The Black Prince (Penguin Classics) (13 page)

By the time she recovered she was getting on into her twenties and had lost some of her first good looks. She talked at that time of becoming a ‘model’ (a ‘mannequin’), but so far as I know made no serious attempt to do so. What she did become, virtually, and not to put too fine a point upon it, was a tart. I do not mean that she stood around in the road, but she moved in a world of business men, golf club bar proppers and night-club hounds, who certainly regarded her in this light. I did not want to know anything about this; possibly I ought to have been more concerned. I was upset and annoyed when my father once approached the subject, and although I could see that he had been made utterly miserable, I resolutely refused to discuss it. I never said anything to my mother, who always defended Priscilla and pretended, or deceived herself into believing, that all was well. I was by this time already involved with Christian, and I had other matters on my mind.

Priscilla met Roger Saxe, who ultimately became her husband. somewhere in that golf club whisky bibbing fandango. I first heard of Roger’s existence when I learnt that Priscilla was pregnant. There seemed to be no question of marriage. And Roger, it appeared, was willing to pay half of the abortion bill, but demanded that the family should pay the other half. This piece of pure caddishness was my first introduction to my future brother-in-law. He was in fact reasonably well off. My father and I put up the money between us and Priscilla had her operation. This illegal and thoroughly sordid drama upset my poor father very much indeed. He was a puritan very like myself, and he was a timid law-abiding man. He felt ashamed and frightened. He was already ill, became iller, and never recovered. My mother, a very unhappy woman, dedicated herself now to getting Priscilla married off soon somehow to somebody or anybody. Then, we never quite knew how or why, about a year after the operation Priscilla got married to Roger.

I will not attempt a lengthy description of Roger. He too will appear in the story in due course. I did not like Roger. Roger did not like me. He always referred to himself as a ‘public school boy’, which I suppose he had been. He had a little education, and a great deal of ‘air’, a ‘plummy’ voice and a misleadingly distinguished appearance. As his copious crown of hair became peppery and then grey he began to resemble a soldier. (He had once done some army service, I think in the Pay Corps.) He held himself like a military man and alleged that his friends nicknamed him ‘the brigadier’. He cultivated the crude joking manners of a junior officers’ mess. He worked in fact in a bank, about which he made as much mystery as possible. He drank and laughed too much.

Married to such a man it was not likely that my sister would be very happy, nor was she. With a pathetic and touching loyalty, and even courage, she kept up appearances; She was house-proud : and there was eventually quite a handsome house, or ‘maisonette’, in the ‘better part’ of Bristol, with fine cutlery and glasses and the things which women prize. There were ‘dinner parties’ and a big car. It was a long way from Croydon. I suspected that they lived beyond their means and that Roger was often in financial difficulties, but Priscilla never actually said so. They both very much wanted children, but were unable to produce any. Once when drunk Roger hinted that Priscilla’s ‘operation’ had done some fatal damage. I did not want to know. I could see that Priscilla was unhappy, her life was boring and empty, and Roger was not a rewarding companion. I did not however want to know about this either. I rarely visited them. I occasionally gave Priscilla lunch in London. We talked of trivialities.

 

 

I opened the door, and there was Priscilla. I knew immediately that something must be wrong. Priscilla knew that I detested
ad
hoc
arrangements. Our luncheon ‘dates’ were usually fixed by letter weeks in advance.

She was smartly dressed in a navy blue ‘jersey’ coat and skirt, looking pale and tense, unsmiling. She had retained her looks into middle age, though she had put on weight and looked a good deal less ‘glossy’, now resembling a ‘career woman’: the female counterpart perhaps of Roger’s specious ‘military look’. Her well-cut ungaudy clothes, deliberately ‘classic’ and quite unlike the lurid plumage of her youth, looked a bit like uniform, the effect being counteracted, however, by the vulgar ‘costume jewellery’ with which she always loaded herself. She dyed her hair a discreet gold and wore it kempt and wavy. Her face was not a weak one, somewhat resembling mine only without the ‘cagy’ sensitive look. Her eyes were narrowed by short sight, and her thin lips were brightly painted.

She said nothing in reply to my surprised greeting, marched past me into the sitting-room, selected one of the lyreback chairs, pulled it away from the wall, sat down upon it and dissolved into desperate tears.

