office and come out married, but I had hoped that the best
course open to us would be easier than nearly three weeks'
residence - which presumably meant spending the nights 143
for Kathe in London while I went on with my work in Newbury.
Of course, I would be able to come up at the weekends
and probably on several week-day evenings as well, but
this would be a very different matter from having her staying
at the Redwoods'. If only we had known each other
longer, the prospect would have been less off-putting. We
had, in fact, known each other for fifteen days and this was
only the ninth day (counting the Tuesday when I had first
met her) on which I had spent time - longer or shorter - in
Kathe's company. By all normal standards, of course, the
legal requirements against which I was chafing were entirely
reasonable and no fair-minded person could consider them
frustrating or onerous. But what the relationship between
Kathe and myself needed at this moment was deepening and
strengthening without any awkward hindrances or interruptions.
The prospect of any kind of separation was a
nuisance - even disturbing. I was anxious to do everything
possible to avoid what gardeners, planting out seedlings,
call 'check'. I ought to be seeing her every day; I wanted to
see her every hour. Whether or not the registrar's rules
would be reckoned awkward by anyone else, they seemed
depressingly so to me. As a dream may be disturbing, even
though it contains nothing that anyone could really call
frightening, so the situation worried and discomposed me.
Kathe left half-alone in a strange, foreign city - damn, damn,
damn!
My agitation was in no way lessened by my telephone
conversation with my mother after lunch. Although it was
clear that Tony had done his level best, she plainly felt (as
indeed did I) that things were not being done as she would
have wished; and, she implied, as she surely had something
of a right to expect. The difference between us, of course,
was that she did not share the counterbalance which made
it all justifiable - my love for Kathe and readiness to do whatever
would ensure her peace of mind.
Somewhere in our conversation my mother unluckily let
slip the phrase 'hole-and-corner'. I answered sharply - and
a moment later could have bitten my tongue out - that I
and not she was marrying the girl and if I wanted to I would
144
marry her up a tree in the Australian outback. Built-up
sexual tension, of course, was playing a part in all this. (I
have often wondered how many transactions and conversations
are influenced - even decided - by whether what Mr
Dance would call 'one or other party' has or has not had an
orgasm recently.) She became tearful. I suspected that the
tears were being used against me. She let her apprehension
show, while I for my part felt assailed by feminine vapourings
which would not play fair and come out into the open.
I longed for some way to cut through the whole silly tangle
- both the registrar and his rules and my mother's distaste
and unspoken misgiving, a heavy dose of which I was obviously
in for during the next few days - if not throughout the
next fortnight. O for a fait accomplil Yet what fait accompli
could there be?
It was in this mood that I took Kathe to see the Wallace
Collection, largely in the hope of myself regaining some
peace of mind by looking at the Sevres. Those majestic,
ornate tureens and dishes glowing with bleu de roi, emblems
of royal authority untroubled by the least trace of selfdoubt,
overcoming all obstacles with 'L'Etat, c'est mot' and
as yet knowing nothing of 'Apres nous le deluge' - they were
the placebo for me.
It was a good idea. They worked admirably. They also
enchanted Kathe, their extravagant opulence and luxury
being right up her street.
So did the Bouchers. I had forgotten they would be there.
As we came into the little room containing them she stopped
dead, gazing in nothing less than amazement at 'Venus and
Vulcan' and 'Cupid a Captive'. I looked at them and I looked
at her.
'Oh,' she murmured at last, 'I never imagined - I would
not - would not have thought it possible. Who painted
these?'
I told her about Boucher and the mistresses of Louis XV.
'I see. Well, if I were a queen, I would do the same.'
'I hardly think you'd need to be flattered by Boucher.'
'It wouldn't be a question of need, Alan. He would paint
for my - my luxury; he would adorn my pleasure like a
145
drawing-room.' She paused. 'And then, later, the revolutionaries
- they killed the king - or the next king; whatever
you told me - but they didn't destroy these paintings, did
they? No, they kept them, to go on saying, among all their
silly guns and things, what they used to say to the king. They
didn't feel able to destroy that.'
'Well, apart from anything else, of course, they were worth
money.'
She looked down the length of the galleries beyond.
'Where's the famous picture you told me about - the girl in a
swing?'
But when she saw the Fragonard she was silent, frowning.
'Oh, yes,' she said at length, 'it's a good painting, all
right. It's very clever, very pretty. But you know he's laughing,
really. He's giggling. People giggle when they're laughing
at something they feel they ought not really to be
laughing at. Boucher, you see - he wasn't giggling. He knew
better.'
'But -'
As I hesitated she turned and faced me squarely.
'Well - you weren't made to play peep-bo last night, were
you?'
A little later, standing a few yards apart from me in
front of a Hobbema from which I had already moved on, she
happened to drop her bag. The uniformed attendant beat
me to it and restored it to her, cap in hand. She thanked
and chatted to him for a minute or two, and as we left the
gallery looked back, smiling and waving for a moment. I
got the impression that he was likely to remember the incident.
