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Seven

My darling Georgie, I have not spent Christmas quite as I expected. On the evening when I last saw you Antonia suddenly announced that she wished to leave me and to get married to Palmer Anderson. I won't tell you the details now, but it looks as if this is what is going to happen. Nor can I tell you exactly what my feelings are. I don't altogether know myself. As you may imagine, I am suffering from shock. Indeed, I feel scarcely sane and nothing seems solid any longer or real for the present. You will understand that there is nothing more I can say just now. I needed to tell you the facts anyway and it is a great relief simply to be writing to you. Hope and fear nothing if you can. Oh, sweetheart, I have never felt more wretchedly incapable of any bright or adventurous destiny. I feel half faded away like some figure in the background of an old picture. Try at least if you can, to restore to me some sense and some vigour. Darling child, your love and your devotion have been so precious to me: support me now with patience. Excuse this cowardly and distracted letter. Your discredited prince kisses your feet. I am simply too miserable to think straight. Please bear with me and go on loving me. If I can I'll call on you tomorrow at the usual time. If I can't come I'll telephone about then.

M.

I finished the letter and put it hastily into my pocket. Antonia and Rosemary were descending the stairs, still trying to talk both at once.

'And the whole building has oil-fired central heating,' Antonia was saying.

I got up from where I had been sitting at the Carlton House writing-table and went over to the fireplace. It was early afternoon, but very dark outside, and the lamps had already been turned on. Two electric fires were burning in the room, but Antonia had insisted on lighting a coal fire as well, to cheer me up, as she put it.

They came in and stood side by side looking at me with the look of tender delighted concern with which women look at babies. The concern was sharpened in Rosemary's case by curiosity, in Antonia's by anxiety. Rosemary in her smart grey unobtrusive London clothes was tiny beside my wife.

'Antonia has been telling me about your flat,' said Rosemary. 'It sounds ideal. And there's a heavenly view over to Westminster Cathedral.'

'Well, you know more about it than I do,' I said. Palmer had found me a flat in Lowndes Square. It appeared to be all right.

'But you wouldn't let me tell you this morning!' exclaimed Antonia. 'Isn't he dreadful?' to Rosemary. 'Don't you even want to see it?'

'Not specially.'

'Dear heart, don't sulk,' said Antonia. 'You'll have to make some decision soon about the furniture. Rosemary and I have just been measuring curtains, and the landing and Blue Room ones will fit exactly without alteration.'

'What luck.'

'Well, I want to see it,' said Rosemary, 'even if you don't. Antonia's given me the key and I'm going over there now. Are you sure you don't want to come, Martin?'

'Yes.'

'I must be off then,' said Rosemary. 'I must say I'm limp already. I'll drop the key in this evening. 'Bye, Martin darling, 'bye, Antonia.' She patted my shoulder and then stood on her toes to peck Antonia's cheek. She and my wife seemed quite wrapped up in each other now.

Antonia saw her to the door. I could hear her saying, 'And let me know what you think about the pelmets.' The door closed.

I stood by the fireplace watching the flames, and trying to clean out an old pipe which I had found – I occasionally smoked a pipe. I heard Antonia come back into the room. She came across to stand opposite to me. I stared at her and she stared steadily back, unsmiling now. It was the first time we had been alone together since I had returned accompanied by Rosemary. Already, through the secret chemistry of the situation, Antonia and I were two new and different people. We regarded each other with a dismay behind which, in my case, there lurked an abject terror, ready to probe the difference. I felt suddenly dizzy with pain and unable to face whatever scene was to follow. I went back to scraping the pipe. I said, 'Well, you've made one person blissfully happy. Rosemary adores catastrophes.'

'Martin, darling,' said Antonia. She said it lingeringly, with an insistent tenderness of reproach. She stood there before me, her stomach pouting, her hip jutting, her body twisted in such a dear familiar way. A snowy white silk blouse, falling well open, showed off her long neck. Her bun was coiled in a neat golden ball almost as large as her head. I looked at her again and saw her sharply for the first time since our rupture as a separate person and no longer a part of myself.

