The Sea, The Sea - Iris Murdoch [232]
Hartley opened the door. She had her head thrown back in a way which gave her a proud air, but she was probably just agitated. She stared at me unsmiling, her lips parted, and I stared back, blushing hotly and feeling that my eyes were as round as saucers. I could somehow perceive that Ben was behind her at the open door of the sitting room. Even if I had planned some private communication for this moment it would have been impossible, we were both paralysed. The dog, a slinky black and white collie with a long nose, was now at Hartley’s feet, still barking.
Against the din I said, ‘Good afternoon’ and Hartley said, ‘Kind of you to come.’
I moved in. The smell of the roses, of which there were several vases even in the hall, mingled with the stuffy stench of the house, a sweetish sickly fussy interior smell like the smell of a very old woman’s room.
Hartley said ‘Be quiet!’ to the dog who finished its barking in its own time and then began to sniff me and wag its tail. Ben said from the sitting room, ‘Come in.’
I walked on in. The picture window displayed the sloping meadow and the rise of the blue sea receding into a heat haze and never had a pretty view looked so sinister. The two recorders lay on the wide white window sill, beside the field glasses.
‘Sit you down,’ said Hartley. I noticed she was almost smart today. She had had her hair waved into a respectable mop, and was wearing a straight plain blue shift dress over a blue and white striped blouse. She looked younger and healthier. She said, ‘Would you like to sit there, or there?’
I sat down in a low chair with wooden arms, avoiding the tub chair I had got stuck into before.
An elaborate tea had been laid out on a little round table and on a plate stand. There was bread and butter, scones, jam, some kind of sandwiches and an iced cake.
‘I’ll wet the tea,’ said Hartley and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me with Ben.
Ben, still standing, busied himself with the dog. ‘Chuffey!’ This was evidently the animal’s name. ‘Chuffey, come here. Good dog. Now sit down. Sit.’ Chuffey sat, and Ben then seated himself, by which time Hartley had returned with the tea and Chuffey had got up again.
‘Let it mash a bit,’ said Ben.
Hartley shook the teapot and said, ‘It’s all right,’ and to me, ‘milk, sugar?’
‘Thanks, yes, both.’
‘You don’t mind milk in first? A sandwich? Or something with jam? The cake’s home-made but not in this home, I’m afraid!’ Hartley poured out the tea.
‘Sandwich, thanks. I love your view.’ This remark was totally automatic, I was almost unconscious with emotion.
‘Yes, it’s fine,’ said Ben. He added, ‘Fine.’ Then to Chuffey, ‘Sit! Good boy.’ He gave him a piece of sandwich.
‘You spoil him!’ said Hartley.
‘That’s the dog from Amorne Farm, isn’t it?’ I said, the automatic machinery still working. I then wondered if I was supposed to know that, then thought, it doesn’t matter.
‘Yes, they breed them,’ said Ben. ‘Good little chaps, Welsh collies. This fellow never cottoned on, though, no good with the sheep, were you, Chuff? You weren’t going to waste your time with those silly sheep, were you, boy?’
Chuffey sprang up again wagging his tail.
I had placed my suitcase on the floor beside me and on top of it the paper bag with Hartley’s make-up and my razor blades. I put down my cup, opened the case, put the bag inside and closed the case. I was afraid that Ben would somehow see or intuit what was in the bag. Ben and Hartley watched me.
‘I was interested to meet your army brother,’ said Ben. Hartley could not have discussed my family situation in any detail. Monsters do not have families.
‘He’s my cousin.’
‘Oh yes, cousin. What’s he in?’
‘King’s Royal