Chapter nine

It was the day of Nan's departure. Mor viewed the prospect with relief. For some time now their small house had been a scene where washing, drying and ironing of clothes, discovery and renovation of suitcases, unfolding of maps, and discussion of trams and seat reservations and the weather, had gone on without inter-mission until Mor had been obliged to invent excuses for staying in school. End of term exams were just beginning, and although this meant less teaching it meant more correcting, and it was about this time too that Mor had to settle down to the organization of reports and the solving of various staff problems for next term with which Evvy was patenty unable to deal. His house became intolerable to him. It was always too small, though usually it was better in summer than in winter, since open windows could lend extra space to the rooms. But Nan could be relied upon to turn the place topsy-turvy before a holiday, and Felicity was being more than usually tiresome and tearful. Mor's heart sank each evening as he came through the narrow front door, into the small halfway, filled now with suitcases, tennis rackets, and other paraphernalia. He would have liked to have gone over to Demoyte's house to get away from it all. But although the Close and its inhabitants were incessantly in his mind, he did not go. A general sense of unrest and uneasiness filled him. It was now less than three weeks to Donald's college entrance exam, and he was worried about him. He had called on him twice lately to see how he was getting on, but the boy had been very short with him, and Mor had gone away hurt and puzzled.

On the previous day, Mor had at last made a serious attempt to discuss with Nan the question of his becoming Labour candidate—or rather, as Mor put it to himself, to announce to her his intention of becoming one; only it had not looked very much like this when he actually came to opening his mouth. Nan had simply refused, to discuss the matter. She had used her most exasperating technique. In her presence, in the overwhelming atmosphere of her personality, his arguments simply did not begin to exist. Mor was astonished yet again at the tremendous strength of his wife. She was totally impervious to reasoning, relentlessly determined to get her own way, and calmly and even gaily certain that she would get it. Throughout the interview she kept her temper perfectly, laughing and jesting in a slightly patronizing way at her husband, whereas Mor by the end of it was reduced to almost speechless anger. He had left the room in the end saying, "Well, whether you like this plan or not I propose to go ahead with it!"

Mor had said this at the time merely to annoy; but on the following morning he thought to himself that perhaps that was exactly what he would do. Mor got a bitter, and he knew very unworthy satisfaction out of imagining Nan's fury when she found that he really meant for once to take what he wanted. What annoyed him perhaps most of all about her was the exquisite calmness, of her assumption that when she had made it clear that he was not to do something he would not do it.

All these thoughts, however, with a talent born of years of married life, Mor buried deep within him, and behaved on the next day with a normal cheerfulness. Nan too seemed completely to have forgotten their quarrel and to be looking forward to the journey with unmixed delight. They were to catch the 10.30 train to Waterloo, have lunch in London, and then catch a fast afternoon train to Dorset. A taxi had been ordered to take them to the station, an expense which Mor disliked, but which Nan's colossal quantity of luggage seemed to make inevitable, The taxi was due in a few minutes, and Felicity was still not ready. She had been sulky and short-tempered all the morning, in spite of being promised lunch at the Royal Festival Hall, something which usually pleased her very much.

Nan and Mor had walked out into the front garden. The suitcases were piled on the step. Mor looked down at the ill-kept tangle.of dahlias and asters which grew on each side of the concrete path.

"That reminds me", Nan said. "A funny thing. I met that painter girl in the street, Miss Carter, and she said I he children had given her some flowers".

"'What?" said Mor.

"Just that", said Nan. "They both went over to Demoyte's house, gave her a bunch of flowers, and came away!"

"It is rather odd", said Mor, "but I don't see why they shouldn't just have taken it into their heads. Did Felicity say anything about it to you?"

"Of course not!" said Nan. "You know how secretive she is. It's a delightful gesture, and Miss Carter, I may say, was tickled pink about it—but really, Bill, you know our charming little dears as well as I do. Would they have just thought of doing that? It must have been part of some joke".

Mor was inclined to agree with Nan, and the whole lory upset him considerably. He couldn't think what it could mean; and he feared his children especially when they brought gifts. He said, however, "You're fussing about nothing, Nan. It was just a nice idea. I expect Felicity thought of it".

"You're almost as naive as Miss Carter", said Nan, "and that's saying something".

Mor was disturbed at hearing Nan mention Miss Carter's name. He had by a curious chance seen Miss Carter twice in the last three days, once in the distance walking in the fields, and once passing through the housing estate in the direction of the shopping centre. On neither of these occasions had he spoken with her, but each occasion had given him a strange and deep shock.

The taxi drove up. Mor lifted the suitcases. Felicity appeared and got into the taxi without a word. Mor and Nan packed in and they drove in silence to the station. Mor paid the taxi-driver and stacked up the suitcases on the platform. They waited.

Quite a lot of people were waiting for the London train, many of them known by sight to Mor. It was a scene which he usually found inexpressibly dreary. There was five minutes to wait.

