Chapter eleven

It was a quarter past nine. Mor had found the time on the way back from Evvy's dinner to buy a bottle of white wine and a bottle of brandy. He had tidied up the drawing-room carefully and set the bottle there with wine-glasses upon a tray. He had laid out a dish of biscuits. At about dinner-time the sky had begun to be overcast, and by now it was entirely covered with thick black clouds. The heat was intense and quivering. A thunderstorm seemed imminent.

Mor sat in the window, shivering. He could not bring himself to turn the lights on. He felt no pleasure of anticipation, no joy at the thought of what he was bringing about. He did not know clearly what he was bringing about. He wished that he had not spoken.

Earlier in the evening he had consoled himself with the thought that perhaps she would not come. She would realize that he ought not to have spoken, and she would simply not come. Now, however, although Mor had no expectation of joy from her coming, he was in an agony lest she should not come. He looked at his watch for the hundredth time. It was twenty minutes past nine. It was now almost totally dark outside.

There was a sound upon the path. She had come through the gate without his seeing her and had reached the front door. From the darkened window Mor watched her tensely. She stood on the step. She was wearing a mackintosh, in the pockets of which she fumbled for a moment. Then she drew out a letter, slipped it noiselessly through the letter-box, and turned and walked quickly away down the path.

Mor did not hesitate for a second. He sped out of the room and through the hall. He did not stop to pick up the letter. He swung the door open and left it wide behind him. He covered the garden path in three bounds. He saw the small figure some way down the road, running now. Mor shot after her. The pain in his heart turned into a fierce delight. He came up with her just at the corner of the road and caught her by the wrist. It was like catching a thief. He said nothing, but turned her about and began to pull her back towards his house. She scarcely resisted him. Together they ran back down the road, Mor still gripping her arm in a tight grip. As they ran it began to rain. They went in through the front door like a pair of birds. Mor closed it behind them.

In the darkness of the hall he turned towards her. They were both breathless from the running.

"Rain", said Mor, "Rain". It did him good to utter her name. He picked up the letter from the floor. "You brought a letter to say that you had decided not to come".

"Yes", said Rain. She was leaning back against the wall.

"Why did you do that?" said Mor gently, and did not wait for an answer. He suddenly felt calm. "Take your coat off".

She took it off and he hung it on a peg. She still stood there by the wall. Mor came to her and picked her up in his arms. She was exceedingly light. He carried her into the drawing-room, slammered the door behind him with his foot, and laid her gently on the sofa. Then he drew the curtains and lighted one of the lamps.

"May I read your letter?" he said.

"Of course", said Rain. She was not looking at him.

Mor opened the letter. It read:

I am sorry. I ought not to have asked you to dine or said yes to your invitation. No more need be said. Please pardon my part in all this,

He put the letter away in his pocket. Thoughtfully he took out a packet of cigarettes, offered one to Rain, which she took, and selected one himself. Mor now felt amazingly and unexpectedly at his ease. Deep within he felt again the joy which he had felt in the first day when he had looked at the flaky wood of the station gate. He loved her.

Mor turned and looked at Rain. She was looking at him. He knew that there must be a sort of triumph in his face. He let her read it there. She began shaking her head. "Mor" she said, "this is wrong".

"Rain", said Mor, "did you want to come?"

"Of course I wanted to come", she said. "I wanted very much to come. But I oughtn't to have done. If I'd really willed not to come, if I'd felt clearly enough how bad it was, I wouldn't have run the risk of delivering the letter—I would simply not have appeared. But I couldn't bear the thought of your waiting and waiting".

"You wanted to come!" said Mor. He could hardly believe it. "Will you have some brandy or some white wine?" he said. What he wanted now was a moment of quiet.

"I'll have brandy", said Rain. She sat up on the sofa, running her hands nervously through her dark hair.

He came and knelt on the floor beside the sofa. "Dear darling", he said. He looked upon her with amazement, with incredulity. "How is it", he said, "that you could possibly have wanted to come. That amazes me. How could you want to see me?" He touched her hair.

Rain took the glass from his hand and laid it upon the floor. Then she threw both arms about his neck and drew him down until his head lay upon her breast. She held him close, caressing his hair. Mor lay still. A deep peace and joy was in him. He could have died thus. For a long time they lay quiet. The thunder rumbled overhead and the rain came down steadily.

"When did you begin", said Rain, "to feel like this?"

