The Bell - Iris Murdoch [153]
Dora replied that she was not coming to London. She would see him at some later time. For the present she wanted to be left alone. She felt a nostalgia for the ease of his company; but she no longer had the feverish urge to escape into his world. She attempted to turn her thoughts away from Paul, away from Noel, away even from Michael. It was not easy. She packed her things and collected together the paintings she had made in the last few weeks. She went to bed exhausted. She imagined, as she imagined every night, Paul sitting alone in his beautiful Knightsbridge room, beside the white telephone, wanting her back. But her last remembrance was that on the morrow Michael would be leaving her, and when they met again he would perhaps be married to Catherine. She wept herself to sleep, but they were quiet and comforting tears.
The morning was foggy as usual. They walked along the platform and sat down on the seat. The fog curled in slow tall breakers across the track and the fields opposite were invisible. The air was damp and cold.
'Have you got a winter coat?' said Michael. 'No. Well, it's at Knightsbridge,' said Dora. 'It doesn't matter. I'm not a cold person.'
'You'd better buy one, you know,' said Michael. 'You can't get through the winter in that mackintosh. Do let me lend you some money, Dora. I'm not short.'
'No, of course not!' said Dora. 'I shall make out very well on the grant, now I've got that part-time teaching job as well. Oh dear, I wish you weren't going. Anyway, your train's sure to be late with this fog.'
'I hope it won't be too late,' said Michael. 'Margaret's meeting me at Paddington.' He sighed deeply.
Dora sighed too. She said, 'You packed my pictures all right?' She had given him three of her sketches of Imber.
'They're flat on the bottom of my case,' said Michael. 'I do like them so much. I'll have them framed in London.'
'They're not worth it,' said Dora, 'but I'm glad you like them. I can't really paint.'
Michael did not contradict her. They sat silently for a while, looking into the fog and listening for the train. The day was blanketed and still.
'Don't forget to give the key to Sister Ursula when you go,' said Michael.
'What will happen to Imber, anyway?' said Dora. 'Who does it belong to? Funny, I never wondered this before. It seemed as if it just belonged to us.'
'Well, in fact, it belongs to me,' said Michael.
'To you?' said Dora, turning to him. She was amazed. And in the instant her quick imagination had seen it changed, the garden radiant with flowers, the Long Room decked and carpeted, the house filled and warmed and peopled, made into a home for Michael and Catherine and for their children. It was a painful vision.
'It's the old home of my family,' said Michael, 'although we haven't been able to live there for a good many years. What will happen to it? It's going to be leased indefinitely to the Abbey.'
'To the Abbey?' said Dora. She drew a small sigh of relief. 'And what will they do with it?'
'Live in it,' said Michael. "They've needed more space for a long time.'
'So it'll actually be inside the enclosure, the whole thing, the house, the lake, everything?'
'Yes, I suppose so.'
'How perfectly dreadful!' said Dora.
Michael laughed. 'It's a just reversal of roles,' he said. 'In the old days the Abbey used to be a curiosity in the grounds of the Court. Now the Court will be a curiosity in the grounds of the Abbey.'
Dora shook her head. She could not think how Michael could bear not to live there even if the place fell down about his ears. The distant sound of the train was heard booming through the fog. 'Oh dear,' she said, 'here's your train.'
They got up. The train came into the station.
Not many