Chapter ten

The day of the House Match was, as everyone had predicted, a fine day. The heat wave had been lasting now for more than a month. The House Match, which was the final in a knock-out contest, normally lasted for two days, but it was the first day which was the great occasion; it ended with a dinner given to the housemasters, festival which under Evvy's consulship had reached unprecedented degree of dreariness. In the morning and afternoon, parents and other visitors were not encouraged to appear, although a few did sometimes turn up. The match was kept as a domestic occasion, the two lines of deck-chairs being occupied mainly by masters and by their families if any, and a few local friends. The School lounged along the edge of the wood, half in and half out of the shade, wearing the floppy canvas sun hats which St Bride's boys affected in the summer, or else crowded near the pavilion within talking distance of the batting side. Mor judged that almost everybody must be present. The crowd by the wood was especially dense. Occasionally a soft murmur arose from it, or the voice of a boy was heard far back under the Frees, but mostly there was complete silence except for the intermittent patter of applause.

Mr Everard was sitting in one of the deck-chairs in the front row talking to Hensman, who was always the hero of this particular day. Prewett was just emerging from the pavilion. Tim Burke, who was present as usual on Mor's invation, was also sitting in the front row. He seemed in good spirits, looking slightly bronzed and healthier than usual, and was talking over his shoulder to one of the Sixth Form boys. Tim always got on well with the boys. Mor decided that it was about time ho went back to Tim or else sat down near the wood, but, he did nothing about it. On this occasion no women were present. Mor looked round the edge of the field and sighed. He wished the day was over.

It was now five days since Nan's departure and since the extraordinary scene in the wood. Since that time Mor had not met Rain, nor had he made any attempt to meet her. She on her part had equally avoided him. He had caught not even a glimpse of her in the intervening days. Mor had gone to bed that night in a state of dazed and blissful happiness such as he could not remember having experienced before. He woke on the following morning in de-spair. He was ready then to attribute his outburst to a sudden relaxing of tension connected with Nan's disappearance, to a revengeful anger against Nan for her behaviour, to overworking, to the relentless continuance of the heat wave. Whatever the explanation, it was clear that nothing more must come of this. To have made the declaration at all was insane; he could not think how he could have been so foolish.

When he had imagined himself to be swayed by an overwhelming passion he had been a man in a dream. Now he had awakened from the dream. It was not a happy awakening. Mor was tormented by the thought that he had startled Rain, perhaps shocked her, and might, for a while, be contributing to make her unhappy, or at least anxious. He had no idea what exactly her thoughts and feelings might be; blithe was certain that her concern with him could not possibly extend farther than a mild and vaguely friendly interest. All the same, it grieved Mor to think that he had subjected her to this unpleasant experience. Then he reflected also upon their previous tete-a-tete, and concluded that really Rain must have a very poor view of him indeed; and tempted to write her a note of apology. He resisted this temptation. To write would merely be to add yet another act to a drama which had better simply terminate at once. He would just be silent and absent and hope that Rain would understand.

He had been anxious that morning in case she might take it into her head to come and watch the House Match. Evvy would have been to invite her to come. But she had not appeared, and would not be very likely to come at this late hour. Mor's attention returned abruptly to the pitch. Donald had hit a ball short to mid-on, had decided to run, and had been almost run out. The School gasped and relaxed. It was the last ball of the over, so now Donald had to face the bowling again. Mor wished half-heartedly that he would soon be out. The strain was too disagreeable. Anyhow, it was nearly time for the tea interval, thank heavens.

Just then a peculiar figure emerged from the wood. It was Bledyard. Bledyard came towards him, nodded, Mor thought a tri-fle coldly, and then went on to take a deck-chair in the second row by himself. Mor felt curiously wounded by Bledyard's coldness. Although he rarely reflected upon it, he valued Bledyard's good opinion. A gloomy guilty feeling crept through him, which changed into an exasperated misery. Everything was against him.

