The Bell - Iris Murdoch [101]
The fifteen-hundredweight lorry was standing in the middle of the yard just beyond the shadow of the wall its nose towards the lake. The bonnet was open and from underneath the vehicle a pair of feet could be seen sticking out. Nearby, regardless of the dust, Catherine Fawley was sitting on the ground. Her skirt was hitched up towards her waist and her two long legs, crossed at the ankle, were exposed almost completely to the sun. Michael was surprised to see her in this pose and surprised too that she did not, on seeing him, get up, or at least pull her skirt down. Instead she looked up at him without smiling. Michael for the first time since he had met her, conjectured that she might positively dislike him.
Nick came edging out from underneath the lorry, his feet disappearing on one side, his head appearing on the other. He lay supine, half emerged, his head resting in the dust. He swivelled his eyes back towards Michael who, from where he was standing, saw his face upside down. He seemed to be smiling, but his inverted face looked so odd it was hard to tell.
'The big chief,' said Nick.
'Hello,' said Michael. 'Very good of you to fix the lorry. Will it be all right?'
'What drivel,' said Nick. 'It's not very good of me to fix the lorry. It's shocking of me not to have done it earlier. Why don't you say what you mean? It was only a blocked petrol feed. It should be all right now.' He continued to lie there, his strange face of a bearded demon looking up at Michael.
Michael, still conscious of Catherine's stare, fumbled for words. 'I was just looking for your sister,' he said.
'I was just talking to my sister,' said Nick. 'We were discussing our childhood. We spent our childhood together, you know.'
'Ah,' said Michael idiotically. Somehow, he could not deal with both of them, and it occurred to him that this was one of the very few occasions when he had seen them together.
'I know it's wicked to chat and reminisce,' said Nick, 'but you must forgive us two, since it's our last chance. Isn't it, Cathie?'
Catherine said nothing.
Michael mumbled, 'Well, I'll be off. I can easily see Catherine another time.'
'All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of bloody things shall be well,' said Nick. 'Isn't that so, Cathie?'
Michael realized he was a bit drunk. He turned to go.
'Wait a minute," said Nick. 'You're always "off", confound you, like the bloody milk by the time it reaches me at the Lodge. If you want all manner of things to be well there's a little service you could perform for me. Will you?'
'Certainly,' said Michael. 'What is it?'
'Just get into the lorry and put the gear lever in neutral and release the hand-brake.'
Michael, moving instinctively toward the vehicle, checked himself. 'Nick.' he said, 'don't be an imbecile, that's not funny. And do get out from under that thing. You know the slope makes it dangerous, anyway. You ought to have put the lorry sideways.'
Nick pulled himself slowly out and stood up, dusting his clothes and grinning. Seeing him now in overalls and apparently doing a job of work Michael saw how much thinner and tougher he looked than when he had arrived: handsomer too, and considerably more alert. Michael also realized that these words were the first real words he had addressed to Nick since the day of his arrival. Nick, who had obviously angled for them, was looking pleased.
Michael was about to utter some excuse and go when the wooden door from the drive was heard creaking open once again. They all turned. It was Toby. He stood blinking at the enclosed scene, Catherine still sitting bare-legged