By the time we left the Wallace to go and meet Tony, I
was feeling a whole lot better. My ideas were straightening
themselves out. The world, I now saw, should rightly be regarded
as a kind of pyramid, into which the blessing - the
beauty and quality - of Kathe flowed through its apex, a
single point. To be at that point and mediate that blessing
had been conferred, incredibly, on me - a ticklish and demanding
vocation indeed, but one bestowing a joy far above
146
any other to be expected in this life. The reactions of almost
everyone who had any least thing to do with Kathe amply
confirmed my perception.
Tony's arrival corroborated me yet again. The Reverend
Francis Kilvert, encountering Irish Mary on the train between
Wrexham and Chester, had nothing o
n Tony meeting Kathe.
It was plain that he must have taken my bridegroom's talk
with a fair pinch of salt and had not really been expecting
anything at all like her. She, for her part, was as gracefully
and naturally charming as waves on a summer beach. I had
told her that this was both a close friend of mine and the
clergyman who would have married us, but that, so far
from having any intention of criticizing her or trying to
change her mind, he had already emphasized that he was entirely
in sympathy with her, and was coming up to London
simply to make her acquaintance and help with our new
arrangements.
I was well content to play a minor part and to watch and
listen to them as they talked. I felt like Phryne's advocate
- there was no need for me to say anything at all. And
this, I realized, was how it was going to be from now on,
always and everywhere. Kathe could not help delighting
everyone she met. Already, as she had promised, she had
embarked upon her elected calling of making me as happy
as the day was long. I didn't mind where we went or what
we did. Provided Tony was enjoying himself it was all one to
me.
I can't remember what we talked about, though I recall
clearly the style of their conversation. It amused me to see
both of them, beneath their spontaneity and warmth, showing
from time to time a certain amount of tenacity and
friendly opposition. Once Kathe burst out laughing and
answered, 'Well, that's one thing we're not going to agree
about, isn't it?' And again, I recall Tony, a little later, shaking
his head and saying, 'You could persuade anyone, I'm
sure, but you'll still leave me in a minority of one.'
They obviously pleased each other. She had not expected
so much unecclesiastical humour and give-and-take. He had
not expected such savoir-faire and cogency of response. I felt
147
I knew them both, though they did not as yet know each
other. Although, on the surface, they were alike in their gifts
of charm and the pleasure they took in pleasing, nevertheless,
at bottom, Tony was, in the best sense of the word, a
sophist, Kathe a natural hedonist. Yet as we strolled, in the
sunny weather, across Kensington Gardens by way of the
Round Pond and the Flower Walk, they seemed to me less
polar than complementary forces - sea and land, perhaps, the
one washing about the other, and to wash it away should
insufficient resistance be encountered. But it was not. Each,
I suspected, had privately feared, beforehand, that it might
prove difficult to respect - and therefore truly to like - the
other. They found it otherwise.
Tony said very little about the actual problem of the marriage,
rightly sensing that his real contribution lay simply
in re-affirming that the situation was acceptable to him and
manageable by me, and throwing in some more moral support.
'There are only three things, really, you know,' he remarked
as we were having a late cup of tea in the hotel about
six o'clock. 'One, this is your marriage and you're the people
- no one else - to say what's going to be done. United front
- you mustn't weaken on that. Two, the London registry
office thing is a bit of a bore, Alan, as you say, but you'd
be silly to fret about it. Good Lord, it's not three weeks nothing
at all! Three, you say your mother's a bit upset and
I agree; she is - now. But you'll find she'll come round.
Parents always do. Besides, she hasn't met you yet, has she?'
he said to Kathe. 'Just play the whole thing cool and you'll
find everyone else does. I've seen problems like this sort
themselves out again and again.'
Soon after, Kathe went upstairs to bath and change for
dinner with Mr Steinberg, while Tony and I went to the bar
for a pint. As I picked up my change he grinned at me over
his tankard.
'All right, Alan,' he said, Til say all the things you know
already. She's a knockout - spectacular, beautiful beyond
words. I admit I wasn't expecting it - how could I? You're so
lucky it's not true. I'm tremendously glad on your account.'
148
He took another pull. 'I mean every word. Just tell me when
to stop.'
'Stop. But I feel like Edmund the bastard. "Speak you on;
you look as you had something more to say." '
'Well, O.K. This, then. You've got yourself a job for life and
- er-'
'Jonah Jarvis. Come to a bad end, very enjoyable.'
'Is all this quotification meant to stop me in my tracks?'
'Not a bit. Only knowing you, I've got a notion you're
about to smack one into some sort of bull's-eye and I can't
help feeling a bit apprehensive.'
'You needn't be. It's only this. In one respect - and you
ought to be left in no doubt of it - the job for life may be
harder than a lot of other people's. She's more than just
beautiful; she's outstanding, isn't she? - World-Cup standard
and all that. You're not the only one who sees it.
Virtually everyone can see it - and they're going to go on
seeing it.'
'You mean I'll have to lock her up?'
'Good Lord, no, Alan, of course I'm not suggesting anything
like that at all! No, what I'm trying to say is that
people like her carry a heavy load. I'll quote one back at you.
"It's certain that fine women eat a crazy salad with their
meat" -'
'Whereby the Horn of Plenty is undone.'
