Chapter nineteen

Mor waited beside the car for a long time. No one came near the Riley. At last he got up and searched for a while in the grounds, more or less aimlessly. Then he ran to find his bicycle. It was not in the shed in the masters' garden. It must be at home. He began to run as fast as he could towards his house. .

As he came near his house he saw that there was a light on in Nan's room. She had evidently returned. He forced his way through the gate, kicking it violently open, and ran down the side way into the garden to find his bicycle. As he dragged the machine towards the road he could hear the curtains being drawn back. Nan was looking out. He paid no attention and did not look round. He mounted the machine, bounced noisily off the pavement, and began to pedal as hard as he could in the direction of Brayling's Close.

There was a light on in the hall of the Close and another in the drawing-room. The front door was ajar. Demoyte was standing in the hall. The power which Mor had lacked when he sat at the dinner table now flowed in him with such abundance that he could have torn a wall down to reach Rain.

"Where is she?" he said to Demoyte.

"I don't know!" said Demoyte. He began to say something else, but Mor had already turned and shot out of the door again. He seized the bicycle, which seemed to have got entangled in a rose bush, shook it free, and began to pedal back in the direction of the school. He moaned aloud now, partly with breathlessness and partly with the agony of suspense. For he still did not know what had happened.

It came to him that this was the first time for many weeks that he had not known where Rain was. He threw the bicycle on the grass verge and began to walk towards the playground. She might still be here, somewhere inside the school. The Riley had not gone. She must be somewhere here.

He walked into the playground and looked about him. All was dark except for one light. Looking up, Mor saw that a light was still burning in the masters' dining-room. They were probably clearing up the remains of the dinner. But at that hour? He stood looking at the light. Then he began to run towards the door of the building, his feet clattering on the asphalt and his footsteps echoing from the dark facades. The main door was unlocked. He mounted the stairs two at a time and blundered into the Common Room which was in darkness. He switched the lights on, sprang across the room, and threw open the door of the dining-room.

A bright electric bulb now lit the room, which looked exceedingly strange. The remnants of the feast had been removed. It seemed at first as if there was no one there. Then Mor saw Rain. She was high above his head. She had found a very tall step ladder and had set it up, standing it upon the tiles of the fireplace. She was sitting now upon the very top, level with the portrait which still hung in its place high aloft above the mantelshelf. She was applying paint to the canvas. She held the enormous palette upon her left hand and her lap was full of paints. Paint marks of all colours streaked her white evening-dress which fell in a great fan about her, hanging down over the side of the ladder. As the door opened she did not look round but continued carefully with what she was doing. She was working on the head.

"Rain!" said Mor. He ran to the foot of the ladder and shook it violently as if he wanted to hurl her to the ground.

She steadied herself, and then turned back to the picture. He saw that as she worked the tears were streaming slowly down her face, steadily one after the other.

"Rain!" said Mor, "that was not true. It was simply a trick of Nan's. Surely you weren't taken in?"

"It is true", said Rain, in a dull voice. "I asked Mr Demoyte". "Well, it was an idea I had once", said Mor, "but Nan misrepresented the whole thing. And we never discussed it or agreed any-thing like she said. You can't possibly have believed that!"

"It doesn't matter", said Rain, "it's what you want to do". She was still staring through her falling tears at the picture.

"That isn't so", said Mor. "I swear it isn't so! I'd quite given up any plans of that kind".

"Yes", said Rain, "because of me". She took the brush away and turned to look down at him. Mor reached up to touch her.

"No, no", said Mor. Holding her feet he leaned his head against the ladder. How could he convince her?

"Look", he said, "this makes-no difference at all. Why should it? I ought to have told you long ago, only I didn't want to complicate things. If I'd told you myself you would't have made this into a difficulty, would you? You're just upset because it came from Nan. Well, don't he such a fool. I love you, and nothing else is of any importance. This other thing is empty in comparison, it's nothing. I love you, I should perish without you. Will you understand that?" He spoke savagely, trying to force the ideas into her mind.

"Don't, you're hurting my leg", said Rain. "I do understand. I had just not realized that I was wrecking your whole life. I see it all quite differently now. I see your children, I see your ambitions. You love me, yes. But you wouldn't really forgive me for having deprived you of so much. And I would not forgive myself for doing so". She spoke in a monotonous slightly whining voice, and her tears were very slow but ceaseless.

