I Capture the Castle (38 page)

“Can’t you see how posterity would misjudge you?” I piled it on.

“While if you stick to him, you may be “this girl, beautiful as a Blake angel, who sacrificed her own varied talents to ensure Mortmain’s renaissance.”” I stopped, fearing I had overdone it, but she swallowed it all. “Oh, darling—you ought to write the biography yourself,” she gasped.

“I will, I will,” I assured her, and wondered if she would consider staying on to inspire me; but I think she only sees herself as an inspirer of men. Anyway, I didn’t need to worry, because she said in her most double-bass tones:

“Cassandra, you have saved me from a dreadful mistake. Thank you, thank you.”

Then she collapsed on my shoulders with such force that I shot off the swinging seat.

Oh, darling Topaz! She calls Mrs.

Cotton’s interest in Father celebrity collecting, and never sees that her own desire to inspire men is just another form of it—and a far less sincere one.

For Mrs.

Cotton’s main interests really are intellectual -well, social-intellectual-while my dear beautiful stepmother’s intellectualism is very, very bogus. The real Topaz is the one who cooks and scrubs and sews for us all. How mixed people are—how mixed and nice!

As we went down from the roof she said she would come home in ten days or a fortnight—just as soon as Macmorris finished his new portrait of her. I said how very glad I was, though it suddenly struck me how hard it would be to hide my troubles from her.

Talking to her had taken my mind off them, but as we went into the flat it was just as if they were waiting for me there.

Everyone had gone to bed. There was a line of light under Simon’s door. I thought how close to me he would be sleeping and, for some reason, that made me more unhappy than ever. And the prospect of seeing him again in the morning held no comfort for me;

I had found out in that glittering corridor off the ballroom that being with him could be more painful than being away from him.

Rose was sitting up in bed waiting for me. I remember noticing how pretty her bright hair looked against the white velvet headboard.

She said: “I’ve put out one of my trousseau nightgowns for you.”

I thanked her and hoped I wouldn’t tear it—it seemed very fragile. She said there were plenty more, anyway.

“Well, now we can talk,” I said, brightly-meaning “you can.”

I no longer had any intention of questioning her about her feelings for Simon—of course she loved him, of course nothing would stop the marriage, my coming to London had been an idiotic mistake.

“I don’t think I want to tonight,” she said.

This surprised me—she had seemed so keen on talking—but I just said: “Well, there’ll be plenty of time tomorrow.”

She said she supposed so, hardly sounding enthusiastic; then asked me to put the roses in the bathroom for the night. As I went to get them, she looked down at Simon’s card on the bedside table and said: “Chuck that in the wastepaper-basket, will you?”

She didn’t say it casually, but with a sort of scornful resentment.

My resolution not to speak just faded away and I said:

“Rose, you don’t love him.”

She gave me a little ironic smile and said:

“No. Isn’t it a pity?”

There it was—the thing I had hoped for! But instead of feeling glad, instead of feeling any flicker of hope, I felt angry—so angry that I didn’t dare to let myself speak. I just stood staring at her until she said:

“Well? Say something.”

I managed to speak quite calmly.

“Why did you lie to me that night you got engaged?” “I didn’t. I really thought I was in love. When he kissed me-Oh, you wouldn’t understand—you’re too young.”

I understood, all right. If Stephen had kissed me before I knew that I loved Simon, I might have made the same mistake—particularly if I had wanted to make it, as Rose did. But I went on feeling angry.

“How long have you known?” I demanded.

“Weeks and weeks, now—I found out soon after we came to London; Simon’s with me so much more here. Oh, if only he wasn’t so in love with me! Can you understand what I mean? It isn’t only that he wants to make love to me—come minute we’re together I can feel him asking for love. He somehow links it with everything —if it’s a particularly lovely day, if we see anything beautiful or listen to music together. It makes me want to scream. Oh, God—I didn’t mean to tell you. I longed to–-I knew it would be a relief;

but I made up my mind not to, only a few minutes ago, because I knew it would be selfish. I’m sorry you got it out of me. I can see it’s upset you dreadfully.”

“That’s all right,” I said.

