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Authors: Iris Murdoch

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BOOK: A Fairly Honourable Defeat
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‘Yes,’ said Hilda. But the word felt dead in her mouth.
‘Then relax a little. May I hold your hand again? I think physical contact is so important. Our foolish conventions are even now too shy of it. Younger people know better. We beings are so briefly in this vale of tears. We must neglect no method by which we can comfort and console each other.’
‘You are very kind, Julius,’ said Hilda, surrendering her hand. She returned the pressure of his and looked into the very dark brown almost black violet velvety eyes. The long mouth drooped and quivered.
‘Dear Hilda, it is you who are kind to me. It is an act of kindness if someone lets you help them in however small a way. I am a lonely and deprived man, without family ties. I hope you will not mind my saying that you have given me a vision of friendship and affection.’
‘I am glad of that,’ said Hilda. ‘You must know now that you can always come to see me—Have you no living relations?’
‘No one. I have been what is called a successful man. I am well known in my work. I have an independent income. I ought to have no worries. But it is hollow within, Hilda, hollow. One is so much alone.’
‘You’ve never seriously thought of getting married?’
‘No. Forgive me, Hilda. Morgan is sweet, but she’s—well, we both know her—she’s unstable. And of course there have been others. I am no longer young. I don’t want to sound sorry for myself. Women always leave me and then I feel relieved. I think probably marriage is not for me. I need the steady friendship of an older woman, married herself, someone wise and clever and warm-hearted. Someone like
this.
’ He pressed her hand. ‘You know that you are very much cleverer than your sister. There are many strange things I could talk to you about. One day I will tell you all about myself, if it wouldn’t bore you and you would like to hear.’
‘Oh Julius, you know I’d love to hear, and you couldn’t possibly bore me!’
‘I am a homeless man—’
‘Let this be your home. You know we would be so pleased—’ Hilda stopped. That ‘we’ had been instinctive. But there was no ‘we’ any more. There was no home any more. Only a house where people watched each other. How mechanically she had reacted. And how odd it was to be able at such a time to feel pleasure in the touch of Julius’s hand, to feel deeply comforted by that warm strong grip and those velvet eyes, to feel flattered that Julius might tell her about himself so that she would know more about Julius than Rupert did. Rupert would be impressed. ‘Julius never reveals himself,’ he had said once. They would invite Julius. But there was the same mistake again, the same natural extension into a future which didn’t exist any more. She must keep her head. There were only a lot of quite disconnected little things, quite unimportant, quite temporary. Nothing had happened, nothing had happened at all. Hilda burst into tears.
‘My dearest—’ Julius had come round the table and was kneeling beside her. ‘Now don’t weep. The sight of tears upsets me so terribly. I shall start crying myself and then where shall we be!’
‘Oh Julius, I know I’m being stupid, but I’m so
miserable
—’ Hilda fumbled for her handkerchief and gave herself up to sobbing.
Julius patted her and rose.
‘Mother!’
Peter had come into the drawing room.
Hilda gave a little cry and buried her face in her very small wet handkerchief. Julius retired tactfully to the other side of the room. Peter threw himself onto the floor beside his mother.
‘Mother darling, what is it, oh stop, stop please,
I can’t bear it.
’ He clutched her, one hand on her knee, one arm round her shoulder, pressing his face down into the crook of her arm.
Hilda tried to master the tears. ‘It’s all right—it’s nothing—’
‘Something terrible’s happened,’ said Peter. She could feel his lips moist on her dress. ‘There’s been an accident—or you’re ill—’
‘No, no, no accident, no one’s hurt. I’m not ill. I’m just being silly. Now, Peter,
please
don’t panic,
help
me to be sensible by being sensible yourself. Nothing at all’s the matter.’
‘Then why are you crying in this awful way? People don’t cry like that for nothing.’
‘May I suggest some more tea?’ said Julius. ‘Or possibly a drink?’
‘Tea, yes, please, Julius, I’ll—’
‘No, no, I’ll make it,’ said Julius. ‘You stay here and talk to Peter. I’ll take the teapot into the kitchen and make us some more tea.’ He marched off, closing the door behind him.
‘Mother, what
is
it? You’ve
terrified
me.’
‘Peter, it isn’t
anything, truly.
I’m just overtired. These tears mean nothing. I cry very easily.’
‘That’s not true. I’ve never seen you cry in my life before. Never ever in my life before.’
‘You must have done. Anyway it’s all over now, see, no more tears. It was just a silly moment.’
‘You’re ill, mother. They’ve just told you. You’ve got cancer or something.’
‘No, I’m in perfect health. And so is your father. And everything is perfectly all right. I was just feeling tired and stupid, the way women do, and now it’s over and you mustn’t
embarrass
me by making a fuss!’
‘Do you
promise
that you haven’t got some awful illness?’
‘I promise. There. Now we’re both quite sensible again, aren’t we! How very very nice to see you, Peter. Have you been good and done some work like you said you would?’
Peter sat back on the carpet at her feet. His face was still creased up with pain and shock. ‘Mother, it was
awful
coming in and finding you like that. You’ve
frightened
me so.’
‘Stop it, dear. Now tell me about yourself.’
‘Oh I’m all right. I’ve done some work. At least I read a book. I came really—I wondered if you knew when Morgan would be back. She said she was going away again, and I’ve telephoned a lot and she’s not there.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know—when Morgan will be back.’