‘Priscilla, Priscilla, what
is
it, what’s happened? Oh, you are upsetting me so!’

After a while the weeping subsided into a series of long sighing sobs. She sat inspecting the streaks of honey-brown make-up which had come off on to her paper handkerchief.

‘Priscilla, what
is
it?’

‘I’ve left Roger.’

I felt blank dismay, instant fear for myself. I did not want to be involved in any mess of Priscilla’s. I did not even want to have to be sorry for Priscilla. Then I thought, of course there is exaggeration, misconception.

‘Don’t be silly, Priscilla. Now do calm yourself please. Of course you haven’t left Roger. You’ve had a tiff – ’

‘Could I have some whisky?’

‘I don’t keep whisky. I think there’s a little medium-sweet sherry.’

‘Well, can I have some?’

I went to the walnut hanging cupboard and poured her a glass of brown sherry. ‘Here.’

‘Bradley, it’s been awful, awful, awful. I’ve been living trapped inside a bad dream, my life has become a bad dream, the kind that makes you shout out.’

‘Priscilla, listen. I’m just on the point of leaving London. I can’t change my plans. If you like I can give you lunch and then put you on the Bristol train.’

‘I tell you I’ve left Roger.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘I think I’ll go to bed if you don’t mind.’

‘To
bed
?’

She got up abruptly, pushed out of the door banging herself against the lintel, and went into the spare bedroom. She came out again, cannoning into me, when she saw that the bed was not made up. She went into my bedroom, sat on the bed, threw her handbag violently into a corner, kicked off her shoes and dragged off her jacket. Uttering a low moan she began to undo her skirt.

‘Priscilla!’

‘I’m going to lie down. I’ve been up all night. Could you bring my glass of sherry, please?’

I fetched it.

Priscilla got her skirt off, seemingly tearing it in the process. With a flash of pink petticoat she got herself between the sheets and lay there shuddering, staring in front of her with big blank suffering eyes.

I pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.

‘Bradley, my marriage is over. I think my life is probably over. What a poor affair it has been.’

‘Priscilla, don’t talk so – ’

‘Roger has become a devil. Some sort of devil. Or else he’s mad.’

‘You know I never thought much of Roger – ’

‘I’ve been so unhappy for years, so unhappy – ’

‘I know – ’

‘I don’t understand how a human being can be so unhappy all the time and still be alive.’

‘I’m so sorry – ’

‘But lately it’s been sort of pure intense hell, he’s been sort of willing my death, oh I can’t explain, and he tried to poison me and I woke in the night and he was standing by my bed looking so terrible as if he was just making up his mind to strangle me.’

‘Priscilla, this is pure fantasy, you mustn’t – ’

‘Of course he’s off after other women, he must be, though I wouldn’t mind really if he didn’t hate me. Living with someone who hates you is – it drives you mad – He’s so often away in funny ways, says he’s late at the office and when I ring up he isn’t there. I spend so much time just wondering where he is – And he goes to conferences, I suppose there are conferences, once I rang up and – He can do anything he likes and I’m so lonely, oh so lonely – And I put up with it because there was nothing else to do – ’

‘Priscilla, there’s still nothing else to do.’

‘How can you say that to me, how can you. This cold hatred and wanting to kill me and poison me – ’

‘Priscilla, calm yourself. You can’t leave Roger. It doesn’t make sense. Of course you’re unhappy, all married people are unhappy, but you can’t just launch yourself on the world at fifty whatever you are now – ’

‘Fifty-two. Oh God, oh God – ’

‘Stop it. Stop that noise, please. Now dry yourself up and I’ll take you back to Paddington in a taxi. I’m going to the country. You can’t stay here.’

‘And I left all my jewels behind and some of them are quite valuable, and now he won’t let me have them out of spite. Oh why was I such a fool! I just ran out of the house late last night, we’d been quarrelling for hours and hours and I couldn’t stand it any more. I just ran out, I didn’t even take my coat, and I went to the station and I thought he’d come after me to the station, but he didn’t. Of course he’s been trying to drive me to run away and then say it’s my fault. And I waited at the station for hours and it was so cold and I felt as if I was going mad through sheer misery. Oh he’s been so awful to me, so vile and frightening – Sometimes he’d just go on and on and on saying “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you” – ’

‘All spouses are murmuring that to each other all the time. It’s the fundamental litany of marriage.’

