Woman in the Mirror

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why did no one ever see them again? If they were on board a ship that went down, weren’t there any survivors? Did no one see them drown? Were they torpedoed? How did it happen?’

  ‘No, oh, no, it wasn’t that way at all. It was Richard’s idea to sail across himself.’

  ‘D’you mean in a small boat?’

  ‘Yes. He was Irish, you know, and I think he had persuaded one of the fishermen in Aberdovey to hire him a boat. Or he may have bought it – I don’t know. But the weather apparently was good. There seemed no risk. Simon drove them to this boat and then came back.’

  ‘You’ve said that before,’ Norah observed.

  Althea smiled thinly. ‘Why shouldn’t I say it again?’

  The car slowed for a flock of sheep which were meandering across the road. There was a cacophony of bleating all round them, an orchestra tuning up without a conductor.

  Norah said: ‘So why does he blame himself?’

  ‘Because he thinks he should have stopped the marriage – certainly that he should have stopped the foolhardy adventure that led to their death.’

  ‘But how could he have? Anyway, that hardly seems an adequate reason for feeling guilt.’

  ‘Who mentioned guilt?’

  ‘He did. Althea, why is Simon so preoccupied with the lake? The lake in your garden, I mean.’

  ‘Is he? You must appreciate it is his first time home for some time. He likes – has always liked to wander.’

  The sheep had reluctantly parted, and Timson accelerated the big car away.

  Norah said: ‘I suppose he’s enjoying his freedom.’

  ‘What freedom?’

  ‘Well, I understood – I thought he’d been in some sort of nursing home.’

  ‘Did he tell you that too?’

  ‘I got that impression.’

  ‘Well, so he has. But it was of his own free will. He went there because he wished to and stayed there because he wished to. No one compelled him . . .’

  ‘I didn’t know. I’m glad to know that.’

  After a minute Mrs Syme said: ‘Naturally all this is something we don’t exactly boast about outside the family. That’s why I’ve been a little secretive to you. Perhaps it was a mistake not to tell you everything from the first.’

  ‘Perhaps it was.’

  The older woman raised her eyebrows but did not reply. Then she went on: ‘Simon was a frightfully difficult boy. His mother had great trouble in rearing him. He’d sit silent for hours refusing to move or speak. At school he was very backward, not because he was stupid but because he wouldn’t use his brain. Often he wouldn’t eat or drink for half a day. The doctor said they were withdrawal symptoms. After school his parents tried to get him articled to a solicitor and eventually he passed the exams, but by then war had broken out and he joined the Air Force. He was in quite a lot of bombing raids before he was shot down and he was six hours in the North Sea. When he recovered he spent some weeks in hospital before being discharged. When Marion died in this useless foolish way it seemed, as I’ve told you, to distress him over afresh and he went back for more treatment. Since then, until recently, he hasn’t chosen to come out. I visited him every quarter. He seemed content in his own way to live a pointless, wasted life . . . It was good news when we knew he was able and willing to face the world again.’

  Norah said: ‘I’ve seen some of his paintings. It seems to me very positive, strong. Surely that’s a good enough way of living, isn’t it? After all . . .’

  ‘What were you going to say?’

  She was going to say, after all your own son, but refrained. ‘Well, many artists are a bit eccentric, aren’t they? Without, I mean, being thought – schizoid . . .’ The word was out. She hurried on: ‘By nature they don’t conform. Half of them would be considered dunces at school, in ordinary subjects. Their standards are different. They live what to a normal person would seem a lax, unconventional life, yet . . .’

  ‘And Van Gogh cut off his own ear,’ said Althea.

  That seemed to end the conversation, but as they neared the house she added: ‘Simon hasn’t had a really depressive state for two years. He is coming out into the light. We must all try to help him.’

  Norah said: ‘I think he has the impression that someone was drowned in your lake. He has painted a body floating, in one of his pictures.’