'You are pleased about the flat, aren't you?'
'Yes, very.'
'Don't be cross with me,' said Antonia. 'It hurts so much.'
'I'm not cross.'
'Anderson took a lot of trouble to find the flat.'
'It's very kind of him, especially when he has so many other things to think about.'
'Whatever would he be thinking about, what would either of us be thinking about,' said Antonia, 'but you? We think of nothing else!'
'Sweet of you,' I said. I began to fill the pipe.
'Please, darling,' said Antonia, 'don't do that.'
'Don't do what, for Christ's sake?'
'Be so sort of blank and sarcastic. And please, if you can, be nice to Anderson. He's so terribly worried about what you feel about him and so terribly anxious to please you. You could hurt him dreadfully by the smallest thing.'
'I'm not being blank and sarcastic,' I said. 'I am grateful to Palmer. But I do wish everyone would stop scheming for my welfare. I'm perfectly well able to look after myself.' I lit the pipe. It tasted foul.
'But we want to look after you!' said Antonia.
As I didn't reply, she sighed and turned away to pull the curtains across the darkened windows. A thick yellow fog had covered London all day, turning the day to night, and filtering into the house to bring even to Antonia's, no longer Antonia's, rose-scented drawing-room a faint bitter smell and a fainter haze. The snow which had lain so thick and beautiful when I left the country was scarcely to be seen in the city, lingering only in diminishing white patches on roofs or on less frequented pavements in long iron-grey streaks of ice. I sat down on the sofa and began knocking out the pipe against the mantelpiece.
Antonia came back to me. 'You're making a nasty mark there.'
'It doesn't matter now.'
'It does matter, Martin. Every single little thing matters.'
The cosier, the more enclosed, scene seemed to give her confidence. She reached out and took the pipe away from me. Then she sat down beside me and tried to take my hand. I withdrew it. It was like a strange courtship scene. I said, 'No, Antonia.'
She said, 'Yes, Martin,' and laid her hand again on the sleeve of my coat. I began to tremble.
'It isn't enough,' I said, 'must you do this as well?'
'It's important, Martin,' said Antonia. 'Don't flee from me. We must still be able to touch each other.'
'Does your psycho-analyst advise this?'
'Please!' said Antonia. 'I know you're hurt, Martin, more hurt inside than you will let any of us see. But you mustn't say these bitter things.'
'I should have thought that was pretty mild,' I said. 'But I seem to have set myself such a high standard. Well, I suppose I shall have to keep it up now!' I let her take my hand. I let her quiet me as one quiets an animal.
'Yes, yes,' said Antonia, 'you will have to keep it up, won't you!' Laughing with relief and gratitude she fell to her knees before me and kissed my hand and drew it to her breast. Then she looked at me steadily. 'You are generous, my dear.' Her voice was deep and resonant with emotion.
I thought, but did not say, 'I'm in love with you.' That was too mad. I said instead, 'Look, sweetie, we must make those arrangements about the bloody furniture and so on.'
'There's plenty of time,' said Antonia. She sat back, her arms wrapped round her knees, seeming completely relaxed now. 'But we will, of course. There's lots of junk that can go straight to the sale room. You know, the stuff we've wanted to get rid of for years. And the good stuff should divide quite rationally.'
That 'we' still came naturally from Antonia's lips. I wondered at her. At the same time, I needed her. The devil of it was that I needed both of them. The thread of intimacy was not yet broken after all between Antonia and myself. I apprehended this fact with a sort of agony. I had only had notice of my death. The stroke had not really fallen yet.
'Look,' said Antonia, 'could you do a favour for Anderson and me?'
'It seems to be my metier.'
'Could you meet Honor at the station tonight?'
'Honor?'
'You know, Anderson's sister. She's arriving from Cambridge.'
'Oh, Honor Klein. Yes, I suppose so. Only I scarcely know her. Why can't Palmer meet her?»
'He's got a dreadful cold,' said Antonia. 'He really mustn't go out in this fog.'
'Can't she take a taxi?'
'She's expecting Anderson, and he's afraid that if he doesn't come she'll wait indefinitely on the platform in this ghastly weather.'
'She doesn't sound very intelligent,' I said. 'All right, I'll meet her.' Antonia's 'Anderson', which had once sounded so curiously formal, now had a ring of hideous intimacy; and somehow the fact of Palmer having a cold irritated me extremely.
Antonia squeezed my arm and moved round to lean her head against my knee. I was beginning to be tormented by physical desire for her. She said, 'I feel rather nervous about Honor.'
'You've met her before, though. She seems a pretty harmless old don.'
'Yes, I've met her,' said Antonia, 'but I've never noticed her.'
'Neither have I,' I said. «This suggests that she's harmless.' I began to stroke Antonia's hair.
'I wouldn't worry,' said Antonia, 'only Anderson seems a bit worried. He doesn't say much, but I think he thinks that Honor thinks that I'm not good enough for him.'
'That's a lot of thinking,' I said. 'You're good enough for a king, and quite good enough for our Palmer. There's nothing to be nervous about. You're a goddess, and she's just a poor old German spinster. Tell yourself that. What time is the train?'
'Five fifty-seven at Liverpool Street,' said Antonia. 'Martin, you're an ace. I'm afraid the train's sure to be awfully late because of the fog. Perhaps you could bring her straight to Pelham Crescent. I wonder if you have the faintest idea how good you are?'
'I'm beginning to realize,' I said. 'It hurts so much, for one thing.'
Antonia sat back on her heels. She was consciously, almost shamelessly, exerting her power. She held me a while in the glow of her attention; and I let her so hold me, with a sort of despair, knowing the fruitlessness of taking her in my arms.
'We won't let go of you, Martin,' she said. 'We'll never let go of you.'
I had feared the inevitable breaking of the thread of intimacy. In Antonia's intention this thread, somehow, would never be broken. I felt an abject relief together with a spiritual nausea which made her look to me, for a moment, almost hideous. I was near to breaking down. I said, 'You can't have everything, Antonia.'
She put her two hands on my knees and leaned forward with glowing eyes. 'I can try, my darling, I can try!'
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