Such thoughts flitted in her head as she sat now on her white school bed, and held her warm brown-stockinged foot in her hand. They flitted around with lots of other thoughts, memories of snowy slopes mauve with aspens, of that melancholy lake in Texas, of her dear father frowning with anxiety as he prepared his lectures, of the awful little flatlet where she had cried so much before Pearl came, of the kindly nervous guilty face of Margot Meynell, now Mrs Albert Markowitz, and distantly distantly dimly of Hattie’s mother, the unhappy dead lady who had once been Miss Rozanov.
A distant bell rang. Hattie thrust a clean handkerchief into her knickers, and emerged substanceless as a seed into the brown spaces of the landing and the stairs which she was destined to dream about for the rest of her life.
John Robert Rozanov was floating like an enormous baby in the hot flowing waters of his private bath in the Ennistone Rooms. His bath was a large boat-shaped affair made of white tiles with blunt ends. At each end there was a seat which was under water when the bath was full. There was a fan which expelled the steam, but John Robert had not put it on; he liked steam. The hot curative waters flowed in, indeed roared in, from the fat glistening brass taps which were never turned off by day or night, so that the Rooms were full of a ceaseless roaring to which the inmates were quickly accustomed and said to deafened visitors ‘I don’t hear it!’ ‘They may not hear it, but it affects them,’ someone said darkly to the Director of the Institute, Vernon Chalmers, who quickly prepared and kept in reserve a little monograph on the therapeutic powers of sound. Dazed, almost drowsy, with unheard noise John Robert floated, his white-skinned whale-belly huge before him. His big flipper-like hands kept him buoyant, moving slowly to and fro in the space of the bath, while the steaming water fell from the taps at a controlled temperature of forty-two degrees Centigrade. The bath could be filled by turning a brass handle to close the plug at the bottom, after which the water rose to an outlet vent near the top. When the plug was lifted, the water subsided to a uniform level of about a foot, spitting and gurgling under the violence of the jets from above.
Last night John Robert had dreamt that he was being pursued by a lot of squealing piglets who turned out to be human infants running very fast on all fours. Later he saw the same creatures lying on the ground as if asleep, only now they were dolls, and he thought, ‘they were dolls after all.’ Some of them lay quiet, and these he took to be dead; others were moving and twitching slightly, and these he took to be dying. He thought, but surely dolls must be dead. He picked up one of the dead ones and put it in his pocket. His mother came and asked to see it. When he brought it out he saw with horror that it was alive and in pain. In the morning he woke up early and went out for a walk. He looked into the big bright clean Methodist church where he had worshipped as a child. He had not been there for a long time and felt a weird shock when he recognized the numbers of the hymns. He then visited the little corrugated- Iron Roman Catholic chapel where his mother had once told him that they worshipped a goddess. Why had she frightened him by saying that, was it meant to be a joke? He looked inside into the dark which was full of images. An aged priest appeared who said that he remembered his grandfather. People in Burkestown all knew John Robert, smiled at him and said, ‘Good morning, Professor.’
John Robert propelled himself to one end of the bath and adopted a sitting position, his head and shoulders now above the water. He mopped his red swollen steamy face with an adjacent towel, and began to go through the exercises which his Japanese doctor in California had recommended for his arthritis. When John Robert went to Texas and Arizona his arthritic symptoms disappeared. Since his return into the English spring he had felt old familiar pains together with new strange ones. As he rotated his head and twitched his shoulders and turned his arms into snakes he sighed, then groaned into the hurly-burly of the roaring stream. The warmth was kind to his bulky pain-ridden body. As he swayed himself gently in the waters he could not but believe in their therapeutic power. But for the weary diminishing cells of the mind there was no alleviation, unless it might be a strong electric shock to shake them all up again like counters in a game. He was so tired and so old, and he had so much to decide and such terrible things to do.
Meanwhile outside at that very moment the sun was shining on the Outdoor Bath, which was less steamy today because the air temperature was higher. The sky was blue, clothes and bodies looked bright and hard-edged and clear, and the cries which people always utter in swimming-pools echoed in the sunny northern light. In Diana’s Garden Ruby, Diane and Pearl were standing together, a rare conjunction, not marked since few people in Ennistone knew Pearl by sight. Pearl had been to visit her foster-mother who lived in Kilburn and who had written to her asking for money. Pearl could have sent the money by post, but decided to visit the old lady at least partly so as to exhibit her own affluence and sophistication. The foster-mother, visited, made a point of not being interested in Pearl’s life. Then she wept self-pityingly. Pearl left, upset and cross. Unhappy stirred up memories then made her suddenly want to go to Ennistone, where there was no particular reason for her to be and where she rarely went, since she knew that it was out of bounds under John Robert’s rules. She came to the Baths looking for Ruby.