Then somewhere beyond the pavilion a patch of white shimmering light began to form itself. It quivered at the corner of Mor's field of attention as he was wandering slowly back again in the opposite direction. He stopped and took in what it was. It was Rain, who was approaching the scene across an expanse of open grass. She was dressed in a light-blue cotton dress with a wide skirt and a deep round neck, and she was carrying a frilly white parasol. She had rather a diffident air, and twirled parasol nervously as she came forward. The moving pattern of shadows fell upon her face. Mor looked at her, and he felt as if an enormous vehicle had driven straight through him, leaving a blank hole to the edges of which he still raggedly adhered.

Rain's arrival created a stir. The eyes of the School were turned away from the cricket field. Everybody was looking at Rain, who was now walking along in front of the deck-chairs. Ewy was squeezing between the chairs so as to hand her to the seat next to his. Even some of the fielders were turning round to see what was happening, shading their eyes as they did so. "Over!" shouted the umpire, waking up to his duties. The field began to change places. Donald, who had stolen another run, was still at the batting end. The ball was thrown to Carde.

As Carde crossed the field, he passed near to Donald. "Your pappa's poppet!" he said—and he went away down the pitch dancing and whistling. "A nice girl, a decent girl, but one of the rakish kind!" and tossing the ball rhythmically up and down.

Donald coloured violently, looked towards the pavilion, then looked away and leaned over his bat, keeping his head down. He straightened up to face the bowling.

Mor turned about to see that his son had been clean howled. Amidst-the other shock this shock was separately felt, palpably different in quality. Rain had seated herself beside Evvy, and the other spectators had settled back. Now they were clapping Donald into the pavilion. He had made thirty-one. The next batsman was walking out. Mor wondered whether he should go away. One of the junior masters came up to him and engaged him in conversation. He replied mechanically. Two hours later it was time for the tea interval. Mor was still there, standing uneasily in the waste land between the deck-chairs and the wood. He saw Tim Burke coming towards him, and together they set off in the direction of the marquee which had been set up at the far end of the field. Mor deliberately blinded himself to what Evvy's party was doing,

"A fine show young Don put up", said Tim Burke. "Yes, Don did well", said Mor.

They entered the stifling marquee. There was a powerful smell of warm grass and canvas which brought back to Mor the long long series of past summer terms. A crowd of boys was already there fighting for their tea. A special buffet had been reserved for the masters, and here Mor and Tim were evidently the first to arrive. Mor pressed a tea-cup and a cucumber sandwich on his guest. With an effort he did not look back over his shoulder.

Tim Burke was saying something. He drew Mor away into a corner of the tent. "We haven't had a moment to talk yet". Mor's heart sank, he hardly knew why.

"Look now, Mor", said Tim, "you said you'd give me the all clear today, and I'm asking you to give it now. The time's short enough, and we must get cracking. You have it agreed with your wife, have you not?"

Mor shook his head. He had simply not been thinking about this matter at all. But now he knew that he could not, or at any rate not just now, carry out what had been his firm resolve to go ahead regardless of Nan. "You must give me a little more time, Tim", he said. "Nan is still terribly opposed. I will bring her round, but I want to act now while she's so obstinate".

He could not afford, at this time in the summer term, to have two crises on his hands at once. The battle with Nan, when it came, and especially if it came as a result of aggressive action on his own part, would be violent and bloody. He could not undertake it while he was involved, however momentarily, in another struggle too. Of course, the other matter could safely be regarded as closed; but he had to be realistic enough to see that it would be some time before he regained any sort of peace of mind. He just could not face fighting Nan just now.

"I've decided definitely to stand. It's just a matter of getting Nan used to the idea. Give me another three weeks, and for Christ's sake, Tim, don't make a fuss. I really can't endure it". He returned his cup and saucer to the table with a crash.

"All right, don't bite my head off!" said Tim. Donald was coming towards them through the crowd. Mor reflected that if Tim had not been there Donald would certainly have avoided him. The boy greeted them shyly and accepted their congratulations on his innings. He bent down to scrape ineffectually at the green patches upon his white flannel trousers where the grass had stained them. Mor noticed how his face was forming and hardening. But Donald always looked more grown-up in the context of something that he could do well. A little more confidence would do him a lot of good.