  They drew up at the door.

  ‘That,’ said Althea, ‘was a maid. It happened in 1923, when Simon was a little boy. I suppose it made rather an impression on him. The girl became pregnant – in those days and in these parts it was the ultimate disgrace – she couldn’t face it. I’m sorry that he has painted that. It shows that his preoccupation is still worrying him.’

  II

  When they got in Althea went straight up to her bedroom to change, and Norah took the case containing the notes of her speech to the study. When she opened the door she found Gregory sitting at the desk with a number of ledgers open before him. He rose sharply and bent to gather some papers from the floor.

  ‘You’re back early,’ he said. ‘I always forget Timson drives so fast.’

  When he straightened up his face was flushed.

  ‘Your mother’s just changing. Have you had tea?’

  ‘I have. But I expect there’ll be some in the small drawing-room.’

  She saw that the door of the safe was open. It was a combination lock. She put the satchel in a drawer, picked up a sheet she had mistyped that morning and screwed it up, dropped it into the wastepaper basket. He stood watching her.

  She said: ‘It was a fine lecture. Your mother was a great success.’

  He nodded. ‘Oh, yes. Oh, yes, she’s very good at that.’

  ‘Do you ever go with her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I think she’d appreciate it sometimes.’

  ‘Yes. Maybe.’

  ‘Did you get your book?’

  ‘Which book?’

  ‘The one on heredity. You ordered it in Aberystwyth.’

  ‘Not yet. Anyway, I think maybe I’ve got enough to study here.’

  She was not sure how he meant this, but she could see he was in no mood to explain.

  ‘It was beginning to rain when we came in.’

  ‘That’s the forecast.’

  He waited until she walked away. As she opened the door to go out he moved to put the ledgers back in the safe.

  III

  At the mouth of the passageway leading to his bedroom Simon was talking to Doole.

  ‘They just don’t disappear, man. They were on my dressing-table this morning where I always keep them!’

  ‘Alice hasn’t taken them,’ Doole said sullenly. ‘I’ve asked her again. And I’ve looked all over the floor.’

  ‘It was a bottle of twenty. I take two a day. It’s Sunday tomorrow and I can’t get into a chemist’s to renew the prescription. Apart from . . .’

  ‘Those pills on the dressing-table . . .’

  ‘Are not mine, I assure you. They’re peach-coloured instead of pink and they’re not the right shape . . .’

  ‘The bottle says . . .’

  ‘The bottle is wrong – at least, it looks the same sort of bottle . . .’

  ‘With your name on it, sir . . .’

  ‘That’s a mistake. Someone has made a mistake over that. Who I don’t know. The point is that my pills have been removed or taken or mislaid. And I tell you, Doole, I will not be supervised, watched over, my life controlled or interfered with! No one has any right to do that. It was bad enough . . .’

  He caught sight of Norah and his face lightened.

  She said: ‘Can I help? Can I look for you? If they’ve dropped on the floor . . .’

  He said quietly: ‘Thank you, I think we’ve all scoured the bedroom. Before we resort to more drastic measures I’ll ask Althea; she may have put them somewhere for safety.’

  But at tea he made no mention of his loss.

/>   IV

  She had thought there might have been time to take a stroll after tea in case Christopher were still anywhere in the neighbourhood; but it rained heavily. However at six there was a ring at the door and presently he came in with some photographs he had promised for Mrs Syme. He was particularly talkative, and stayed for drinks but refused dinner. This made dinner late. Norah saw him to the door; it was their only moment together standing on the top step looking at his little four-seater waiting in the steely rain.

  She told him of her conversation with Althea on the way home today but did not mention her meeting with Simon at the lake last night.

  He said: ‘I was in the pub again at lunch time, but nothing fresh. Look I don’t want to over-persuade you, but you’ve given this place nearly a week and you can’t pretend you like it.’

  ‘No . . .’

