The Sea, The Sea - Iris Murdoch [234]
‘To Australia?’
‘Yes, I can’t think why everybody doesn’t go. Lovely climate, cheaper grub, cheaper housing. God, I wish I was young again, I’d have a go out there.’
‘Ben can draw his pension in Australia,’ said Hartley, coming back with the teapot.
‘Ever been there?’ said Ben.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’ve been several times. It’s a marvellous country.’
‘Sydney harbour, Sydney opera house, cheap wine, kangaroos, koala bears, the lot, I can’t wait.’
‘When are you going?’ I said, looking at Hartley, who was busied with Ben’s cup.
‘Oh not at once, be five or six weeks. Got a lot of things to fix up, see my sister and that. We’ve been planning it a long time, but with the boy gone it’s easier.’
‘But—so you were always going to do this?’ I tried to catch Hartley’s eye. ‘I mean, it takes some time to plan to go to Australia—I didn’t know you were meaning to leave here—I’m rather surprised you didn’t tell me.’ I said this to Hartley.
‘I could hardly believe it,’ she said, smiling vaguely. ‘It seemed like a dream.’
‘You’ll believe it when you see that opera house,’ said Ben, ‘smiling like a great shell on the blue water.’
If they were leaving in five or six weeks the Australian plan could surely not have been made since I last saw Hartley. Why did she not tell me? What an extraordinary thing to do, not to tell me. Then I thought, maybe she didn’t believe it would happen. And if she was trying to make up her mind to bolt with me she would not tell me, that is just what she would do, not tell. I kept staring at her, but after the vague smile she looked elsewhere.
She said to Ben, ‘Do you think Chuffey will know us after all that time in quarantine?’
‘ ’Course he will! Won’t you, Chuff, eh, eh?’
‘Have some more tea?’ said Hartley to me. ‘Have a scone, some cake?’
I gulped some down and handed over my cup. I ate the piece of smashed sandwich which I had failed to put in my pocket. I felt completely confused, utterly at a loss, like a man in a strange country who is the victim of some quiet impenetrable charade. I could not understand.
‘I see you’re off somewhere too,’ said Ben, indicating my suitcase.
‘Oh—just a night in London—I’ll be back directly, I’ll be here—’
‘I can’t stand London,’ said Ben. ‘All that noise, all those people, bloody foreigners come to do a bit of shop-lifting.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it is rather full of tourists at this time of year.’ I drank up my tea.
‘Well,’ said Ben in a tone which clearly implied the end of my visit, ‘maybe we’ll see you again before we go, but if not cheerio.’
‘Oh I’m sure we’ll meet again,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back in the village tomorrow. I’ll be at home all the time, no travel plans. Well, I must be off now. Thank you for the tea.’
I got up. Idiotic Chuffey began to bark at once. I gave a vague wave to Ben, picked up my case and made for the door. Hartley followed me. Ben shouted at Chuffey, then closed the sitting room door after us to stop the dog from rushing out. I was alone with Hartley for a few seconds at the front door.
‘Hartley, you’re not going to Australia, you’re not?’ The dog’s loud barking covered my words.
She shook her head, waved a hand, opened her mouth, seeming to indicate that it was impossible to talk in this noise.
‘Hartley, you can’t go. Come away with me now. I’ve got a taxi waiting at the bottom of the hill. Come, now, run, run with me, we’ll go to London, anywhere you like—look, I wrote you this letter, it explains everything.’ I hardly knew what I was doing. I took the ‘quiet life’ letter out of my pocket and thrust it into a pocket in the skirt of her blue dress.
Ben opened the sitting room door and slipped out. Chuffey was still barking and I could hear his claws clicking on the inside of the door. Ben glanced towards us, then went into the kitchen leaving the door open.
I took a step backward, taking Hartley’s bare arm and trying to pull her after me. She had rolled up the sleeve of her blouse and her arm was soft and warm, like the arm