The Sandcastle (24 page)

The image was burning fast. Felicity stepped quickly round the circle, keeping
her feet inside the triangle, picking up the poppies and the wild roses which
she then threw into the sea. The tide was coming in. Already the water was
gurgling to and fro on three sides of the rock. The sun was almost hidden now
and the outline of the land was purple and heavy. The moon was beginning to
shine. It had become very small, a button of bright silver in a patch of
greenish sky. It shone balefully down on Felicity. She stood, her eyes starting
from her head, watching the image burn. A chill breeze blew from the sea,
fanning the flames.
Nan was standing with her feet in the water. At low tide a layer of small
pebbles was uncovered which lay beyond the sand. When they were wet they were
multi-coloured and beautiful, but when they dried they all became grey. They
hurt her feet a little, but she walked along, the very still water caressing
her ankles. It came to the shore with scarcely a ripple. The tide must be on
the turn. She looked out to sea. The sun was going down and covering its
expanse with a spacious and tender light. The moon had just risen, with a big
pale melancholy pock-marked face. There were not many people left on the beach
now. She had hoped to find Felicity there, but there was no sign of the child.
She seemed to be avoiding her.
Since her return to Dorset Nan had passed in her thoughts through a number of
different phases. She had never reflected so much in her life. Her normal
existence had not demanded, had even excluded, reflection. It had contained her
firmly like a shell with every cranny filled. There had been problems, of
course, and moments of decision, but Nan did not remember having felt any doubt
ever upon an issue of importance. She had always understood, she had always
known what to do — and when it came to persuading her husband to share her
opinion,, the pattern of argument had been reassuringly familiar, as if it were
continually the same discussion.
Now the pressure of reality upon her had been withdrawn, and she was left alone
in the centre of a void where she had suddenly to determine afresh the form and
direction of her being. It was only within the last two days, however, that Nan
had really become aware of this aloofness of the world. She had come back from
Surrey in a state of mind far from cheerful, but at least energetic and
confident. She had occupied herself upon the journey with intermittent thoughts
of Tim Burke. She had been deeply hurt to learn from Bill that Tim had known
all about it - was perhaps even an accomplice as well as a confidant.
Reflecting on this, Nan had a feeling in which she rarely indulged. She felt
sorry for herself. Only once in all these years, years which had often been
discouraging and dreary enough, had she stretched out her hand a little way
towards another person - and she had been betrayed. She was sad, too, because
she knew that with this a sort of fragrance, a streak of colour, was gone from
her life. The thought that, although nothing passed between them, Tim Burke
still cherished her in his heart had been, but now would be no longer, a
refreshment to her. Later, however, Nan began to feel less extreme, more ready
to forgive Tim for his knowledge, and less anxious to interpret it as a
betrayal. It was then that she allowed the memory of how they had lain together
in the armchair to come back fully to her consciousness. She remembered the
scene in detail, and everything that Tim had said. She dwelt upon it. Already
it was like remembering the remote past, something tender and sad and utterly
cut off. Perhaps after all it was best for Tim to play his old part and for
everything to be as before. Everything must be as before. The thought that it
must and would be so was reassuring. She realized soberly how much she would
have missed him.
Her thoughts reverted to Bill. The sense of relief which Nan had felt during
her interview with Bill, when she found herself once more in control of the
situation, did not leave her for several days. During that time, when she
thought of the interview, she filled in the details of her own powerful and
vigorous attack. What Bill’s replies had been she could scarcely remember. She
felt complete confidence that her instructions would be carried out. How
exactly they would be carried out she did not care to know. But she would come
back to Bill to find that it had been done - and then she would endeavour to
carry out her promise of not referring to the matter again. She was pleased
that she had maintained throughout a civilized and rational demeanour.
Fundamentally, Nan grasped the situation at this time as a drama, and one which
she was able to fashion to her own pattern. She felt the satisfaction of one
who is in the right, able to impose his will, and doing so mercifully.
Almost at once, however, certain other and quite irrational feelings came to
plague her. She was not able to forget what she had seen when she came in
through the drawing-room door. Gradually the notion that Bill had actually
embraced and kissed this girl, certainly more than once, became a reality to
Nan. From there it was only a little way to the notion that possibly Bill was
still embracing and kissing her. Nan did not make the transition immediately.
She had never experienced jealous feelings before - she knew that they were the
sort of feelings which it is neurotic and irrational to indulge. So she put
them away. But they would not be put away.
Nan began to have bad dreams. This was new to her as well. Usually she was not
aware of having dreamed at all. Now the figure of her husband haunted her
continually throughout the night. She did not dream of the girl. Nan began to
think about her husband. In those few days she thought about him more intensely
than she had ever done since she had first been in love with him. His face
haunted her. One vision of it especially she had, seeing it as she had so often
seen it in the early mornings beside her, in the days when they had shared a
bed, when she had woken first, the tired unshaven sleeping face of a man. She
began to miss him. She began, though she did not let this become clear to
herself, almost to desire him.
It was a day later that she began to be afraid. She started to wonder what, at
that very moment, was going on. She began to doubt whether after all her
instructions would be carried out. A letter came from Bill in answer to hers.
It was very vague. It was not at all reassuring. It was the more alarming
because Bill was usually so direct and not fond of ambiguities. Then she began
to wake in the night and speculate about what Bill was doing. She began to
rehearse detailed and catastrophic fantasies. She wished then very much that
she had not come back to Dorset - but she could not yet make up her mind to
return to Surrey. She began to remember what Bill had said during their
interview. Now it was her own words which appeared in memory hazy and
unimportant, while Bill’s words were filled in sharply. It came to her as a
real possibility that she might lose her husband.