  ‘Well, I’m going back to London at the end of next week, but I’d make it earlier if you felt like throwing this job up and coming with me. Maybe there’s not a thing wrong with Simon now – personally I like the chap; you tell me he’s got a lot of talent and certainly he’s got a lot of charm. But it’s not your scene, Norah. Honestly, I mean it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, you’re too pretty – too normal to become involved. I think it will depress you – in a sense it may engulf you. Don’t you find the house enormously pervasive? I don’t think I’m specially sensitive to atmosphere, but I certainly feel it here. Look at it, it’s out of its century. Most old houses come to terms with the times they’re living in – this one hasn’t.’

  ‘Didn’t you say the first time we met that I should probably grow a hump and a beard?’

  ‘That was a bit of good clean fun. But I’m serious now. I think you should get out while the going’s good.’

  ‘And leave everything just as it is, unexplained, unsolved . . . nasty?’

  ‘Nasty is the word. What is it all to you? Look at Doole – he’s more like a keeper than a butler. Sure he isn’t here to look after Simon?’

  ‘No, no . . . They did come together – in the same car, I remember. But Doole had been on holiday.’

  ‘I bet he’d been to fetch him.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. But I do know for certain that Doole has been the butler for over two years. So it can’t be the way you think.’

  ‘Even Timson looks more like a male nurse than a chauffeur.’

  ‘Oh, now you are imagining things! Christopher, I think I should go now. They’ll be waiting dinner . . .’

  ‘Let them wait one minute more. Norah, you know I’m very taken with you. I think – I hope – you like me. If you come back to London maybe we could get together. I promise I’d play by the rules – your rules, whatever they are. If things went as I think they would, we could get married . . .’

  She hesitated before answering and then said: ‘I don’t want to seem tactless, Christopher, but wouldn’t this be number three?’

  ‘Oh, so old Althea has been gossiping, has she? All right, I’ve made mistakes. I agree, it’s not too much of a recommendation. But a wise man learns. Maybe the man who has had two motor accidents is a better man to be with than a beginner who hardly knows his left side from his right.’

  Norah looked up at the sky. It was a vaporous evening. The downpour was thundery, the air warm and steamy; clouds hung over the mountains like white shrouds; no wind, nothing stirred, everything dripped.

  She said: ‘And shouldn’t a man who has had two motor accidents – isn’t it better for him to drive a bit more slowly for a time?’

  ‘Not in an emergency.’

  ‘And this is an emergency?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  She looked at the rain bouncing like steam off the steps. ‘So that’s a proposal, is it?’

  ‘It’s a proposition with, I trust, a proposal at the end of it.’

  ‘You’re very honest, Christopher. I like that.’

  ‘I hope that’s not all you like.’

  ‘No, not all. Not by any means. But I . . .’

  ‘But? Never say but!’

  ‘I have to. At least, I think I have. Perhaps I’ve got to think for us both.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, you see – I’ve had a car accident too.’

  ‘What – you’ve been married?’

  ‘No – nothing as grave as that. Only dented one wing a bit. But it hurts. And it does make me – a little accident-shy.’

  He stared at her. ‘Is it over?’

  ‘Oh, yes . . . Oh, yes. But I’m still feeling traces of concussion.’

  He stirred with his foot the moisture accumulating on the top step. ‘I think it may be a mistake, after one accident, to be too shaken to drive at all.’

  She nodded. ‘That could be true.’

  ‘Yes . . . Well, as I said, we’ll go at your speed. If necessary in a thoroughly decorous way. That’s up to you.’

  She glanced back into the house. ‘I haven’t an answer absolutely ready – not even to that. I still have to think. And I believe there’s something here that I want to see out. But thank you.’

  He shrugged impatiently. ‘Don’t thank me. If you’re in love with a girl a marriage proposal is the most selfish of acts.’

  ‘And you’re sure you’re in love with me?’

  ‘Yes. And being very selfish, I want you to myself.’