Diane was wearing a dark blue tweed coat which she had bought at the second-hand shop. She ought not to have bought it. She had savings, but George’s non-appearance was reducing her spending money. It can’t go on, she told herself. She was not sure what this meant, but at least it suggested that her troubles would end somehow. Everything was disorderly and menacing. A lot of things had been stolen on the day when the lights went out at Bowcocks. Supposing someone were to accuse her of thieving? Everyone would be thrilled to believe it, she was vulnerable to any accusation. Suppose her money ran out, could she ask Ruby or Pearl for a loan? Impossible. Ruby regarded Diane as a fallen woman, someone who had ruined herself and was finished. Diane could not forgive this. Nor could she forgive Pearl for being young and free, and for looking so horribly healthy and independent in a corduroy jacket and trousers. Diane felt close to tears. How pleased everyone would be to see her crying in public. Everyone, that is, except George, who would be furiously angry. Fortunately George was absent. I had better go, thought Diane, I’ve been away for long enough, perhaps he’ll come - Oh, if only I could go to the cinema like ordinary people do. Where will I be a year from now? Will I be somewhere else, could I be? Will I be dead? Will he be dead? The idea that George was going to commit suicide had now lodged in her mind. This did not appal her, it gave her a kind of relief, not because she felt she would survive George, but because she apprehended it as her own death.
Ruby was brown and monumental and self-absorbed, not even showing the little signs of pleasure, like tiny droplets glistening upon a rock, which she usually exhibited when Pearl was present. Ruby was totally fascinated by her new relationship with Alex. At least Ruby’s side of it was new. Alex did not really know. Ruby had not yet moved. Ruby was actually far more alarmed by her new state of mind than her employer was. Some old unquestioned thing had quietly gone out of her life. Was it good that it had gone? Ruby sensed her power and was appalled by it. It was almost as if she could, if she wished, destroy Alex. Did she want to? No. But the pension, that meant independence, equality. Equality? She had only to stretch out her hand and decree it. She had only to go and sit in the drawing-room with Alex and say, we must eat together henceforth, we are two old women living together from now on. Could she do that? Ruby could picture doing it, but could not picture what might follow. It did not occur to her that Alex might tell her to go. The idea of being ‘dismissed’ did not exist for Ruby. How could it? She had brushed Alex’s hair when Alex was sixteen.
‘How’s the little madam?’ said Diane.
‘All right. I haven’t seen her lately.’
‘Aren’t you paid to keep an eye on her?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t you call at the school?’
‘She doesn’t lik
e it.’
‘Why, is she ashamed of you?’
‘No.’
‘Off to USA soon, I suppose?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t do it,’ said Ruby suddenly.
‘Do what?’
‘Be like me.’
‘It’s not like that,’ said Pearl, ‘I’m not her— ’ She could not find the word.
‘Who’s that girl?’ said Emmanuel Scarlett-Taylor.
‘My brother’s mistress.’
‘Good heavens.’
‘Which girl do you mean? The girl in the tweed coat is George’s mistress. The big old brown thing is my mother’s servant. I don’t know who the girl in trousers is.’
‘Servant,’ murmured Emma. ‘What a strange old-fashioned word.’
Tom was garbed for swimming, his wig of long curly hair still dry. Emma was dressed, complete with coat and waistcoat and high collar and bow tie and watch chain.
‘Why don’t you talk to her?’
‘Which?’
‘Either.’
‘I can’t talk to the mistress, so I can’t talk to the servant.’
‘Why not? You smiled at the mistress.’
‘Yes, but she didn’t smile back.’
‘So I saw. Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why these prohibitions?’
‘Because of George.’
‘George is a reason?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is George here?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I want to meet him.’
‘I don’t advise it.’
‘You seem to live under a reign of terror. What’s that?’
‘What?’
‘That thing with the railing round it.’
‘That’s the Little Teaser.’
‘The what?’
‘That’s what we call it. Lud’s Rill. It’s a hot spring. It jumps up a little. It’s very hot.’
‘I don’t think much of it. Where’s the real hot spring?’
‘You can’t see it. It’s somewhere down below.’
‘Have you seen it?’
‘No.’
‘Who’s that girl?’
‘Anthea Eastcote.’
‘She didn’t smile either. You smiled at her.’
‘She didn’t see me.’
‘She did. She cut you.’
‘Oh never mind. Perhaps she wants to make me jealous.’
‘You’re upset.’
‘I’m not!’
‘The trouble with you is you want everybody to love you.’
‘Stop nagging, Emma.’
‘All right, I won’t say another word.’
‘And don’t sulk either.’
‘Who’s the chap with her?’
‘Hector Gaines. He’s a historian. You’d like him.’
‘Introduce me.’
‘Not now.’
‘You drag me here and you won’t introduce me to anyone.’
‘There’s Alex!’
‘Where?’
‘There.’
‘You mean the girl in the green costume who’s kicking up the water and twirling round and round like a corkscrew?’
‘Yes. She likes doing that.’
‘She reminds me of something I saw once in a pool in the west of Ireland.’
‘Well, I’m going swimming now. Be good.’
Tom dived in and swam toward Alex. Like Adam, he felt easier with her in the water. She had stopped her whirligig and waved to him. Tom passed her, touching her wet smooth shoulder, squeezing it slightly. She put her hand to his head, tugging the wet curls. He passed on with a lighter heart. It was true that he wanted everyone to love him, everyone.
