the stew. He recognized her.

‘Why, Miss Doyle. It is Miss Doyle, isn't it?'

The recognition, without his glasses, was something of a feat, since John Robert had not seen Ruby for some years.

Ruby smiled her wide rare huge smile. She was overjoyed at being recognized by Rozanov. She hoped that one or two people whom she knew who had been standing nearby were still there to witness the scene. She nodded her head. She stared rapturously up at the philosopher. It did not occur to her to speak.

At this moment Ruby heard, from across the steam-covered expanse of the Bath, the voice of Alex calling her. ‘Coo-ee, coo-ee.' This, very high-pitched, was Alex's special call for Ruby, which she used, regardless of surroundings, in all sorts of situations, in shopping centres, swimming-pools, parks, as well as in the garden at Belmont. Ruby ignored the call.

‘Now wait a moment please, Miss Doyle,' said John Robert. ‘Bill, where are my glasses?'

‘Here.' William Eastcote fetched the glasses, in their case, from a seat.

John Robert opened the case and drew out a sealed envelope folded in two.

‘Coo-ee, coo-ee!'

‘Now would you give this - is she still in service with Mrs McCaffrey?' He did not seem to expect her to speak.

‘Yes,' said Eastcote.

‘Would you give this to your mistress, please? I thought I would probably run into one or other of you at the Baths.'

‘
Coo-ee!
'

Ruby nodded and took the letter.

John Robert said, ‘It's quite like old times, isn't it?'

He smiled, and Ruby, smiling again, turned quickly away. Ruby, unknown to Alex, had carried the correspondence of lovers between John Robert and Linda Brent.

‘Wherever did you get to?' said Alex as they left the Institute. It was not a long way to Belmont and they always walked. Ruby carried the bag with the swimming-things, now wet and heavy.

Ruby did not respond to these words which were not intended as a question. The two women walked along together in the bleak spring sunshine, dressed in their winter overcoats. They did not walk fast.

Ruby touched John Robert's letter in her pocket. She drew out the seconds and the minutes. It was like waiting for a natural function, like waiting for a sneeze, pleasurable. At last she produced the envelope.

‘He gave me this for you.'

Alex did not know Rozanov's writing, which she had not seen since he wrote to thank her for the expensive wedding present which she had sent to him and Linda. But of course she did not need to be told who ‘he' was. She said nothing and put the letter into her handbag. She and Ruby walked on together, stony-faced, like two marching goddesses. Robin Osmore, raising his hat unnoticed on the other side of the road, turned and stared after them.

Stella McCaffrey,
née
Henriques, was lying on the sofa in the sitting-room at Brian and Gabriel's house. Brian and Gabriel lived in the sober and not very new housing estate called Leafy Ridge. Their house had been called ‘Como' by its previous owner, and although (since Brian despised such pretensions) the name was not used as an address (the address being simply number 27), it lingered on as a family nickname.

Stella was lying back propped up on cushions. Her legs were extended and covered with a blue-and-white chequered rug. Adam had just placed Zed on top of her, positioning him carefully just below her throat. The little dog had stretched his front paws forward in a gesture which seemed protective. She could feel his blunt claws against her neck. He looked into Stella's face with a mixture of curiosity and affection which she found quite unbearably touching. Afraid that tears might come, she coughed and lifted the little creature up, feeling the frailty of the skeleton which she could almost have crushed between her hands. Adam came forward and took Zed back. He stared at Stella unsmilingly but with concern. Then he went out through the glass doors into the garden.

At the foot of the sofa stood Brian. He also, with an expression resembling his son's, looked at his sister- In-law with grave concern. He admired and valued Stella. He could not put a name to his feelings for her; of course he loved her, but ‘love' denotes many things. There was a mutual shyness between them. Sometimes when he kissed her, as he did rarely, for instance at Christmas, he squeezed her hand. He would have liked to be sure that she understood his esteem. His hostility to George was partly compounded of his sense of how unappreciated Stella was. He wished he could have an easy family comradeship with her. He imagined a happy family life in which he would effortlessly enjoy Stella's company, chat with her, make jokes with her, work with her, have supper with her, play bridge with her (Stella was a good player). None of this happened. Now that Stella was suddenly away from George, in Brian's house, he did not know what to do with her, he did not know what it meant or what it would bring about.