The Sea, The Sea - Iris Murdoch [130]
‘I did, I wanted you to go to the university.’
‘But, Hartley, it can’t have been just that.’
‘It wasn’t just anything, oh don’t upset me so, we were too much like brother and sister and you were so sort of bossy and I decided I didn’t want to.’ Some tears spilled again. ‘Have you got a handkerchief?’
I brought her a clean tea towel and she wearily wiped her eyes, her face, her neck. A button had come off the tight yellow dress at her breast. I had an impulse to grab her and tear the dress.
I sat down again. ‘Hartley, if you had all these misgivings why didn’t you utter them? We could have done something about it. It was so terrible to go away without a word, it was wicked.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I had to go like that, it was the only way, it wasn’t easy. Oh it’s cold, it’s so cold, I must put my coat on again.’ She put it on and pulled it round her, turning up the collar.
‘How can it have happened, you can’t simply have decided, there must be something else, something you haven’t told me. Do you remember that day—’
‘Charles, there isn’t time, and I really can’t remember. It’s so long ago, it’s a lifetime ago.’
‘To me it’s yesterday. I’ve been living with it ever since, reliving it and recalling it and going over and over it and wondering what went wrong and what happened to you and where you were. I think I’ve wondered where you were every day of my life. And I’ve been alone all this time, I’ve stayed in freedom, because of you. It’s yesterday, Hartley. That was the only real time I ever lived through.’
‘Alone. I’m sorry.’
It took me a moment to realize that she was not being sarcastic. Alone? Well, yes. Her tone suggested that she had not imagined, not speculated.
‘You say you just decided you didn’t want me, but that isn’t an explanation, I want to know—’
‘Oh stop—it just didn’t happen. If I’d loved you enough I would have married you, if you’d loved me enough you would have married me. There aren’t any reasons.’
‘You say if I’d loved you enough—Don’t drive me mad! I loved you to the limit, I still do, I tried to the limit, I didn’t run away, I didn’t marry anyone else, it was all your fault, you’ll drive me crazy if you start—’
‘We mustn’t talk of these things—we’re just sort of—plunging about—and it doesn’t mean anything now. Look, I must tell you certain things only you won’t listen—’
I thought, I mustn’t go mad with emotion, I must stop questioning her now, though I will find out, I will. ‘Hartley, have some wine.’ I poured out a glass of the Spanish wine and she began mechanically to sip it. ‘Have an olive.’
‘I don’t like olives, they’re sour. Please listen to me—’
‘I’m sorry it’s so cold here, this house manages to be cold even when—All right, you tell me things. But just remember, you’re here and you stay—whatever happened or didn’t happen in the past you belong to me now. But tell me one thing, that night when you were on the road here and that car shone its lights on you, were you coming to see me then, that night?’
‘No—but I—I just wanted to look at your house. It was a woodwork night, you see.’
‘You wanted to look at my house. To stand in the road and look at the lighted windows. Oh my dear, you do love me, you can’t help it.’
‘Charles, it doesn’t matter—’
‘What do you mean, you’ll make me mad again!’
‘There isn’t any place, any possibility, any sort of—structure—everything’s broken down, you’ll understand when I’ve told you—what I came to tell you—’
‘All right, I’ll listen now, but first let me kiss you. Then everything will be well. The kiss of peace.’ I leaned over and very gently but persistingly let my dry lips touch her wet lips. How different different kisses are. This was a sort of holy kiss. We both closed our eyes. ‘OK, now go on.’ I filled up her wine glass. My hand was shaking and the wine splashed on the table.
She said again, ‘There’s so little time, and we’ve spent some of it.’ Then she said, ‘Oh God, I haven’t got my watch with me, what time is it?’
I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to ten. I said, ‘It’s ten