Alex looked after him. She was well aware that Tom’s not staying was an important gesture, a declaration of independence. On the other hand she knew that Tom wished to have it both ways, to stand away and yet to be absolutely wanted. He had come to see her yesterday. She had not play-acted preoccupation, distraction. She had been really unable to attend to him and to fuss over him as she usually did. He had found her in the Slipper House with Ruby, cleaning, moving furniture, installing new things which she had ordered. Tom and Ruby carried some of the heavier objects up the stairs. Alex did not explain these changes to Tom. She had not explained them to Ruby. Robin Osmore had written to Rozanov with details of the let. Alex felt uneasy, happy. Life was, again, vivid and unpredictable at last.
‘Don’t drip all over me.’
‘Sorry, Emma.’
‘I want to meet George.’
‘He isn’t here!’
‘Isn’t that your other brother coming, with the boy?’
‘Hello, Brian. You remember Scarlett-Taylor.’
‘Hello. I hear you went to see Alex yesterday.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Gabriel telephoned. We’ve stopped seeing her.’
‘Really?’
‘A wishful thought.’
‘Do you know Alex’s latest? She wants to keep bees!’
‘She must be stopped at all costs.’
‘How’s dog, papillon?’ said Emma to Adam.
‘Zed’s fine,’ said Adam, with distant but friendly dignity.
‘Isn’t he here?’
‘He’s not allowed. I want him to swim. He swims well. He loves it.’
‘Are we going to the sea?’ said Tom to Brian.
‘The family seaside jaunt is on, I believe, come the summer.’
‘Staying in a hotel?’
‘No, just the day.’
‘Not near Maryville, I couldn’t bear it.’
‘There’s the moon,’ said Adam to Emma. And there indeed it was, quite full and as pale as a cream cheese in the brilliant blue sky.
‘Why doesn’t it shine?’
‘The sun doesn’t let it.’
‘Have you got a dog?’
‘No,’ said Emma. Then something caught him in the throat. He had had a dog when he was Adam’s age, a darling spaniel with a spotty nose. It had been run over and killed before his eyes. He said, ‘I did have one - once — ’
Adam understood and looked away.
‘Look out,’ said Tom, ‘Percy Bowcock with Mrs Osmore.’
‘Too late, hello, Percy. Good morning, Mrs Osmore.’
‘May I introduce my friend, Emmanuel Scarlett-Taylor? Mr Bowcock, Mrs Osmore.’
Percy (a rich Bowcock, Gabriel’s cousin) said to Brian, ‘Do you think Professor Rozanov could be persuaded to give a lecture in the Ennistone Hall?’
‘How should I know, I’m not in charge of the old fool,’ said Brian. Brian’s rudeness sometimes made people say that he was simply George by other means, but that was only a façon de parler.
Tom said to Adam, ‘Give me an idea for a pop song.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Scarlett-Taylor and I are going to write a pop song and make our fortunes.’
‘We are not,’ said Emma.
‘I shall write the words and he will write the music. Think of something, a pop song only needs one line.’
‘What about - what about - “It’s only me.”’
‘It’s only me?’
‘Yes. There’s two snails on a leaf, one on each side. Then one comes round the leaf and says to the other one, “It’s only me.”’
‘Must they be snails?’ said Tom after a moment’s thought.
‘I see them as snails,’ Adam said firmly.
‘I think it’s brilliant,’ said Tom.
Mrs Osmore asked Emma how he was enjoying Ennistone. Emma said it was a very interesting place.
‘You’re Irish, Mr Taylor?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh I know. The sorrows of Ireland! You must feel such resentment against us for still occupying your country.’
Emma smiled sweetly.
‘Is that Tom McCaffrey?’ said Pearl.
‘Yes.’
‘He’s grown up.’
‘He’s not as pret
ty as he used to be,’ said Diane, who had funny feelings about Tom.
‘How are things at Belmont?’ Pearl asked Ruby.
‘Bad.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s the fox. The fox does it.’ This was a piece of old gipsy folklore.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Diane.
‘It will come to bad things.’
‘I suppose you’re going to see Professor Rozanov?’ Diane said to Pearl. ‘Will he give you your severance pay?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Jobs are hard to get these days.’
‘Luckily I don’t need one.’
‘Don’t be touchy.’
‘Are you going to see him now?’ asked Ruby.
‘Not now.’
‘Tomorrow? Isn’t it funny that he’s back at the old house at Hare Lane?’ said Diane. ‘Where are you spending the night? The Royal Hotel, I suppose?’
Pearl blushed scarlet. Rozanov had not told her or Hattie that he was coming to Ennistone. She had supposed him safely far away in California. If he were to see her …. Aflame with guilt, she looked round the clear brilliantly coloured scene. She said, ‘I must go, I’ve got to telephone, nice to have seen you.’ And she turned and ran for the exit.
‘What do you suppose — ’ began Diane.
‘Here’s Madam,’ said Ruby.
She still sometimes referred to Alex in this way.
It had begun to rain.
‘Put your umbrella up, you’re getting wet,’ said Tom to Emma.
‘You go and get dressed, you’re shivering with cold.’