“Would you like me to tell him for you?”

“Tell him?” She stared at me.

“Oh, no wonder you’re upset! Don’t worry, darling—I’m still going to marry him.”

“No, you’re not,” I told her.

“You’re not going to do anything so wicked.”

“Why is it suddenly wicked? You always knew I’d marry him whether I loved him or not—and you helped me all you could, without ever being sure I was in love with him.”

“I didn’t understand—it was just fun, like something in a book.

It wasn’t real.” But I knew in my heart that my conscience had always felt uneasy and I hadn’t listened to it. All my unhappiness had been a judgment on me.

“Well, it’s real enough now,” said Rose grimly. My own guilt made me feel less angry with her. I went and sat on the bed and tried to speak reasonably.

“You can’t do it, you know, Rose—just for clothes and jewelry and bathrooms—” “You talk as if I were doing it all for myself,” she broke in on me.

“Do you know what my last thoughts have been, lying here night after night?

“Well, at least they’ve had enough to eat at the castle today”—why, even Heloise is putting on weight! And I’ve thought of you more than anyone-of all the things I can do for you when I’m married his “Then you can stop thinking, because I won’t take anything from you was Suddenly my anger came rushing back and words began to pour out of me.

“And you can stop pretending that you’re doing it for us all—it’s simply to please yourself, because you can’t face poverty. You’re going to wreck Simon’s life because you’re greedy and cowardly was I went on and on, in a sort of screaming whisper—all the time, I was conscious that I might be heard and managed to stop myself shouting, but I lost all of what I said; I can’t even remember most of it. Rose never tried to interrupt —she just sat there staring at me. Suddenly a light of understanding dawned in her eyes. I stopped dead.

“You’re in love with him yourself,” she said.

“It only needed that.”

And then she burst into choking sobs and buried her head in a pillow to stifle the noise.

“Oh, shut up,” I said.

After a minute or two, she stopped roaring into the pillow and began to fish round for her handkerchief. You can’t see a person do that without helping, however angry you are, so I gave it to her-it had fallen on the floor. She mopped up a bit, then said:

“Cassandra, I swear by everything I hold sacred that I’d give him up if I thought he’d marry you instead. Why, I’d jump at it-we’d still have money in the family and I wouldn’t have to have him as husband. I don’t want Scoatney-I don’t want a lot of luxury. All I ask is, not to go back to quite such hideous poverty —I won’t do that, I won’t, I won’t! And I’d have to, if I gave him up, because I know he wouldn’t fall in love with you. He just thinks of you as a little girl.”

“What he thinks of me has nothing to do with it,” I said.

“It’s him I’m thinking of now, not me. You’re not going to marry him without loving him.”

She said: “Don’t you know he’d rather have me that way than not at all?”

I had never thought of that; but when she said it I saw that it was true. It made me hate her more than ever. I started to tear the black dress off.

“That’s right—come to bed,” she said.

“Let’s put the light out and talk things over quietly. Perhaps you only fancy you’re in love with him—couldn’t it be what’s called “calf love,” darling? You can’t really know if you’re in love until you’ve been made love to.

Anyway, you’ll get over it when you meet other men-and I’ll see that you do. Let’s talk-let’s try to help each other. Come to bed.”

“I’m not coming to bed,” I said, kicking the dress away.

“I’m going home.”

“But you can’t -not tonight! There are no trains.”

“Then I’ll sit in the station waiting-room till the morning.”

“But why? “I’m not going to lie down beside you.”

I was struggling into my green dress. She sprang out of bed and tried to stop me.

“Cassandra, please listen-his I told her to shut up or she would rouse the flat.

“And I warn you that if you try to stop me going, I’ll rouse it—and tell them everything. Then you’ll have to break your engagement.”

“Oh, no, I won’t—” It was the first time she had sounded angry. “I’ll tell them you’re lying because you’re in love with Simon.”

“One way and another, we’d better not rouse the flat.” I was hunting everywhere for my shoes which the maid had put away. Rose followed me round, half angry, half pleading.

“But what am I to tell them, if you leave tonight?”

she asked.