"What can I show you now?" said Tim. "Let me see what I have in my pockets". Tim had done this ever since Donald and

Felicity were quite small children, and he did it now with exactly the same tone and gestures. He fiddled in his waistcoat pocket. What Tim drew out of his waistcoat pocket, and held between finger and thumb, was a gold cigarette lighter. Tim flicked in and the flame appeared. Mor rapidly produced cigarettes for Tim and himself. Donald was under promise not to smoke until he was twenty-one.

Tim handed the lighter to Donald to look at. The boy turned it over admiringly. It was heavy, and the gold was warm and strangely soft-feeling to the touch. The work was intricate.

"Where did you get it?" said Mqr.

"It's a little thing I made myself", said Tim.

Mor never ceased to be surprised at what Tim Burke was able to do.

"Do you like it?" said Tim to Donald, who was flicking the flame into existence once more.

"Yes!" said Donald.

"Well, you keep it", said Tim, "and let it be a reward for a fine cricket player".

Donald closed his hand round the lighter and held it, wide-eyed, looking at his father.

"Tim!" said Mor, "you have no common sense at all. That thing's very valuable, it's gold. You can't give an expensive thing like that to the boy!"

Donald still stood looking at Mor.

"Oh—" said Mor. He meant to say, "It's all right", but instead he gave a jerky gesture which was interpreted by Donald as a gesture of dismissal. The boy turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

"You should be ashamed—" Tim Burke was beginning to say.

Mor became aware that Rain was standing two or three feet away from him. She must have witnessed the scene with Donald. Evvy was standing just beside his elbow and had evidently been waiting to get his word in.

"I just wanted to say", said Evvy, "that we're just going over now in Miss Carter's car to Mr Demoyte's house to look at the portrait. We won't stay long—we'll be back in time for start of play, or just after. Would you and Mr Burke care to come along, Bill?"

Mor had a second in which to decide his reply. "Thank you", he said, "we'd love to come".

Evvy led the way and they all trooped out of the marquee. They reached the drive, where Rain's Riley was to be seen standing not far from the entrance to the master's garden. When Mor saw the car, his heart turned over. It looked perfectly sound, indeed better than before, since it had been repainted. The question of the bill returned to him painfully.

Tim Burke said. "I'm afraid, after all, I must go. I didn't realize it was that late. No, I won't take a lift, thanks, I have my motor-bike just here".

They crowded awkwardly round the car. Eventually, after a few minutes of polite muddle, they got in, Rain and Evvy sitting in the front, and Mor, Prewett, and Bledyard sitting in the back. The Riley was soon level with Demoyte's gate. They began to unpack themselves from the car. Mor wondered whose idea the expedition was. He thought it must be Demoyte's, as neither Rain nor Evvy would dare to descend on the old man uninvited. They went into the house.

Demoyte was standing at the door of the drawing-room, and behind him could be seen a table with cups upon it, and Miss

Handforth who was holding a tea-pot if it were a hand grenade. They crowded into the drawing-room. During all this time Mor had contrived not to look directly at Rain. He now tried to occupy himself by talking in a distracted manner to Handy.

"Well, come on", said Demoyte, "come and look at the masterpiece, that's what you came for, then you can all have your tea and go". The picture was at the far end of the room. The easel had been turned round so that it faced the room. They all went forward towards it, leaving Rain and Demoyte standing behind them with Miss Handforth.

When Mor looked at the picture, everything else went out of his mind. He had thought about it very little earlier, and not at all of late, though he had known vaguely that it must exist. Now its presence assailed him with a shock that was almost physical. Mor had no idea whether it was a masterpiece; but it seemed to him at first sight a most impressive work. Its authority was indubitable. Mor scanned it. It looked as if it was finished. Fumbling he drew a chair close to him and sat down.

Mor felt that he was really seeing Demoyte for the first time; and with this a sudden compassion came over him. It was indeed the face of an old man. In spite of the bright colours of the rug, the picture as a whole was sombre. The sky was pale, with a flat melancholy pallor, and the trees outside the window were bunched into a dark and slightly menacing mass.

