An Accidental Man (53 page)

‘Clara invented that myth in order to humiliate me.'

‘Come, come, Charlotte —'

‘Matthew, I love you. You are the one, the only one. I love you and it relieves my heart so much now to tell you so. I have remained single because of you. I have lived all these years in the thought of you, in the lack of you, in the hopeless hope of you —'

‘Char, this won't do,' said Matthew. ‘I'm sure you feel something now, but I can't believe this and I'm sure you don't really. I know one has to account for one's sufferings somehow —'

‘How can you be so cruel!' said Charlotte. Tears started suddenly into her eyes, and she turned away, brushing them roughly.

Matthew leaned forward and managed to get up out of the chair. ‘I'm sorry, but I just don't believe that you have wasted your life because of me.'

‘Don't believe it, then. I don't interest you enough for you to work up any guilt about me, that's what it comes to.'

‘If you've thought about me, I'm grateful —'

‘You set up in business as a sort of sage. All right, you probably don't do it on purpose, it's an instinct. But all it means is that you're prepared to muddle about with people you feel connected with, where the connection is amusing or flattering. It's a sort of sexual drive, really. You want power where it's interesting. Where you could use it to some decent purpose, but the interest's lacking, you put on the other act, frankness and simplicity and not saying more than you really feel and so on. All right, I'm just on the wrong side of the barrier. But I should have thought that even politeness, to say nothing of gallantry, might have made you behave a little less cynically to me.'

‘Oh God, Char, I'm sorry,' said Matthew. ‘I won't argue with you. I'm just so tired out with emotion at the moment. Please forgive me and let's be friends.'

‘You never came near me, even when I wrote to you. You wrote me a smarmy hypocritical letter.'

‘I'm sorry —'

‘Thank God I've got the dignity of real love to support me. I haven't got anything else. I doubt if you really know how to love at all.'

‘You should never say that to anybody,' said Matthew.

‘Well, I'm going,' said Charlotte, picking up her handbag. ‘I won't bother you any more. I came to warn you about Austin. I really think he's capable of killing you. I didn't intend the declaration of love. But as you don't believe it it won't worry you. Goodbye.'

‘Charlotte, wait a minute —'

With a swing of blue and white skirt she was gone and the front door banged as Matthew reached the hall.

He returned to the drawing-room. The chipped white Sung bowl with the peony pattern was sitting in the middle of the mantelpiece. He picked it up and looked down into the creamy white ocean of its depth. He saw again the scene in the square, the black gawky group of protesters and the man walking across to join them and the miraculous shaking of hands and the trodden snow and the empty scene after the police had taken them all away.

‘It must have been accidental,' said Mavis.

She and Austin were sitting over tea in the drawing-room.

‘Oh God, it haunts my dreams so,' said Austin.

‘Yes. Have some more cake.'

‘I blame myself —'

‘I don't see that you should.'

‘Oh I do. I think — some people — think I blame everyone except myself, but it's not so.'

‘For this, no one was to blame.'

‘Oh well, who knows how networks of causes can make one blameworthy. I expect that every time we do anything even slightly bad it sets up a sort of wave which ends with someone committing suicide or murder or something.'

‘That could be,' said Mavis. ‘That was the sort of thing which when I believed in God I handed over to Him.'

‘But now —'

‘There's nothing to be done. Except to try as usual. One can't see the network.'

‘Still, one is haunted.'

‘But I can't see how it can really be your fault.'

‘Well, I was showing off. He was so fat, you see.'

‘Fat?'

‘Yes, even then. He wasn't as agile as I was and he was afraid to do the climb down. The pool looked so attractive at the bottom of the quarry, all turquoise blue, you know, among golden rocks, and the day was hot. I got down there and paddled and splashed around and sort of taunted him and he sat up at the top in the heat. He must have hated it. I meant him to.'

‘And then —'

‘Then I took off all my clothes and swam. I can remember it now. One of those hot days when one's body remains warm inside the cool water and the water is like a sort of silver skin. Strange. That must have been about the last happy moment of my life.'

‘Surely not. And then —'

‘I thought he'd come down then, he must have been so envious. I could see him casting around, trying to find an easy way down, but he funked it. Then I got my clothes on and started to climb up, and he threw stones down at me as I was climbing and I fell.'

‘Wait a moment, Austin. Are you sure he threw the stones? Perhaps you loosened the stones yourself.'

‘I'm sure he threw one stone at least — it doesn't matter — I can't remember.'

‘But, Austin, it does matter. You say you've always blamed him for this — But if he didn't really do anything at all —'

‘He laughed —'

‘But only before you fell.'

‘He saw that I was in difficulties and he laughed.'

‘But that's not bad. You'd been mocking him just before —'

‘I'm sure he threw a stone — anyway — it doesn't matter — it was terribly much harder to get up than to get down — I got into a panic — then lots of stones started rolling down on top of me — a sort of avalanche — and I couldn't hold on — and I fell all the way down to the bottom and — there it was.'

Austin, who had been sitting stiffly staring at the wall as he spoke, put his cup down with a clack, gasped, and was suddenly breathless. He panted, lowering his head and supporting his brow, then half sidled half slipped out of his chair on to the carpet beside the window. He pushed the sash up a little and sat there, leaning his head against the bottom of the window, panting and gasping.

Mavis thought, he is going to have hysterics, in a moment he will be screaming. She ran to the door, ran back again, stared down at him. His face was contorted and he drew long slow shuddering breaths. Then she saw that he was trying to smile.

‘Sorry,' said Austin, ‘it's just the pollen.'

‘The what?'

‘The pollen. Asthma, you know. I'll take a tablet in a minute or two. Funny thing, I know the garden's full of beastly pollen, but it does help to breathe fresh air. When one gets a fit any room seems too airless. Of course it's worse for other people, it must look as if I'm dying or something.'