“Don’t tell them anything until the morning—then say I had a sudden fit of conscience about leaving Father alone and went by the early train.” I found my shoes at last and put them on.

“Oh, tell them what you damn well like. Anyway, I’m going.”

“You’re failing me-and just when I need you most desperately.”

“Yes, to listen to your woes sympathetically and pat you on the back-sorry, nothing doing!” By then I was pulling all the drawers open, searching for my handbag. When I had unearthed it, I pushed past her.

She had one more try at getting round me:

“Cassandra, I beg you to stay. If you knew how wretched I am his “Oh, go and sit in your bathroom and count your towels,” I sneered at her. ““They’ll cheer you up-you lying little cheat.”

Then out I went, controlling myself enough to shut the door quietly. For a second I thought she would come after me but she didn’t-I suppose she believed I really would scream out the truth and I think I might have, I was in such a blind rage.

The only light in the hall was a glimmer round the edges of the front door, from the outside passage.

I tiptoed towards it. Just as I got there, I heard a faint whimper. Heloise!

I had completely forgotten her. The next moment she was there in the dark with me, thumping her tail. I dragged her through the front door and raced to the lift-by a bit of luck it was there, waiting.

Once we were going down, I sat on the floor and let her put her paws round my neck and get her ecstasy over. She had her collar on and I used my belt as a leash-there was still too much traffic about to let her run loose, even when we turned off Park Lane into a quieter street. I was thankful to be out in the cool air, but after the first few minutes of relief my mind began to go over and over the scene with Rose—I kept thinking of worse things I might have said and imagining saying them. My eyes were still so full of the white bedroom that I scarcely noticed where I went; I just have a vague memory of going on and on past well-to-do houses. There was a dance taking place in one of them and people were strolling out on to a balcony-I dimly remember feeling sorry I was too absorbed in myself to be interested (a few months ago, it would have been splendid to imagine about). At the back of my mind I had an idea that sooner or later I should see ‘buses or an entrance to the Underground, and then I could get hack to the railway station and sit in the waiting-room. The first time I really came to earth was when I struck Regent Street.

I decided I must pull myself together—I remembered hearing things about Regent Street late at night. But I think I must have mixed it up with some other street, for nothing was in the least as I expected. I had imagined a stream of brightly dressed, painted women going along winking—and the only women I saw seemed most respectable, very smartly dressed in black and merely taking a last stroll; some of them had brought their little dogs out, which interested Heloise. But I did notice that most of the ladies were in couples, which made me realize that I oughtn’t to be out on my own so late at night, Just after I had thought that, a man came up to me and said: “Excuse me, but haven’t I met your dog before?”

I took no notice, of course-but, unfortunately, Heloise started wagging her tail I dragged her on but he came with us, saying idiotic things like, “Of course she knows me -old friends, we are-met her at the Hammersmith Palais de Dance.”

Heloise got more and more friendly. Her tail was doing an almost circular wag and I was very much afraid that at any moment she would climb up the man and kiss him. So I said sharply: “Hcl, who’s that?”—which is what we say if a suspicious-looking tramp comes prowling round the castle. She let of such a volley of barks that the man jumped backwards into two ladies. He didn’t try to follow us any more, but I couldn’t stop Heloise barking—she kept it up right through Piccadilly Circus, making us terribly conspicuous.

I was thankful to see an entrance to the Underground at last-but not for long, because I found they don’t let dogs on the trains.

You can take them on the tops of ‘buses, but there seemed to be very few still running; by then it was long after midnight.

I was beginning to think I had better take a taxi when I remembered that there is a Corner House restaurant close to Piccadilly and that Topaz had once told me it keeps open all night. I had a great longing for tea, and I felt Heloise could do with a drink-she had stopped barking at last and was looking rather exhausted.

So along we went.

It was such a grand place that I was afraid they might not let Heloise in, but we chose a moment when the man on the door was interested in something else. And I got a table against the wall so that she could be fairly unnoticeable under it-the waitress did spot her but only said: “Well, if you got her past the door. But she’ll have to keep quiet”—which, by a miracle, she did.

After I had unobtrusively slipped her three saucers-full of water she went solidly to sleep on my feet;