'Well, never mind the Horn of Plenty. My point is that that
sort of beauty puts a tremendous strain on the possessor. She
has to live with it night and day. Sometimes it can be a very
severe strain - you know, Vivien Leigh, Marilyn Monroe and
so on. Of course I'm not suggesting she's unbalanced or anything
like that. She's nothing of the kind - she's spot-on.
But I do think people like that often need a great deal of
looking after and a lot of sympathetic understanding. That
sort of beauty - it imposes another way of life, really, with
its own values and rules, you know. It's a ridiculous analogy,
of course, but almost like being an albino or a diabetic; it's a
factor you have to remember to bear in mind all the time;
one you can never take for granted.'
Now the truth was that despite myself I had been a shade
149
i
preoccupied during the last part of this conversation, for I
had begun to wonder exactly how I was going to fit Tony
into Mr Steinberg's dinner party. He was darned well corning
- on that I was clear. I had no intention, after all he had
done for us, of packing him off to his train within three
hours of his arrival. Certainly, Mr Steinberg was a hospitable
and good-natured man; but he was Mr Steinberg - an important,
wealthy client and one to whom it was virtually
impossible, when it came to meals and the like, to suggest
any sort of fifty-fifty split. I had telephoned him yesterday
morning and to
ld him about Kathe and he, of course, had
congratulated me warmly and said how much he was looking
forward to meeting her. That was one thing. To follow it up
by adding Tony to his dinner-party was quite another. I had
had so much on my mind during the past thirty hours that I
had simply shelved this awkward problem. Now, with less
than an hour to go, it was staring me in the face.
At this moment Mr Steinberg walked into the bar.
'in, Alan, it's great to see you,' he greeted me, shaking me
warmly by the hand as I stood up in some surprise. 'And I
guess you're wondering what I'm doing here, huh? Don't
worry, don't worry, there's nothing wrong. It's just that I
got finished this afternoon a little sooner than I expected,
so I figured I'd come round and see if you were here. I
thought maybe we could get the punchbowl business settled
good and early, if that's convenient to you, and then we can
all relax and enjoy our dinner. Oh, excuse me,' he said, turning
to Tony with a smile. 'I trust I'm not interrupting anything
important.'
'This is my friend Tony Redwood, who's come up to town
to meet my fiancee.'
'Well, this is a real pleasure, Mr Redwood,' said Mr Steinberg,
looking as though it were a real pleasure. 'A real
pleasure. Now I just hope you're not busy anywhere else this
evening, because I'd very much like for you to join us at
dinner. Any friend of Alan's is definitely a friend of mine."
Not for the first time in my life, I offered silent thanks for
the spontaneous warmth and generosity of the American
character. After Tony had demurred, Mr Steinberg had in150
sisted, I had given Tony a quick nod over Mr Steinberg's
shoulder and Tony had said what an unexpected pleasure it
was and accepted gracefully and gratefully, I left him and
Mr Steinberg over a second pint and a dry Martini respectively
and went upstairs to get the goods.
The punchbowl, lifted then and there out of its box of
wood shavings and placed on the bar ('I hope we're not
causing you any inconvenience, sir,' said Mr Steinberg to
the barman), was an outstanding success. Indeed, Mr Steinberg's
heart seemed fairly haled out of his body as he examined
the decoration at close quarters, stroked the glaze
and stood back a couple of yards to admire the smooth,
flowing shape.
'Oh, my!' he said, shaking his head, 'isn't that something?
That's beautiful - that's really beautiful! I'm very grateful
to you, Alan, I really am. You told me it was a nice one, but I
guess that was British reserve. And I'll bet you've been keeping
your eyes open my account for quite a while?'
'Well, we like to try to do our best for people who appreciate
it, Morgan, you know.'
'I surely do,' said Mr Steinberg, 'I surely do, and I just hope
you'll be able to come over to Philadelphia before long and
see it in the Dr Wall collection. It would be a great pleasure
to see you there. I'll look after it very very conscientiously,
Alan, you can be sure of that. Well, I guess this is one piece
of business that doesn't take long to wrap up. Let me write
you a cheque. I believe I've got your letter right here - yes,
here it is. You mentioned the sum -'
Now I had never been able to afford to be unduly generous
to customers - especially transatlantic ones - and this
evening, after the outgoings of the last fortnight, was no
time to begin. And yet, partly on account of my wealth of
inward happiness and the reassurance given me by Tony's
support, and partly (I hope) on account of my real appreciation
of Mr Steinberg as a sensitive and sincere collector, I
gave way to an impulse.
'Actually it's a bit less than that,' I said. Til write you a
bill now.'
Mr Steinberg, who was no fool, paused.
151
'I'm sure you must already have paid for it when you
wrote me,' he said at length, 'and you must know your normal
profit margins; and nothing's happened since then. Now
see here, Alan, I don't want you to start being overly generous
-'
It was a job to persuade him. In the end he agreed to
write a cheque for my lower price only upon condition that
Tony - whom he had discovered during their conversation
to be 'a minister' - accepted a further cheque, to be applied
to parish needs.
He had just signed the second of these when Kathe