He smiled and said, ‘It must be embarrassing to be shown over a house by its owner. I assure you there’s no need to be polite but you’ll probably go on feeling you ought to be. So how would it be if I left you on your own? I have to see the woman who’s supposed to keep an eye on the place and I’d like to get it over. Then we can have tea. I shan’t be gone more than twenty minutes. All right?’
She agreed thankfully, adding, ‘One can take in a house’s possibilities better when one’s on one’s own.’
‘And its impossibilities. Don’t worry, my dear. Just pretend you’re going round the Chamber of Horrors.’
‘No, really –’
He cut her short. ‘We’ll talk when I get back. Don’t worry.’
He gave her a parting smile of such intimacy that she felt he must know all that was going on in her mind. She stood in the hall until she heard the car being driven away, then mentally shook herself. It was absurd to feel … whatever she did feel … excitement, apprehension, almost panic – what utter nonsense! He did not know what was going on in her mind, not even the portion of the turmoil which was connected with the house. Oh, he might suspect she didn’t like it but what did that matter? She only had to say it was too big, a little lonely; there was no need to go on being insincerely polite, and perhaps she could find things she could praise with sincerity. Anyway, she must explore. And there was no point in harrowing herself by thinking about his wife’s miseries. But what about his miseries? Well, he’d survived. Concentrate on that.
She found a room which was a cross between a study and an office, a well-equipped kitchen, reasonably cheerful, and leading off it, the little breakfast room. At the end of a passage a door opened into the older part of the house, which appeared to be used only for storage purposes. It had a dungeon-like atmosphere. She came back hastily to the lived-in rooms – an absurd description for them now. Then she went upstairs and into five bedrooms, one of them minus its fourposter and wardrobe. In all of them the old furniture was good, but most later additions and all decorations – which looked as if they belonged to the days of his wife’s parents – were in bad, charmless taste. How could the man who now lived in the admirably furnished Westminster house have stood this place even for weekends? Well, compared with the horror of spending weekends with a dipsomaniac wife, surroundings could hardly have been important.
There was an attic storey reached by a narrow staircase, at the top of which she stood and took in that one long, raftered room ran the full length of the house. She saw some broken furniture, a few pieces of old luggage, and a pile of photographs, their silver frames now black, She examined some of the photographs and came across a wedding group in which Thornton was the bridegroom. As a young man, and obviously a very young man, he had been debonair, conventionally good-looking, and slightly reminiscent of a jeune premier about to break into a song and dance. His bride looked innocuous, just a slim, fair girl, resembling Robin but less pretty and with a weak chin. There was a striking old woman in a particularly graceful hat – Thornton’s grandmother, Jill felt sure, recognizing a masterpiece from the Spa Street milliner. The only other person whose identity seemed guessable was an elderly man who suggested an actor playing a tipsy part in an old film: the bride’s father, perhaps, as the girls had said her alcoholism was inherited. Poor girls, terrified of what might be their own inheritance.
Well, she’d done her duty by the house. She gave a last look at the boyish face in the photograph, then went downstairs and out into the front garden. She would, on his return, again praise the beauty of the facade. There was nothing else she could, with even a show of sincerity, praise.
The sky was now heavily overcast yet, looking back from the gate, she saw the rose-painted house as if in the light of a lurid sunset. The illusion lasted for only an instant – the sun would not set for hours. The house was lit by its own perpetual sunset. She imagined describing this to Miles. Then she heard Thornton’s car returning and found herself revisited by panic.
It must have shown in her face; for Thornton on getting out of the car at once said, ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
She said faintly, ‘Nothing. Nothing whatever.’
‘But there is. You’re trembling.’ He put his hand on her arm to steady her. ‘Is it the house? Were you frightened to be alone there?’
The house had depressed her but not frightened her. Indeed, concentrating on it had driven off the panic now returned. But she said at once, ‘Yes, it was the house,’ and went on trembling.
‘I was a fool to leave you there. You’d better sit down – in the car, if you’re frightened of the house.’
‘No, I shan’t mind it now.’ She detached herself from his grip and walked towards the house.
‘What you need’s a drink – and there’s no drink here these days unless it exudes from the walls.’
‘Tea will be better.’ She sat down in the hall.
‘I’m afraid the tea’s chocolate. The girls said you liked it. And they don’t think tea’s good out of a thermos.’
‘Chocolate will be wonderful – really. I’m all right now.’ It was true; anyway, she had stopped shaking. And it was certainly better to have found out what was the matter with her; she had done so when he gripped her arm. Now she could concentrate on not letting him find out.
‘I’ll get the picnic case. Will you mind being alone here for a couple of minutes?’
‘Not in the least. I brought some marrons glacés. They’re in the glove compartment.’