‘You haven’t got her address?’
‘No.’
‘Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Is father in the house, by the way?’
‘No, he’s working late at the office.’
‘I’m afraid I filled the electric kettle with
hot
water,’ said Julius, ‘so that it would boil quicker. I hope you have no superstitions about that? Some people think the tea doesn’t taste right unless you boil the water from cold. Here, I’ve brought another cup for Peter. Delicious tea all round. And won’t someone take pity on the walnut cake?’
‘Bless you, Julius,’ said Hilda.
Julius began to pour out the tea.
‘I won’t have any, thanks,’ said Peter.
‘Would he like a drink?’
‘Would you like some sherry, darling? No? What about you, Julius. Something stronger than tea?’
‘No, thank you. But let me get you some whisky, yes, I insist. I know where it lives.’
Hilda sank back in her chair with a sigh, sipping tea and whisky. Peter was sitting on the floor in front of her, with his chin on his knees, regarding her under his flopping fair hair with anxiety and curiosity.
‘There’s something you haven’t told me, mother.’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Sorry, but I don’t believe you.’
‘Oh, Peter, stop it. I’m just terribly overtired and nervous—’
‘Yes, if I may say so—’ said Julius, ‘this isn’t the moment—your mother is exhausted—all those committees—’
Peter bounded to his feet. ‘All right, I’ll go!’
‘Please, darling—’
‘Don’t fret, mother. I’m not cross. I understand. You’re tired. I’ll come back tomorrow.’
‘Yes, yes, come back tomorrow, and we’ll have a nice long talk. Tomorrow morning. You promise?’
‘Yes, I promise. I’ll ring up at nine and we’ll fix things. I do promise.’
As the door closed Hilda said, ‘How very unfortunate. He’ll
worry
so. And he’ll start wondering and—’
‘What did you tell him?’ said Julius.
‘Well, nothing of course. I said nothing was wrong.’
‘Really, Hilda, you are hopeless. You should have thought of some plausible falsehood. Now of course he’ll wonder and worry.’
‘I’m no good at plausible falsehoods,’ said Hilda.
‘You should have said
something.
Would you like me to go after him and reassure him? I’ll think of something quite harmless but definite. That will stop him from worrying. You don’t want him to start
investigating
, do you?’
‘No, no, that would be awful. Yes, do please go after him, Julius. You’re so inventive and quick. Just say something to make him think it’s all right.’
Julius darted out of the room after Peter. Hilda poured a mixture of whisky and strong tea into the spare cup. She closed her swollen burning eyes. What a fuss about probably nothing. When Rupert came back she would look at him carefully and see how calm and ordinary he was after all, just as usual. Custom would console her, it would and it should. Unfortunately he was going to be working late at the office tonight.
Late at the office? Why?
After a short while Julius returned. It was almost evening in the garden. The blackbird was singing.
‘What did you say to him?’
‘I told him you had just heard of the serious illness of your dearest friend at school, whom you hadn’t seen for ages, and it brought back so many memories. I said you didn’t want to tell him because you thought it would sound absurd. I even told him her name and said he must have heard you talking about her.’
‘Julius! What is her name? I’d better know!’
‘Antoinette Ruabon. She’s French. Lives at Mont de Marsan. You always refer to her as Toni. You’ve been corresponding for years—’
‘Julius, you really are—’
‘You must learn to invent details if you want to lie well.’
Hilda began to laugh helplessly. ‘Oh you do do me good! I see I shall have to keep the Toni Ruabon myth going forever after!’
‘Ruabon is her married name. Her maiden name was Mauriac. A remote cousin of the novelist. Her husband—’
‘Oh please stop, Julius. I can’t bear it,’ said Hilda, putting her hand to her side. ‘When you make me laugh like that you make me feel suddenly as if I were happy and yet I’m miserable and it hurts! Did Peter believe you?’
‘Absolutely! He even imagined he’d heard you speak of her! And I hope you don’t mind, Hilda, I added a little passing reference to your age, the approach of the menopause, nervous symptoms in middle-aged women—’
‘Well, that bit was perfectly true!’
‘A good lie always has a spice of truth. Anyway, I think you’ll have no more trouble on that front. And now, my dear Hilda, I fear I must go.’
‘Please don’t go. I thought perhaps after Peter had gone you’d—But yes of course you must go, I expect you’re busy. Julius, I still can’t make up my mind about that dinner.’
‘The celebration dinner for Rupert’s book? But of course you must have it.’
‘But it’s
tomorrow
!’
‘Well, it would look very odd if you cancelled it now. You said you’d sent out the invitations? I’ve certainly had mine.’
‘I got as far as inviting the family,’ said Hilda. ‘Peter, Morgan, Simon, Axel of course with Simon. And you.’
‘I’m glad I count as family!’
‘We were going to invite some of Rupert’s office colleagues and their wives. And that philosopher with the funny name that he admires so. I was going to discuss the list with Rupert—but I put it off—and then I just didn’t—and now—’
‘Well, why not leave it at that, Hilda? That makes a nice little party.’
‘Oh
God
!’
‘You can’t cancel it, my dear, without letting them know that you know. You must go through with it. I’ll support you.’
‘Julius, you’re an angel. All right. Thank you immensely for your help and advice. I really don’t know what I’d do without you. And please come again. Feel that you can always come. Another time we’ll talk of you.’
BOOK: A Fairly Honourable Defeat
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