"No, no, no, it's not like that!" cried Mor. How could he bear it, that Nan had bewitched her so? She saw it all exactly as Nan had intended. How could she be so stupid? "No!" he cried. "I shall not let you do this thing to both of us!"

"It's useless, Mor", said Rain. "What am I doing in your life? I've often wondered this, you know, only I never told my doubts. You are a growing tree. I am only a bird. You cannot break your roots and fly away with me. Where could we go where you wouldn't always be wanting the deep things that belong to you, your children, and this work which you know is your work? I know how I would feel if I were prevented from painting. I should die if I were prevented from painting. I should die". For a moment she shook with sobs and the ladder trembled under her.

"I love you, Rain", said Mor, "what else can I say? I haven't cared for these other things at all since I've known you. I shall never be an M. P. now, whatever happens. I no longer want this. I want you. Don't kill me, Rain". He leaned against the ladder, embracing the lower steps.

"You would be happy with me for a short while", said Rain, "but then what would happen? It's all dry sand running through the fingers. I can wander about the world and wherever I go I can paint. If we were together my work would continue. But what about yours? Would it in the end satisfy you just to be with me? Would you be able to write and to go on writing? If you had really wanted to write as much as I want to paint, you would have written by now, you would have found the time somehow, nothing would have stopped you".

"I could write", said Mor, "or I could start a school. I'm not an idiot. I've thought of these things too. I could make my life with you. What sort of life do you think I have now, or would have even if I were an M. P.? You've made me exist for the first time. I began to be when I loved you, I saw the world for the first time, the beautiful world full of things and animals that I'd never seen before. What do you think will happen to me if you leave me now? Don't abandon, me. Don't do such a wicked thing. Don't!"

He reached up his hand towards her. She leaned forward and took it in a strong grip. They paused for a moment, pressing each other's hands. But all the comfort was gone out of the contact. They both knew it and felt despair. Rain withdrew her hand.

"Rain, do you love me?" said Mor. He stood squarely at the foot of the ladder gazing up at her. "If you've just changed your mind about me, say it, arid don't wrap it up in this torturing way".

"I love you", said Rain, "I do love you, I do. But what does that mean? Perhaps, after all, it has all been because of—father". She laid the palette down on her lap and rubbed her face violently with both hands. Patches of red and blue paint appeared on her cheeks and forehead.

"Oh, for Christ's sake", said Mor, "don't give me that. I shall not allow you to leave me, Rain, I shall just not allow it. Nothing has happened tonight which can alter anything between us. Don't be tricked by my wife. Don't look anywhere but to me".

"Oh, Mor, Mor", said Rain, her voice wailing, "if you only knew how I do look to you! I've got nobody but you at all. But now I can see. I see that it was you that tricked me—and I too that deceived myself. I saw it all so simply, with nothing to it but you leaving your wife whom you didn't love and who didn't love you. But a life has so much more in it than that. I had not seen that I would break so many things".

"If you love me—" he said.

"That word cannot guide us any more". She spoke wearily, with finality.

"Make it all right", said Mor. "Sweep away what has happened tonight, do not remember it".

"Oh, my dear", said Rain, "my dear—" She turned her eyes, red and hazy with tears, towards the face in the picture which was level with her own. "Make it all right", said Mor. "Oh, my dear—" said Rain.

It was the final negative. Mor stepped away from the foot of the ladder. He stood silent for a moment. The pain in his heart was almost beyond bearing. Then he said, "I accept nothing of what you say. We shall speak of this again".

Rain said nothing. She took up the palette and began to mix some paint, but could not see for her tears.

Mor took two steps towards the door. He said, "You should stop that now, and go to bed. You're far too upset to paint. Shall I fetch your car and bring it round into the playground?"

Rain shook her head violently. It was a moment before she could speak. "No", she said, "I must finish this. I want to repaint the head. I see what to do now. I must go on working. Don't wait up".

Mor hesitated. He had a terrible feeling that if he left her now he might never see her again. But he had to see her again. They would speak tomorrow. He would force her to agree with him. It could not be otherwise.

"We are both too overwrought", he said. "We will speak of this again tomorrow".

"Yes, yes", said Rain, "please go. I must work now. Please go".

Mor got as far as the door. He stood watching her. She had begun to paint again, (clashing the tears from her eyes.

"Rain", he said.

She did not answer.

"Tomorrow", he said.

"Yes", said Rain, "yes".

She went on painting. Mor stayed for a minute or two watching her, and then he went out and closed the door behind him.