The Sea, The Sea - Iris Murdoch [148]
It was at once evident that he was hungry. I felt a rush of concern and pity, of all those dangerously joyously strong emotions which were biding their luxurious secret moment.
He hesitated. ‘Thank you. Well, OK, I’ll stay for a quick bite. I have to be—somewhere else—’
I did not believe too much in that somewhere else.
By this time, by the easy route, we had almost reached the road. We climbed up the last bit and stood a moment looking out over Raven Bay where the calmer shallower sea was the colour of turquoise.
‘Lovely country, isn’t it. Do you know this part of the world?’
‘No.’ He said, suddenly stretching out his hands, ‘Oh, the sea, the sea—it’s so wonderful.’
‘I know. I feel that too. I grew up in the middle of England. So did you, I think?’
‘Yes.’ He turned to me. ‘Look—’
‘Yes?’
‘Why did you—I mean—did you come here for my mother?’
There was so much to discover, so much to explain, and it must be done so carefully and in the right order. I said, ‘I’m glad you call her your mother. She is, you know, even if you are adopted. There’s a kind of reality, a kind of truth. They are your real parents, it would be unjust to deny it.’
‘Yes, I understand about that. But there are—other things—’
‘Won’t you tell me—?’ This was a mistake, too much, too soon.
He frowned, repeating his question. ‘You came here for my mother, after her, or what?’ The tone was austere, accusing.
I faced him, resisting an urge to take him by the shoulders—
‘No, believe me, I didn’t come, as you put it, after her. My coming here was pure chance. It was the oddest coincidence. I didn’t know she was here. I didn’t know where she was. I lost touch with your mother completely a very long time ago. I was absolutely—stunned, amazed—to meet her again—it was the purest accident.’
‘A funny sort of accident—’
‘Don’t you believe me?’
‘Yes. I think so. Yes. All right. Anyway, it’s none of my business. ’
‘I’ve told you the truth.’
‘OK, OK. It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter.’
‘They—?’
‘Ben and Mary. They don’t matter. You very kindly offered me food. Perhaps I could just have some cheese or a sandwich. Then I must push off.’
Ben and Mary was a shock too. We began to walk slowly back towards the house. Titus picked up two plastic bags which were lying on a roadside rock.
‘Your wordly goods?’
‘Not quite all.’
As we turned onto the causeway Gilbert came out of the front door, and stopped in amazement. It occurred to me that I had never mentioned Titus’s existence to either Lizzie or Gilbert. Gilbert knew what Lizzie had told him about the ‘old flame’, but I had checked his eager attempts to pursue the matter. Titus had not appeared to be part of the story; and what a ghost he had seemed in Hartley’s own mentions of him. Whereas now . . .
As we neared I said to Gilbert in my ringing tones, ‘Oh, hello, this is young Titus Fitch, the son of Mr and Mrs Fitch, you know, my friends in the village. And this is Mr Opian who helps me in the house.’ The tone and the description were designed to establish Gilbert, for the present at any rate, as being beyond some unspecified barrier. Gilbert’s eyes had already taken on a dazed and gauzy look. I did not want any trouble of that sort; and, to tell the truth, I was already feeling rather possessive about Titus.
‘Come along,’ I said. As I hustled Titus through the door I gave Gilbert a kick on the ankle by way of ambiguous warning. ‘Gilbert, could you set lunch for me and Titus in the red room? Titus, a drink?’
He drank beer and I drank white wine while Gilbert, who had now donned his apron, quickly and discreetly laid out and then served luncheon for two on the bamboo table. I think Gilbert would have been glad to serve me thus every day, only he feared to annoy me by suggesting it. His studied and meticulous ‘butler’ would have graced any drawing room comedy. At one point, catching my eye over Titus’s head, he winked. I gazed coldly back. We