The Girl in a Swing

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