The Bell - Iris Murdoch [33]
The estate was thickly wooded here and the stream found its way along under a leafy cavern of elder and ash saplings beneath the higher roof of the trees. Grasses leaned into the stream and were spread out in long lines of vivid green, but it was clear in the centre, running over a bed of sand and pebbles. Dora stood for a moment, looking down into the trembling speckled water, and found herself thinking about Catherine. She pictured her attired as a bride, going through the great Abbey door in October, never to emerge again. Then it was in imagination as if she, Dora, were crossing the causeway, her eyes fixed steadily upon the opening door. She woke shivering from the vision, and descending quickly by the side of the bridge walked sandals and all into the bed of the stream. Thank God she was not Catherine.
She climbed scratched and dripping up the farther bank and continued her way. It was a few minutes later that two alarming thoughts struck her almost simultaneously. The first thought was that she must have lost her way, since she had reached the second stream, which was broader and overgrown with brambles, but found no bridge, and was now following a path going uphill parallel to the stream. The second thought was that she had left the suitcase behind in the White Lion. At this second thought Dora gave a wail of despair. It was bad enough to have missed lunch. This second imbecility would make Paul cross for days, even provided the suitcase had not meanwhile been stolen. She turned about, meaning to run back to the village and try to get it at once. But she felt so hot and so tired and so hungry, and it was such a long way and there were so many nettles suddenly all around and anyway she was lost. I am a perfect idiot, thought Dora.
At that moment she heard a rustling of leaves from further down the path, in the direction from which she had come, and a figure emerged from the wood, parting the tangled greenery in front of him. It was Michael Meade.
He seemed surprised to see Dora there and came towards her with a smiling questioning look.
'Oh, Mr Meade,' said Dora, 'I think I'm lost.' She felt shy at finding herself alone with the leader of the community.
'I saw the colour of your dress through the trees,' said Michael, 'and I couldn't think what it was. I thought at first it was one of Peter's rare birds! Yes, if you're making for the house, you've come up the wrong path. I was just visiting the watercress beds. We grow cress on a section of the other stream. It's out of season now, of course, but one has to keep it cleared out. It's pretty up here, isn't it?'
'Oh, lovely,' said Dora, and then to her dismay found that she was starting to cry. She felt a little faint from hunger and the intense heat, more breathless than ever under the canopy of the wood.
'You're feeling the heat, you know,' said Michael. 'Sit down here for a moment on this tree trunk. Put your head well forward, that's right. You'll feel better in a moment.' His hand touched her neck.
'It's not that,' said Dora. Finding she had no handkerchief she wiped her eyes with the hem of her dress, and then rubbed her face with the back of a muddy and perspiring hand. 'I went to fetch the suitcase, you know, the one I left on the train, and I got it, and now I've left it behind again in the White Lion!' Her voice ended in a wail.
Michael looked at her for a moment. Then he began to laugh too, rather ruefully.
'I'm so sorry,' said Michael, 'but it did sound comic, the way