The Sea, The Sea - Iris Murdoch [157]
Titus said, ‘Of course I never lost your address.’
Hartley said, ‘I mustn’t stay. Would you like to come over to our place? But you mustn’t say you’ve been here. Would you like—?’
Titus shook his head.
She went on, ‘Ben doesn’t know you’ve come, he’s gone out, walked over to a farm to ask about a dog.’
‘About a dog?’ said Titus.
‘Yes, we’re thinking of having a dog.’
‘What kind?’
‘A Welsh collie.’
‘Will he bring the dog back with him?’
‘I don’t know.’
At least this was something like a topic of conversation.
I was tired of being invisible and inaudible, so I shouted, ‘Have a drink, have some supper!’
Titus, without looking at me, waggled his hand in my direction, then said to Hartley, ‘Come in here.’ She followed him into the little red room and he shut the door in my face.
I now decided, none too soon, that I had better leave them alone. Besides, now that Hartley was here, I had to work out in more detail the dangerous and decisive next steps. I stood for a moment thinking in the hall. Then I ran upstairs to the drawing room and pulled out some writing paper. I had found in a drawer some embossed Shruff End paper which must have belonged to Mrs Chorney, and on a glossy sheet of this stuff I wrote:
Dear Mr Fitch,
Just to say that Mary is over here with me, and Titus too.
Yours sincerely,
Charles Arrowby.
I pushed this into an envelope and ran out of the house.
I was somewhat surprised to find a warm summer evening in progress. Perhaps the house was cold, perhaps I had been feeling cold, perhaps I felt that ordinary time ought to have stopped. The grass on the other side of the road was a pullulating emerald green, the rocks that grew here and there among the grass were almost dazzlingly alight with little diamonds. The warm air met me in a wave, thick with land smells of earth and growth and flowers.
I ran across the causeway and then along the road in the tower and Raven direction, and then around the corner to where the bay was visible. Here, obedient to my orders, Gilbert had parked the car. I wanted it out of sight in case I had to tell Hartley some lie about it later.
Gilbert was sitting on a rock, looking at the brilliantly lit blue water. He jumped up and ran to me.
‘Gilbert, could you take this letter now and deliver it at Nibletts, at the bungalow, you know, it’s the last one in the road.’
‘OK, boss. How are things in there?’
‘All right. Go now, there’s a good chap. And then come back again and wait here.’
‘What about my supper? Can’t I come into the house?’ Gilbert, bursting with curiosity, was longing to busybody around.
I would not have it. ‘No, not yet. You’d better buy yourself a sandwich at the Black Lion, and then come back here. I don’t quite know what’s going to happen.’
‘Nothing violent, I hope?’
‘So do I. Hurry, now.’
‘But, guv’nor—’
‘Go.’
‘I can stay for a drink at the pub, can’t I, I’m dying for a drink—’
‘Yes, but not long, four minutes.’
Looking at Gilbert’s disgruntled face I was unpleasantly reminded of Freddie Arkwright. And now there were Arkwrights everywhere, and they had got hold of Ben.
I ran back, and the car passed me at the causeway. I went into the house (which was cold) and on into the kitchen and poured myself out half a tumbler of dry sherry. I did not listen at the door of the red room. I went out onto the grass and climbed a little way up onto one of the rocks whence I could see the sea and began to sip the sherry.
So far so good. But how would Hartley behave when I began to put the screw on? And what would Ben do when he got my note? When would he get it? If he walked both ways to Amorne Farm and back, and allowing half an hour for the dog, he should be back at Nibletts about nine thirty. It was now a little after eight. I remembered that I was hungry. The sherry was making me light-headed. However if the bloody Arkwrights ran him home in the car he might be back soon after eight thirty. On the other hand, if