The Alexandria Quartet - Lawrence Durrell [294]
je ne me défends plus. ’ The melancholy of the smiling face was completely untouched by self-pity. She made a little gesture, as if indicating a total world, and said ‘Look’ — the shabby wills and desires of the Etoile’s patrons, clothed in bodily forms, spread around them in that airless cellar. He understood and suddenly felt apologetic for never having treated her seriously. He was furious at his own complacency. On an impulse, he pressed his cheek to hers, affectionately as a brother. She was completely natural!
A human barrier dissolved now and they found that they could talk freely to each other, like old friends. As the evening wore on he found himself dancing with her more and more often. She seemed to welcome this, even though on the dance-floor itself he danced silently now, relaxed and happy. He made no gestures of intimacy, yet he felt somehow accepted by her. Then towards midnight a fat and expensive Syrian banker arrived and began to compete seriously for her company. Much to his annoyance, Pursewarden felt his anxiety rise, form itself almost into a pro-prietary jealousy. This made him swear under his breath! But he moved to a table near the floor the better to be able to claim her as soon as the music started. Melissa herself seemed oblivious to this fierce competition. She was tired. At last he asked her ‘What will you do when you leave here? Will you go back to Darley tonight?’
She smiled at the name, but shook her head wearily. ‘I need some money for — never mind’ she said softly, and then abruptly burst out, as if afraid of not being taken for sincere, with ‘For my winter coat. We have so little money. In this business, one has to dress. You understand?’ Pursewarden said: ‘Not with that horrible Syrian?’ Money! He thought of it with a pang. Melissa looked at him with an air of amused resignation. She said in a low voice, but without emphasis, without shame: ‘He has offered me 500 piastres to go home with him. I say no now, but later — I expect I shall have to.’ She shrugged her shoulders.
Pursewarden swore quietly. ‘No’ he said. ‘Come with me. I shall give you 1,000 if you need it.’
Her eyes grew round at the mention of so great a sum of money. He could see her telling it over coin by coin, fingering it, as if on an abacus, dividing it up into food, rent and clothes. ‘I mean it’ he said sharply. And added almost at once: ‘Does Darley know?’
‘Oh yes’ she said quietly. ‘You know, he is very good. Our life is a struggle, but he knows me. He trusts me. He never asks for any details. He knows that one day when we have enough money to go away I will stop all this. It is not important for us.’ It sounded quaint, like some fearful blasphemy in the mouth of a child. Pursewarden laughed. ‘Come now’ he said suddenly; he was dying to possess her, to cradle and annihilate her with the disgusting kisses of a false compassion. ‘Come now, Melissa darling’ he said, but she winced and turned pale at the word and he saw that he had made a mistake, for any sexual transaction must be made strictly outside the bounds of her personal affection for Darley. He was disgusted by himself and yet rendered powerless to act otherwise; ‘I tell you what’ he said ‘I shall give Darley a lot of money later this month — enough to take you away.’ She did not seem to be listening. ‘I’ll get my coat’ she said in a small mechanical voice ‘and meet you in the hall.’ She went to make her peace with the manager, and Pursewarden waited for her in an agony of impatience. He had hit upon the perfect way to cure these twinges of a puritan conscience which lurked on underneath the carefree surface of an amoral life.
Several weeks before,