Mor considered. "I think the very beginning", he said, "was when you took my hand on the steps leading up to the rose garden. Do you remember? The very first evening we met".

She stroked his face, her eyes burning with tenderness. "That was a marvel", she said. "You came and released me from a spell".

"When did you first", said Mor—he could not find the words— "notice me at all?"

"Dear Mor", said Rain, laughing at him, "I think it was when I was drawing you at Demoyte's house that it first occurred to me that perhaps I was—falling in love".

It stunned Mor to hear her utter these words. He looked at her open-mouthed. "This is all beyond me!" he said.

Mor felt, it is fate, it is not our will. We have both struggled against it. But it has been too strong. As ho thought this, he answered himself. No, it is our will. And with this came a great sense of vigour and power. He took her triumphantly in his arms.

"Mor", Rain said, murmuring into his ear, "Mor, we cannot do this, we are behaving like mad people".

Mor heard her, and her words moved in his head, becoming his own thought. It was a sparingly painful thought. He continued to hold her close to him. Such pain could not be endured; and if it could not be endured, then there must be some way to avoid it.

"We have no future", said Rain.

He felt her tears upon his cheek. She is brave, he thought. She says this so soon. I would have waited. He held her and went on thinking.

"Mor", said Rain, "please speak".

"Dear heart", said Mor. He sat back on his heels. The brandy was untasted beside him.

"I don't know what to do", said Mor, "but I want to go on seeing you". Once he had said this clearly, he felt better.

Rain was silent. "I know", she said at last, "that 1 ought to say no to that, but I can't. If you want to see me, I shall see you. But we are mad".

Mor felt profound relief. "It can't be", he said, "that you really love me. You must try to find out your real feelings. Let us have a little time at least for these things to become clear". As he said this he felt much better.

"Do not deceive yourself", said Rain. "If our feelings are not clear now, they will never be clear. If there is something called being in love, then we are in love". My God, what honesty, thought Mor. Rain was sitting up in his embrace. She had emptied her glass of brandy. "Mor", she said with a wail in her voice. "You are married. You are not going to leave your wife—and really there is nothing more to be said. We may see each other again—but in the end I shall have to go". She hid her face in his shoulder.

"Do not let us torment ourselves any more for the moment", he said.

His tone impressed her. They remained for awhile in silence.

Mor looked at his watch. Somehow it had got to be half past eleven. Now that he knew that he would see her again he was not anxious to detain her. He felt that enough had been said to bind them together—and he did not want to alarm Demoyte by keeping her out late. He said, "You ought to go home, my child".

Rain sat up and made a rueful face. "I've been very silly", she said. "I told Mr Demoyte that I was going up to London and would spend the night there. I had to say that so as to get away from him—otherwise he would have kept me the whole evening. And I did intend when I'd delivered the note to get into my car and drive up to London. It's parked in the school grounds. But what shall I do now?"

"You could go back to Demoyte's and say you'd changed your mind", said Mor, "but it would sound rather odd".

They sat there avoiding each other's eyes. The rain was battering the house on all sides.

"There's no earthly reason", said Mor, "why you shouldn't stay here. It's idiotic any way to go out on a night like this. You can sleep in Felicity's bed. I'll go and put some clean sheets on it now".

As Mor went upstairs he felt how strange and wonderful it was after all to be keeping her in the house. He began to make up the bed. He wanted to sing.

Rain soon followed him up. "I shall go to bed soon", she said. "I'm terribly tired".

Mor felt exhausted too and knew that he would sleep well. He sat down for a moment on the edge of the bed and drew her on to his knee. She curled up, her arms about his neck.

"Mor", said Rain, "one thing—are you absolutely certain that your wife won't come back in the night and find me here?"

"It's impossible, my darling", said Mor, "she's in Dorset. Anyway, she wouldn't come back in the night. And I know she's in Dorset".

"I feel frightened all the same", said Rain. "I think I should die if she came back".

"She won't come back—and you wouldn't die if she did", said Mor. "But I tell you what I'll do. All the outer doors have bolts. I'll bolt them all, including the front hall door, and so no one could come in, even with a key. Then if my wife should come we'd hear her ring, and you could go out of the back door before I let her in. But these are just wild imaginings. No one will come".

At last he left her to go to bed. He went downstairs and bolted all the doors. When he came up again her light was out. He called good night softly, heard her reply, and then went to his own bed. The rain was still falling steadily. The thunder had passed over. Very soon he fell asleep.