Mor let out a sigh. He became aware of his companions. They seemed all to have been equally struck to silence by the picture. Then Prewett began saying something. Mor did not listen. He got up. Rain was a considerable painter. Mor was astonished. It was that he had not expected this; he had just not thought about it at all. And as he now let the thought hit him again and again like a returning pendulum he felt a deep pain of longing and regret".

Evvy said, "Miss Carter, my expectations were high, but you have surpassed them. I congratulate you".

"It's a remarkable picture", said Mor, hearing his voice speaking from a great distance. "Is it finished now?" asked Ewy.

Rain came towards the picture. "Oh dear, no!" she said in a shocked voice. "There are all sorts of things that still need doing".

Demoyte came forward. He said, "I begin to feel that I am the shadow and this the substance. All the same, I can still talk, and would point out that everyone has now given his view except the only man whose view is of any importance or likely to be of any interest to Miss Carter". He looked at Bledyard. Everyone else looked at Bledyard. Mor looked back at Rain. She looked intensely nervous, and it occurred to him with some surprise that she cared, what Bledyard thought.

Bledyard took his time. He had been looking at the picture very intently. He opened his mouth several times in an experimental way before any sound came forth. Then he said, "Miss Carter, this is an interesting picture, it is nearly a good picture". He was silent, but had clearly not finished. "But", said Bledyard. He held them in suspense again. "You have made your picture too beautiful. The observation of character is very well. But this is a painting, Miss Carter".

There was a silence. "You are absolutely right", said Rain. She spoke in a slightly desolate voice. "Yes, yes, yes, you are right". Then she said with a sudden gesture. "Oh dear, it's no good, it's no good", and turned away.

Everyone except Demoyte and Bledyard looked embarrassed. Bledyard, having said his say, returned to a scrutiny of the picture.

Evvy said, "I'm sure Mr Bledyard didn't mean—" Demoyte looked at his watch and said, "If you want to get back to that cricket game before it's all over you'd better gulp down some tea".

Prewett and Evvy accepted tea from Miss Handforth. Mor refused. Rain was standing by the table, fingering a cup and looking gloomily towards the picture.

Mor went up to her. "Bledyard may be right", he said, "I've no idea. But it's obviously a good picture—and if it has weaknesses, perhaps you can still mend them?"

"I must paint the head again", said Rain. She put her cup down and turned to face Mor. He had the sense once more of being in her presence and with it a blessed relaxing of tension. A weight was taken off him. He said quietly, "I was so glad to see the car on the road again". The others were not within .earshot.

Rain fingered the cup. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but remained silent.

"I shall have to go away in a moment", said Mor, speaking very gently, "and I should like to take this chance to say that I'm very sorry—"

Rain interrupted him. "Could you have dinner this evening with me and Mr Demoyte at the Saracen's Head?"

Mor was surprised and moved. He could hardly think of anything he would like better. But he remembered at once that he was bound to dine with Evvy. "I can't, I'm afraid", he said. "I'm dining with Mr Everard".

A feeling of intense disappointment overcame him. This might be his last opportunity of speaking to her alone. He looked into her lace, and was astonished to see what an intense almost wild expression was in her eyes. He looked away. He must have been mistaken. He clutched the side of the table. He could hear Ewy saying, "Well, we must be off now, I'm afraid".

Mor said quickly, "Why not drop in for a drink at my house tonight on your way back from dinner? Perhaps about nine, just lor a little while?" He uttered the address.

Rain avoided his eye, but nodded her head. "Thank you", she said.

Ewy passed by, clucking. They went in procession alter him to the Riley, and Rain drove them back to the school. She left them in the drive, and drove away, swinging the car violently round, its types grinding on the gravel. Ewy and Prewett began to hurry back towards the cricket field. The school grounds were empty and silent. The hollow ringing sound of bat upon ball could be heard in the distance. The game had started again. Bledyard mumbled something and set off in the direction of the studio.

Mor stood by himself in the drive. He knew that he had done wrong.