‘Can I get you anything?'

‘A little milk — perhaps I could have the milk jug — thanks — milk helps — don't know why — probably psychological —'

Mavis watched Austin sitting on the floor beside the window drinking milk in gulps out of the Crown Derby milk jug. She felt very odd herself, suddenly breathless and weird. Austin smiled up at her, almost perkily. His golden hair was bushed up, his handsome face scarcely wrinkled, bronzed and glowing. He had left off his spectacles. He looked like a successful actor. She sat down on the floor opposite to him on the other side of the window, tucking her dress in under her knees.

‘Better now?'

‘Better now. Sorry if I startled you.'

‘Not at all.'

‘Where was I? Oh yes. Well, there it was. I broke my right wrist — I fell like that, you see, stretching out my arm — and I broke a lot of little bones in the hand, rather unusual — and it all went stiff — then I couldn't write for ages and ages — and that was, well that was really the end of me.'

‘Oh nonsense, Austin, you're a fighter, there's a huge will inside you.'

‘I've got to survive — that's what my will's been for — it's been all used upon that — it's always been touch and go.'

‘Anyway it wasn't his fault. Even if he threw a stone it wasn't. He didn't mean to hurt you. And you aren't even sure he did throw a stone.'

‘Oh well — if it wasn't this it was something else — he would have — it's done now —'

‘You're so vague. You mustn't be.'

‘One can be vague about the details. The main thing is overwhelming.'

‘But if all the details are wrong the main thing may be just in your imagination.'

‘Well, the imagination is real too.'

‘But, Austin, think, it may be real to you, but that doesn't mean anything is somebody else's fault. I mean, there is a rather important difference between an awful thing and an imaginary awful thing!'

‘There's always fault in such cases. Imagination sniffs out what's real. It's a good diagnostician.'

‘This sounds to me like madness,' said Mavis.

‘No, no. There's too much proof. Look at my poor old hand. That's real enough. Stiff as a branch of a tree. I can bend it this way and that, but I can't close my fingers. See. No wonder people shun me. It's like a claw, a beastly witch mark.'

‘There's nothing repulsive about it,' said Mavis.

‘But you notice it?'

‘Well — yes — but only because I know you.'

‘Oddly enough I don't think it's ever made me unattractive to women. Rather the opposite in fact.'

‘You've had treatment for it?'

‘Then. Not now. Not for years. It's hopeless.'

‘You might try again,' said Mavis. ‘They find out things. Let me look at it.'

Austin stretched out his right hand, revealing a grubby frayed shirt cuff. Mavis took his hand in both of hers. Austin's fingers were red and plump at the end from continual nail-biting. Mavis moved the stiff fingers a little to and fro. ‘Does that hurt?'

‘No.'

‘It doesn't seem too stiff. I'm sure you should see a specialist. I'll inquire about people.'

She went on gently fingering the stiff hand and moving it about.

‘Funny thing,' said Austin.

‘What?'

‘It never occurred — to any other woman — to do that — to my hand.'

‘What about this one, darling?' said Mitzi. She was reading out from the evening paper. ‘
Charming unfurnished cottage to let, Surrey-Sussex border, unspoilt village, suit writer or artist
.'

‘I don't like
suit writer or artist
.'

‘Why?'

‘It means it's damp and has a hole in the roof and no proper kitchen.'

‘Well, we could mend the hole and warm away the damp, it's quite cheap — Or this, this sounds lovely.
Old Mill freehold for sale. Mill wheel in working order. Trout stream
.'

‘But we don't fish. And the mill wheel would make a dreadful noise.'

‘Or this.
Excellent subject for development
—'

‘I refuse to develop.'

‘Well then,
Small Georgian House
—'

‘Too big.'

‘Wait, you silly creature!
Small Georgian House in village divided into four flats. Large garden
.'

‘It'll be on a main road. And there'd be quarrels about the garden.'

‘
Converted barn with paddock
— That's better. The dog can run about in the paddock.'

‘Mitzi darling, these are dreams.'

‘Well, I like dreaming,' said Mitzi, ‘especially with you. There must be somewhere for the dog to run about, mustn't there.'

It was late in the evening at Mitzi's house. Mitzi pretended that the evening was chilly and had lit a fire in her sitting-room for cosiness. They were eating sandwiches and drinking white wine. Charlotte, trying to persuade her friend to drink less, had prescribed a régime of sherry and wine and no spirits.

‘What sort of dog shall we have, Char?' said Mitzi. ‘A collie? A retriever?'

Charlotte stared into the fire, into a deep crumbling golden shaft that was white and blinding at the end. She blinked her eyes.

‘We can't afford any of these places, Mitzi.'

‘We can if I sell this house. And I'm going to apply for that sports journalism job. Of course that means we must be near a station so that I can commute. Somewhere on the Dorking or Guildford line, or in Kent —'

‘But — I must contribute —'

‘Don't keep fussing about that. Just let me arrange everything. What shall we call the dog?'

‘I'll get a job,' said Charlotte. ‘I suppose I can learn to type. Or I could work in a library —'

‘Rover. Fido. Bonzo.'

‘Certainly not. A dog should be called something like — Ganimede — or Pyrrhus — or —'

‘All right. Pirrus. I like that. Pirrus! Come here at once, sir!'

‘You mustn't be in a hurry to sell this house, Mitzi —'

‘I've made up my mind. Have you written to Austin yet about how he can have the flat back?'

‘Not yet. Are you sure —'

‘I'm sure. Are you?'

Charlotte looked into the deep glowing shaft with the invisible end. ‘Yes.'

‘And you'll move in here soon?'

‘Yes. But I must pay rent.'

‘Of course not. And you won't be ashamed of me?'

‘Don't be a damned fool.'