Then it came over Mor like a sudden gust of warm fresh wind that Nan was going. Nan was going. She was going. And this time next year, thought Mor, perhaps everything will be different. Everything is going to be different. He lifted his head. How good a thing it was that he had made his decision. Obscurely in the instant he was aware of the future suddenly radiant with hope and possibility. At the same time he was filled with a great tenderness for Nan. He turned to look at her. She was glancing at her watch and tapping her high-heeled shoe on the platform. She smiled at him and said, "Not long now!" She seemed quite excited. Felicity was standing some way off looking over the wooden palings of the station into the surrounding pine trees.

"Nan", said Mor, "are you really all right for the journey? Have you got something to read?"

"Yes", said Nan, "I have the day's paper and this magazine".

"Let me get you something else", said Mor, "a Penguin book— and what about some nice chocolate?" He ran down the station as far as the little stall that sold papers and sweets. He bought a Penguin book of poetry, and a box of milk chocolates, and two bananas. He came back and stuffed them into Nan's pockets.

"Bill, dear, you are sweet!" said Nan, taking the goods out of her pockets and putting them into a suitcase.

The neat green train sped into eight round the curve of the line. The crowd surged forward. Mor found two corner seats for Nan and Felicity and packed the luggage in. There was not long for farewells. At these small stations the train waited only a minute. Mor kissed his wife and daughter, and then with breathtaking speed they were jerked away. Mor waved—and he saw Nan's face and her waving arm recede rapidly and disappear almost at once round the next curve and into the trees.

Mor walked very slowly back down the platform. He gave up his platform ticket. He came out into the sun and stood still in the dusty deserted station yard, which was quite silent now that the roar of the train had died away into the distance. Mor stood there, arrested by some obscure feeling of pleasure, and somehow in the quietness of the morning he apprehended that there were many things to be glad about. He waited. Then from the very depths of his being the knowledge came to him, suddenly and with devastating certainty. He was in love with Miss Carter. He stood there looking at the dusty ground and the thought that had taken shape shook him so that he nearly fell. He took a step forward. He was in love. And if in love then not just a little in love, but terribly, desperately, needfully in love. With this there came an inexpressibly violent sense of joy. Mor still stood there quietly looking at the ground; but now he felt that the world started to rotate about him with a gathering pace and he was at the centre of its movement.

Mor drew in a deep breath and smiled down at the dry earth below him, swaying slightly on his heels. I must be mad, he thought, smiling. I must be mad, he thought, whatever shall I do? Then he thought, I must see Miss Carter at once. When I see her I shall know what to do. Then I shall know what this state of mind is and what to do about it. I shall know then, when I see her. When I see her.

He left the station yard at a run and began to run along the road towards the school. It was a long way. He ran on, panting and gasping. The school was in sight now. An agonizing stitch made him slow down to walking pace. The pain of his anxiety shaped his face into a cry and his breath came in an audible whine. He turned into the drive and managed to run again as far as the bicycle shed.

He dragged his bicycle out, manhandling it as if it were a sa-vage animal. It had a flat tyre. Mor threw it on the ground and kicked it, swearing aloud. He looked about and chose another bicycle at random. It occurred to him that the Classical Sixth would be waiting for him at eleven-fifteen, to have a history lesson. But he had no hesitation now. He had recovered his breath, but the other agony continued, biting him in the stomach so that he almost could have cried out with the pain of wanting to see her. He set off on the borrowed machine, bounced badly over the gravel, on to the main road, and started up the hill towards the railway bridge.

The gravel flew to both sides like spray. He fell off the machine and threw it to the side of the house and then cannoned through the front door. The house was still and fragrant within. Mor crossed the hall and threw open the drawing-room door.

The easel was still in place and Demoyte was sitting in the sun near the window with his back turned towards the door, in an attitude of repose. There was no sign of Miss Carter.

"Hello, sir", said Mor, swinging on the door, "where's Miss Carter?"

"Accustomed as I am", said Demoyte, without turning round, "to being treated like an old useless piece of outdated ante-diluvian junk, I—"

"Sorry, sir", said Mor, and stepped into the room, "forgive me. But I did want to see Miss Carter rather urgently. You don't happen to know where she is?"

"I don't, as you put it, happen to know this, I'm afraid", said Demoyte. "I wonder if you realize that your collar has come undone and is sticking up at the back of your neck in a rather ludicrous manner? I have never liked those detachable collars. They make you look like a country schoolmaster. And you seem to have got some oil or Jar or something on to your face. May I suggest that you set your appearance to rights before you continue your search?"

Mor jabbed back at his collar, settled it somehow into the protective custody of his coat, and ran his hand vaguely over his face. He turned to go". "I think I'll be off", he said. Thank you all the same".

As he got to the door, Demoyte said, "She went by the path over the fields. Not that that will help you much".

"Thank you", said Mor. He ran out, seized his bicycle, and cycled out of the gate and sharply round on to the little-footpath.

At the front gate stood the tall white-clad figure of the games master, Hensman. He was lounging in an athletic way against one of the pillars of the gate.

"You haven't seen Miss Carter go past here, by any chance?" said Mor.

"Why, yes", said Hensman. "I saw her on the playground twenty minutes ago. She was going down the hill with old Bledyard".