‘“I hate you, I hate you – ” ’

‘I think you were saying that, Priscilla, not him. I think – ’

‘And I left all my jewels behind and my mink stole, and Roger took all the money out of our joint account – ’

‘Priscilla, brace up. Look, I’ll give you ten minutes. Just rest quietly, and then put your togs on again and we’ll leave together.’

‘Bradley – oh my God I’m so wretched, I’m choking with it – I made a home for him – I haven’t got anything else-I cared so much about that house, I made all the curtains myself-I loved all the things-I hadn’t anything else to love – and now it’s all gone – all my life has been taken away from me – I’ll destroy myself – I’ll tear myself to pieces – ’

‘Stop, please. I’m not doing you any good by listening to your complaints. You’re in a thoroughly nervous silly state. Women of your age often are. You’re simply not rational, Priscilla. I daresay Roger has been tiresome, he’s a very selfish man, but you’ll just have to forgive him. Women just have to put up with selfish men, it’s their lot. You can’t leave him, there isn’t anywhere else for you to go.’

‘I’ll destroy myself.’

‘Now make an effort. Get control of yourself. I’m not being heartless. It’s for your own good. I’ll leave you now and finish packing my own bags.’

She was sobbing again, not touching her face, letting the tears flow down. She looked so pitiful and ugly, I reached across and pulled the curtain a little. Her swollen face, the scene in the dim light, reminded me of Rachel.

‘Oh I left all my jewels behind, my diamanté set and my jade brooch and my amber ear-rings and the little rings, and my crystal and lapis necklace, and my mink stole – ’

I closed the door and went back to the sitting-room and closed the sitting-room door. I felt very shaken. I cannot stand unbridled displays of emotion and women’s stupid tears. And I was suddenly deeply frightened by the possibility of having my sister on my hands. I simply did not love her enough to be of any use to her, and it seemed wiser to make this plain at once.

I waited for about ten minutes, trying to calm and clear my mind, and then went back to the bedroom door. I did not really expect that Priscilla would have got dressed and be ready to leave. I did not know what to do. I felt fear and disgust at the idea of ‘mental breakdown’, the semi-deliberate refusal to go on organizing one’s life which is regarded with such tolerance in these days. I peered into the room. Priscilla was lying in a sort of abandoned attitude on her side, having half kicked off the bedclothes. Her mouth was wet and wide open. A plump stockinged leg stuck rather awkwardly out of the bed, surmounted by yellowish suspenders and a piece of mottled thigh. The graceless awkwardness of the position suggested a dummy which had fallen over. She said in a heavy slightly whimpering voice, ‘I’ve just eaten all my sleeping pills.’

‘What! Priscilla! No!’

‘I’ve eaten them.’ She was holding an empty bottle in her hand.

‘You’re not serious! How many?’

‘I told you my life was ruined. You went away and shut the door. Go away now and shut the door. It isn’t your fault. Just leave me in peace. Go away and catch your train. Let me sleep at last. I’ve had misery enough in my life. You said there was nowhere to go to. There is death to go to. I’ve had misery enough in my life.’ The bottle fell to the floor.

I picked it up. The label meant nothing to me. I made a sort of dart at Priscilla, trying stupidly to pull the bedclothes up over her, but one of her legs was on top of them. I ran out of the room.

In the hall I ran to and fro, starting off back to the bedroom, then running towards the flat door, then back to the telephone. As I reached the telephone it began to ring, and I picked it up.

There were the rapid pips of the ‘pay tone’, and then a click – Arnold’s voice said, ‘Bradley, Rachel and I are just in town for lunch, we’re just round the corner, and we wondered if we could persuade you to join us. Darling, would you like to talk to Bradley ?’

Rachel’s voice said, ‘Bradley, my dear, we both felt – ’

I said, ‘Priscilla’s just eaten all her sleeping pills.’

‘What? Who?’

‘Priscilla. My sister, just taken bottle sleeping pills – I – get hospital – ’

‘What’s that, Bradley? I can’t hear. Bradley, don’t ring off, we – ’