During these days Nan spoke to no one except Felicity, and she spoke to
Felicity only of ordinary things. Felicity avoided her in any case, leaving the
house immediately after every meal and disappearing along the coast or into the
country. Nan had no wish to speak frankly with her daughter. But she wanted
more and more to have the girl’s company, as it became less and less agreeable
to be alone. She had come to look for her now along the beach, but without success.
The sandy bay was almost deserted. The setting sun and the cool wind had sent
hurrying home the few families that still lingered there. Nan’s feet were
chilled. She dried them on her handkerchief and put her shoes on.
Her wandering had brought her close to the headland beyond which the coast
became jagged and rocky. In that desolate bay of rocks she knew that Felicity
liked often to sit alone. She thought that she would look round the headland
before she went back to the villa. She did not want to go back just yet to the
empty villa. She started to walk along the shingle. Already the rocks were
beginning. It was hard to climb upon them with high-heeled shoes. These loose
rocks appalled Nan. Round, random, detachable, they were strewn at the foot of
the cliff and the sea moved them a little every time it came in to cover them.
They were terrible and without sense. As Nan stood balanced, about to step from
one boulder to the next, she heard a thin piercing wail, which grew higher and
higher and then died away. It was not like the cry of a bird. She stood still a
moment, shivered, and then went on, awkwardly stepping from one smooth tilting
surface on to the next one. It was a little while before she had got
sufficiently round the headland to be able to see into the next bay. Near to
her a great black thing suddenly rose and went slowly away, out towards the
horizon, black in the final brilliance of the sun. It frightened Nan for a
moment. But it was only a cormorant.
The sky was a rich darkening blue at the zenith, but the golden light, still
lying in sheets upon the water, dazzled Nan for a moment. As she paused it was
already fading. Then as her eyes became more accustomed to the scene she saw a
strange flame leaping upon a rock not far away. A figure was standing upright
upon the rock, which was now surrounded by the incoming tide. It was Felicity.
Nan called out, and began to hurry across the rocks, stepping as quickly as she
could towards her daughter. As soon as Felicity saw her mother coming she began
in desperate haste to pick up a lot of things which were lying about on top of
the rock. Then she began to sweep the rock with her hand, sweeping everything
that remained upon it off into the sea. The little fire which had been burning
on the rock was swept off too, and lay upon the surface of the water, where
amid a wide scattering of leaves and flowers which were already floating there
it continued to burn.
Amazed, Nan arrived close to the rock, and stood there looking out at Felicity.
In spite of the chill of the evening Felicity was dressed only in a
bathing-costume. A number of odd tins and bottles stood upon the rock. It
looked as if she had been having a picnic. But it must have been a strange
picnic. The flare continued upon the surface of the water and the incoming tide
carried it almost to Nan’s feet where it burnt uncannily. Felicity now stood
paralysed, staring down at the flames.
‘Darling,’ said Nan, ‘have you gone quite mad? You’ll catch your death of cold
standing there with nothing on. There’s quite a cold wind now that the sun’s
gone down. And if you don’t hurry you’ll be stranded on that rock. Where are
your clothes?’
‘Here,’ said Felicity dully. She produced them from a shelf on the other side
of the rock.
‘Throw them across to me,’ said Nan, ‘and you’d better pass me those other
things as well, whatever they are, and then come across yourself at once. I
think as it is you’ll have to wade.’
A wide channel now flowed between Felicity’s rock and the mainland. Afloat upon
it the flame was still alight.
‘Whatever were you burning?’ said Nan. It smells very funny, and it’s odd the
way it hasn’t gone out.‘
The flame rose from the glassy surface of the gently flowing tide and was
reflected in it. The sun was down now and the air was denser with the twilight.
Then quite suddenly the fire was out, and there was nothing but a little
blackened lump, floating near to the edge of the rock.
Fascinated Nan leaned down and was about to pick it out of the water.
‘Don’t touch it!’ said Felicity. ‘Here, catch!’ She bundled her clothes up into
the towel and threw them. Nan stepped back hurriedly and caught them. Then in a
fever of haste Felicity began to pack all the remaining objects into a bag. She
took it in her hand and gently tossed it across the channel. It landed neatly
upon a rock. Then Felicity jumped down into the sea. She gasped at its
coldness. She began to wade across to where Nan was standing. On the way she
beat with her hands at the charred black thing which still floated there. It
disintegrated completely.
Nan had the towel ready for her. She began to rub her down vigorously as she
had so often done when she was a small child.
‘Don’t, you’re hurting me!’ said Felicity. Then, with snuffling sobs, she began
to cry.
‘Dear me, dear me!’ said Nan. ‘What a cry baby! You’re always wailing. Now then
put your vest on quick - and tell me what’s the matter.’
Felicity was trembling with cold. She got her vest on and began to fumble with
her dress. She said, ‘I saw a butterfly flying out to sea. It will get lost out
there and die.’ She pulled the dress on over her head. Her tears were still
falling.
‘What nonsense, child!’ said Nan. ‘It could fly back again, couldn’t it?
Anyway, they can fly for miles, they often fly over to France. That’s nothing
to cry about.’
Felicity sat down. It was quite dark now. The moon shone out of a cloudless sky
of dark blue, revealing on either side of them the tumbled heaps of rock.
Felicity was trying to dry her feet. Nan felt them. They were limp and cold as
ice.
‘I saw a fish,’ said Felicity, ‘that a man had caught. It was a big fish. It
was lying all by itself on the sand, and struggling and gasping. I wanted to
pick it up and throw it back into the sea. But I wasn’t brave enough to.’ Her
voice broke in renewed sobs.