  She said: ‘You’ll be here a week yet?’

  ‘Eight days, if I stay my full time.’

  ‘I think I should know by then. I ought to.’

  ‘Then we must meet more regularly. This hole-in-the-corner business is no good.’

  ‘Christopher, I’m not sure about even that. It might be better if we even saw less of each other for the next day or so.’

  ‘Whatever makes you say that?’

  ‘Just a hunch, a feeling. It would sort of – help perspective, I think.’

  ‘Who cares about perspective?’

  She laughed. ‘Well, I do – in the peculiar circumstances. And seriously, I want to stay here another few days. I want to let things work themselves out.’

  ‘So be it. You’re the boss. Though I don t promise to keep away, if that’s what you’re suggesting. Anyway, if you should want me urgently . . .’

  ‘Is it likely?’

  ‘Who knows? Give me a ring. Llandathery four one. Is there another telephone in the house except in Althea’s study?’

  ‘No. But there’ll be no problem about that.’

  He kissed her, a little less certainly this time; it was as if he lost confidence the deeper he found himself involved. ‘Don’t let’s argue. That’s a bargain. If you should want me – for any reason – I’ll make an excuse and call.’

  ‘Thank you . . . All right. I must go now. Goodbye.’

  As she shut the door and moved towards the dining-room she heard the whirr of his self-starter.

  She felt her face was flushed, but there was no time to cool it before she went in.

  ‘Ah, there you are, pet,’ said Althea pleasantly, eyes going appreciatively over her. ‘We took the liberty of starting.’

  But Simon stared at her angrily. As she sipped her soup it crossed her mind to hope that he was not thinking of her as another Marion who was involving herself with a man against his will.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I

  Sunday was fine but sulphurous. Unusual weather for October. The summer had lasted all through and now was breaking up. Marble-coloured clouds spiralled on dark foundations. Rain moved over the mountains and the sky showed faded flags of green and blue. It was still warm.

  In the morning Norah went down towards the lake but stopped short when she saw Simon there painting. She halted by a mespilus whose leaves were turning a brilliant orange-brown. From here the clouds over the mountains looked as tangible as the mountains themselves. The lake reflected alpine ranges.

  She turned and went back into the house and through it and began to walk down the v
alley the opposite way from the way she met Christopher. She had three or four days to sort herself out before coming to a decision, and taking a long walk was as good a way as any of doing this.

  She wondered what her friends would say if they heard that, having broken so comprehensively from Robert, she suddenly dashed off with a man she had only known a week. (Not that it mattered. Not that that was the important thing.) ‘I’ll play it by your rules,’ Christopher had said. But what were her rules? She really hadn’t any to fit the situation. (Was Christopher even free to marry her if they decided on that? Presumably, since he had asked her.)

  Really, all this was peripheral to the central question. Did she love him? And if so, to what extent? If she loved him everything followed, and it wasn’t so important in what order it came. If she didn’t love him, then surely nothing followed, nothing ought to follow for someone like herself who didn’t seem able in her nature to give or receive lightly.

  She stopped at a turn in the valley and stared back at the house. It looked bigger than ever from here. There were a lot of other rooms she had not yet seen. The uncurtained windows nearer the cliff looked like eyes gone blind with age.

  So she didn’t love him – was that it? She was attracted, more physically attracted than she had yet admitted to herself. She could see herself being completely bowled over by him, by his maleness, by his charm and – to do him justice – by the sincerity of his own emotions. But a certain amount of fear added to her hesitation – fear that once they were committed to each other he might tire and be able to disengage while she by then could not. The other two wives flickered about in her mind.

  A spot of rain fell on her hand. It was an isolated spot but large and spread across her knuckles. Another spot fell on the leaf of a sapling sycamore, a third on the ground at her feet. They were like shells from a battery finding its range. She was half a mile from the house and clouds were congregating overhead. She turned and began to walk back.