Chapter fourteen

Nan was standing with her feet in the water. At low tide a layer of small pebbles was uncovered which lay beyond the sand. When they were wet they were multicoloured and beautiful, but when they dried they all became grey. They hurt her feet a little, but she walked along, the very still water caressing her ankles. It came to the shore with scarcely a ripple. The tide must be on the turn. She looked out to sea. The sun was going down and covering its expanse with a spacious and tender light. The moon had just risen, with a big pale melancholy pock-marked face. There were not many people left on the beach now. She had hoped to find Felicity there, but there was no sign of the child. She seemed to be avoiding her.

Since her return to Dorset Nan had passed in her thoughts through a number of different phases. She had never reflected so much in her life. Her normal existence had not demanded, had even excluded, reflection. It had contained her firmly like a shell with every cranny filled. There had been problems, of course, and moments of decision, but Nan did not remember having felt any doubt ever upon an issue of importance. She had always understood, she had always known what to do—and when it came to persuading her husband to share her opinion, the pattern of argument had been reassuringly familiar, as if it were continually the same discussion.

Now the pressure of reality upon her had been withdrawn, and she was left alone in the centre of a void where she had suddenly to determine afresh the form and direction of her being. She had been deeply hurt to learn from Bill that Tim had known all about it—was perhaps even an accomplice as well as a confidant. Reflecting on this, Nan had a feeling in which she rarely indulged. She felt sorry for herself. Later, however, Nan began to feel less extreme, more ready to forgive Tim for his knowledge, and less anxious to interpret it as a betrayal. Perhaps after all it was best for Tim to play his old part and for everything to be as before. Everything must be as before. The thought that it must and would be so was reassuring. She realized soberly how much she would have missed him.

Her thoughts reverted to Bill. The sense of relief which Nan had felt during her interview with Bill, when she found herself once more in control of the situation, did not leave her for several days. She felt complete confidence that her instructions would be carried out. How exactly they would be carried out she did not care to know.

Almost at once, however, certain other and quite irrational feelings came to plague her. She was not able to forget what she had seen when she came in through the drawing-room door. Gradually the notion that Bill had actually embraced and kissed this girl, certainly more than once, became a reality to Nan. She had never experienced jealous feelings before—she knew that they were the sort of feelings which it is neurotic and irrational to indulge. So she put them away. But they would not be put away.

Nan began to have bad dreams. She began to miss Bill. She began, though she did not let this become clear to herself, almost to desire him.

It was a day later that she began to be afraid. She started to wonder what, at that very moment, was going on. She began to doubt whether after all her instructions would be carried out. Then she began to wake in the night and speculate about what Bill was doing. She wished then very much that she had not come back to Dorset— but she could not yet make up her mind to return to Surrey. It came to her as a real possibility that she might lose her husband.

During these days Nan spoke to no one except Felicity, and she spoke to Felicity only of ordinary things. Felicity avoided her in any case, leaving the house immediately after every meal and disappearing along the coast or into the country. Nan had no wish to speak frankly with her daughter. But she wanted more and more to have the girl's company, as it became less and less agreeable to be alone. She had come to look for her now along the beach, but without success. The sandy bay was almost deserted. The setting sun and the cool wind had sent hurrying home the few families that still lingered there. Nan's feet were chilled. She dried them on her handkerchief and put her shoes on.

Her wandering had brought her close to the headland beyond which the coast became jagged and rocky. In that desolate bay of rocks she knew that Felicity liked often to sit alone. She thought that she would look round the headland before she went back to the villa. She did not want to go back just yet to the empty villa. She started to walk along the shingle. Already the rocks were beginning. It was hard to climb upon them with high-heeled shoes. These loose rocks appalled Nan. Round, random, detachable, they were strewn at the foot of the cliff and the sea moved them a little every time it came in to cover them. They were terrible and without sense. She stood still a moment, shivered, and then went on, awkwardly stepping from one smooth tilting surface on to the next one. It was a little while before she had got sufficiently round the headland to be able to see into the next bay.

A figure was standing upright upon the rock, which was now surrounded by the incoming tide. It was Felicity. Nan called out, and began to hurry across the rocks, stepping as quickly as she could towards her daughter.

Amazed, Nan arrived close to the rock, and stood there looking out at Felicity. In spite of the chill of the evening Felicity was dressed only in a bathing-costume.

"Darling", said Nan, "have you gone quite mad? You'll catch your death of cold standing there with nothing on. There's quite a cold wind now that the sun's gone down. And if you don't hurry you'll be stranded on that rock. Where are your clothes?"

"Here", said Felicity dully. She produced them from a shelf on the other side of the rock.

"Throw them across to me", said Nan, "and then come across yourself at once. I think as it is you'll have to wade".

A wide channel now flowed between Felicity's rock and the mainland.

Felicity jumped down into the sea. She gasped at its coldness. She began to wade across to where Nan was standing.

Nan had the towel ready for her. She began to rub her down vigorously as she had so often done when she was a small child.

"Don't, you're hurting me!" said Felicity. Then, with snuffling sobs, she began to cry.

"Dear me, dear me!" said Nan. "What a cry baby! You're always wailing. Now then put your vest on quick—and tell me what's the matter".

Felicity was trembling with cold. She got her vest on and began to fumble with her dress. She said, "I saw a butterfly flying out to sea. It will get lost out there and die". She pulled the dress on over her head. Her tears were still falling.

"What nonsense, child!" said Nan. "It could fly back again, couldn't it? Anyway, they can fly for miles, they often fly over to France. That's nothing to cry about".

Felicity sat down. It was quite dark now. The moon shone out of a cloudless sky of dark blue, revealing on either side of them the tumbled heaps of rock. Felicity was trying to dry her feet. Nan felt them. They were limp and cold as ice.

"I saw a fish", said Felicity, "that a man had caught. It was a big fish. It was lying all by itself on the sand, and struggling and gasping. I wanted to pick it up and throw it back into the sea. But I wasn't brave enough to". Her voice broke in renewed sobs.

Nan bent forward, chafing one white foot between her hands. She felt the tears rising. She could not control them any more. She took a deep breath and her weeping began. Sitting there, her hand still clasped about her daughter's foot, she wept without restraint. The moon shone brightly down upon them both.