"Thanks", said Mor. He forced his machine on rapidly down the drive. He felt a slight chill at the name of Bledyard. He left the bicycle at the corner of Main School in a place where bicycles were forbidden ever to be and began to run across the playground. He took the path beyond the Library which led down towards the wood. There was no sign of either Bledyard or Miss Carter. Mor ran into the wood.

Then quite suddenly ho came to a clearing, and in the clearing he saw a strange sight which made him become rigid with mingled distress and joy. There was Miss Carter. But she had been transformed. She was a prisoner. She was dressed in a long flowing piece of sea-green silk which was draped about her body, leaving one shoulder bare. She was sitting in the midst of the clearing on top of a small step-ladder. Seated round about her on the ground with drawing-boards and pencils were about twenty boys. They were drawing her. Master of the scene and overlooking it with a powerful eye was Bledyard, who was leaning against a tree on the far side of the clearing. Before his attention was caught by Mor, he was looking fixedly at Miss Carter. He was in his shirt sleeves and his hands in his pockets. His longish dark hair fell limply as far as his cheeks. He looked to Mor in that moment like Comus, like Lucifer.

Mor's sudden irruption into the clearing was noticed at once. Bledyard stopped looking surprised almost instantly and began to smile. His eyes and mouth thinned out into two long sardonic lines. The boys all turned to see who had come and stared at Mor with some astonishment. Mor saw that it was part of the Fifth Form. He reached back mechanically to see whether his collar had stayed in place. It had. Rain signified her awareness of his arrival by a very slight movement of her hand. Mor suddenly felt certain that Bledyard must be reading his mind. He began to walk round towards him, signalling to the boys to continue their work. He tried to make his presence seem more natural by making to Bleadyard the first remark that came into his head which happened to be "I wonder if I could see you some time about reports?" Bledyard looked into Mor's face, still smiling his infuriating smile. He nodded without speaking. The boys had returned to their drawing. Mor began to go round behind them looking at their work.

He was intensely conscious of Rain's presence, but did not dare to look at her. He looked instead at the boys' drawings. He knew that it would not be very long before the twelve o'clock bell would ring and she would be set free.

At that moment the bell rang.

Everyone jumped. The boys shifted and some of them began to pack up their things and rise to their feet. Soon Mor and Bledyard and Rain were left alone in the clearing.

Rain was still sitting on top of the ladder. She seemed to enjoy being there, perhaps because it added to her height. She draw her legs up and turned towards Mor with a laugh. Mr Bledyard captured me, and see what a beautiful stuff he brought out of his storeroom". She said, unwrapping the green silk from her body and spreading it out. Mor saw that she was wearing a flowered cotton dress which left her shoulders bare.

"I really must try to buy it from you, Mr Bledyard", she said, "and hand it over to my dressmaker".

Bledyard took the material from her gloomily.

"Yes", said Bledyard thoughtfully, "yes, indeed, indeed". His tone made it clear that he was not answering Rain's question. "Well", he said. "I must go I'm afraid, I have boys waiting in the studio. You were most kind, Miss Carter, to favour us with this delightful—" He opened his mouth again, closed it, and turned away into the wood. His footsteps could be heard for some distance receding through the bracken. Mor and Rain were left alone.

She sat down again on top of the steps and laughed. She seemed a little uneasy. She said, "I love posing for people—" and began to rub one of her ankles, "Oh, I'm stiff though!"

Mor stood close beside her. His breath came quickly. He did not look at her yet. He said, "Rain".

Rain saw at once that something had happened and she saw in the same moment what it was that had happened. She froze, her hand still holding her ankle, and looked down towards the ground. Then gradually she relaxed. She said very softly, almost thoughtfully, "Mor", and again "Mor".

At the same instant they both turned to look at each other. Perched upon the ladder her face was level with Mor's. He leaned forward and very carefully enclosed her bare shoulders in his arms. Then he drew her towards him and kissed her gently but fully upon the lips. The experience of touching her was so shattering to him that he had now to hide his face. He let it fall first upon her shoulder, and then, as he felt the roughness of his chin touching her flesh, he bent down and laid his head against her breast. He could smell the fresh smell of her cotton dress and feel the warmth of her breast and the violent beating of her heart. His own heart was beating as if it would break. All this happened in a moment. Then Rain was gently pushing him away, and getting down from the ladder. She stood before him now, very small, looking up at him. "No", she said in a very quiet pensive voice. "No, no, please, dear Mor, dear, no, no". It was like the moaning of a dove.

She said, "Would you mind taking the ladder back to the studio? You could leave it just outside in the yard". She picked up the jacket of her dress, which had been lying on the grass, and drew it on.

Mor stood as she spoke, his hands hanging down, looking at her unsmiling as if his eyes would burn her. He had heard the beating of her heart.

She hesitated, looking down, her hand involuntarily held to her breast. Then she said, "I'm sorry". Then she turned and ran away very quickly into the wood.

Mor did not attempt to follow her. He stood for a moment, leaning with one arm upon the step-ladder. Then, like one who is fainting, he sat upon the ground.