* * *

Mor was awakened by a piercing and insistent sound. He sat up in bed and saw that it was just daylight. A cold white light filled the room. It was still raining. In an instant he remembered the events of last night. Rain was with him in the house.

Then the sound came again. Mor's blood froze. It was the front-door bell. It rang a long peal and then was silent. Who could be ringing at this hour? He got out of bed and stood there in his pyjamas, paralysed with alarm and indecision. Then the bell rang again, and then again, two short insistent peals. It must be Nan, he thought—no one else would ring like that, as if they had a right to come in. Horror and fear shook him. He crossed the room in the pale light and put on a dressing-gown and slippers. The bell rang again. Mor went out on to the landing.

At the same moment the door of Felicity's room opened and Rain came out. She had already dressed herself. She must have heard the bell before he did. The bell began to ring again and went on ringing.

Mor took Rain's arm. Neither of them dared to speak. He began to lead her down the stairs. She was trembling so much that she could hardly walk. Mor was trembling too in fits which shook his body from top to bottom. The bell was still ringing. It stopped just as they reached the foot of the stairs.

He drew Rain, half supporting her, through the kitchen, and unbolted the kitchen door. His shaking hands could scarcely control the bolt. The front-door bell rang again. Mor threw the kitchen door open and pointed to the gate in the fence beyond which was an alley which led away into the next road. For a moment he put his arms about her shoulders, and then he turned back towards the front door.

As he did so his heart sank utterly. He did not know what sort of demon of fury and suspicion might now confront him. He felt as if Nan would launch herself upon him like a tiger as soon as he let her in. Slowly he began to draw back the bolt. Then he opened the door.

Mor stood petrified with amazement. A gipsy-looking man was standing on the step with his back to the door. Violently, amazement was followed by relief. The man turned his head slightly, then turned right round and looked at Mor with equal surprise. They stood for a moment staring at each other. A second later Mor realized the fantastic thing that had happened. The gipsy had been sheltering from the rain under the porch, and without noticing it he had been leaning his shoulder against the bell.

In a wild relief Mor put his hand to his face. At the same moment he felt anger against the gipsy for having given them such a fright. He said, "You've wakened the whole house up. You were leaning against the bell. Didn't you hear it ringing?" The sound of his voice was strange, coming after the terror and the silence.

The gipsy said nothing. He turned and went away without hurry down the path. The rain fell relentlessly upon his black head.

Mor closed the door. He ran towards the kitchen. Heaven only knew how far Rain might have got by this time. He ran out of the kitchen door and nearly fell over her. She had been waiting just outside the door. He pulled her back into the house and began embracing her like a mad thing.

"Mor, Mor", said Rain, "what was it?" Her face was still twisted with fear and her hair was plastered to her head, blackened by the rain.

"It's mad, mad", said Mor. "It was a gipsy. He was sheltering at the door and leaning with his shoulder against the bell".

"Oh", said Rain closing her eyes, "I was so frightened!"

"So was I!" said Mor. He was still laughing, almost hysterically, and holding her.

Rain sighed with relief and let him embrace her.

He took her into the drawing-room, pulled back the curtains, and poured out a glass of brandy. "Dear child", he said, "you've had a terrible hour. I'm deeply sorry. It was somehow my fault. Drink this".

Rain sat on the sofa, holding the glass, while Mor sat on the floor and laid his head upon her knees. They stayed in this way for a long time.

So that this was the spectacle which greeted the eyes of Nan when twenty minutes later she came in through the drawing-room door. She had entered by the front door, which Mor had left unbolted after his return. The patter of the rain had prevented the lovers from hearing the sound of her approach. The first they knew of her presence was when they looked up and saw her standing in the doorway and looking at them.

Mor was the first to recover. He gently and quite slowly disengaged himself from Rain and stood up. He was about to say something when Nan turned, and rushing away across the hall ran out of the front door.

Mor was about to follow her when Rain said, "Do not go". She had risen too. Now that the real horror had come she was much calmer. Her hand upon his arm was chill but only slightly trembling.

"I must go", said Mor. "You wait here for me. Do not go away. Wait here". He spoke with authority.

Then he ran out of the door. He looked up and down. There was no sign of Nan. He ran to and fro searching for her. But he did not find her. She had disappeared into the rain and the whiteness of the morning.