She watched him as he hurried out to the car. Of course, it was all very dreadful but no one but herself was going to know about it – and if one felt marvelous, well, one did, and that was that. One felt all the more marvellous because one had forgotten how marvellous feeling marvellous was. She wanted to laugh aloud but that would hardly be suitable for a woman supposed to have been terrified by a haunted house. She composed her features as Thornton came back with the picnic case.
He said, ‘Where shall we have it? The little breakfast room, I think.’
‘Why not the kitchen?’ It had seemed to her the one cheerful room.
‘All right. But we can’t boil a kettle or anything. We always cooked by the Aga stove.’
‘We don’t want to boil a kettle or anything. Come on. I liked the kitchen.’
‘It’s the one room that had to be done up regularly. Otherwise we couldn’t have kept any help. Sylvia never went near it. She liked rooms to remain unchanged; it became a sort of mania with her. Any sort of change frightened her. Did you really feel that she haunts this house?’
‘Sort of,’ she said, untruthfully.
‘She’d be a most unwilling ghost. And I’m afraid the poor dear will be furious if she finds she has an immortal soul. She once said she’d like to rub herself out, not only from existing but also from having existed. She had the most absolute will to oblivion.’
‘Was she quite sane?’
‘Probably not, towards the end. But she was always too sane for any escape into insanity, and too sane for one to feel one could justifiably force anything on her, such as so-called cures or psychiatric treatment. But we won’t go on talking about her. I’ll take your sympathy for granted, if I may – both for her and myself.’ He was unpacking the picnic case. ‘I think those dear girls have over-estimated our appetites.’
‘Oh, I can eat quite a lot,’ said Jill cheerfully.
‘You’re really feeling better? It never occurred to me that the house could have any effect on you, beyond boredom. I’d have said it was too utterly dreary to awake your imagination.’
She’d better get this said: ‘Did you really think Miles and I would want to stay here?’
‘Not for a moment.’ He had spread out the tea, opened a thermos, and was now pouring out chocolate.
‘Then why did you bring me here?’
‘I fancy you know the answer to that one. But you’re entitled to get it in plain English. I wanted a few hours alone with you.’
‘B
ut you invited Miles too.’
‘Having chosen an afternoon when I knew he couldn’t come. Anyway, I had an idea that Miles, out of the kindness of his heart, would let you come alone. Jill, I know about Miles.’
She considered looking blank and saying, ‘Know what?’ but decided it would be futile, the kind of dialogue that always put Miles off a play. She substituted, ‘I suppose quite a lot of people do.’
‘In theatrical circles, perhaps, but it’s not at all obvious. I was astonished when the girls told me.’
‘The girls?’
‘Kit, actually. She’s known about homosexuality since she was ten years old when she asked what crime Oscar Wilde committed. My grandmother, who had met and liked Wilde, obliged with a straightforward answer couched in such a way that Kit accepted homosexuality as being neither right nor wrong, despicable nor pitiable, but simply existent. She wasn’t particularly interested; unlike many children, she’s never had much sexual curiosity. But a couple of years ago, when Julian was involved in a school scandal, she said to me, “I feel guilty at being so ignorant,” and promptly read the subject up. She now knows more about it than I do. Here, do eat something.’
She found herself quite willing to. But before embarking on a sandwich she said, ‘Are you telling me she actually spotted Miles?’
‘Far from it. She thought him – to use her own words – “tremendously male”. But she happened to write a postcard to Julian telling him she’d met you both and she got back a letter saying “Don’t get too worked up about your gorgeous Miles Quentin because my information is that he’s a homosexual.” I’m taking it you’d like the plain truth about this, Jill.’
‘Of course.’ It now seemed perfectly natural to be sitting here eating cucumber sandwiches (so suitable, in view of the mention of Wilde) in this matter-of-fact way. ‘Julian’s one, too, is he?’ Her tone would have been much the same if she’d been enquiring if he was a Boy Scout.
‘Now there you have me,’ said Thornton. ‘He was acquitted at school – in my opinion, unjustifiably, but I don’t think he’s actually opted yet. Still, my general impression is that he will be.’
‘Don’t you mind?’
‘Well, naturally I’d prefer him to be normal but one can’t coerce normality. And I’d rather he was a happy homosexual than an unhappy heterosexual. Anyway, I shan’t have any say in the matter. At the moment, I’m furious with him. We had one hell of a row before he blithely skipped off abroad. He treated Miles disgracefully. Did Miles tell you?’
‘He said Julian – well, made overtures. I can assure you they were discouraged.’
‘My dear son didn’t report that – he’s probably too conceited to have noticed it. I ought, in justice, to say that he was well-intentioned as well as curious. He said he wanted – well, to investigate the whole situation, before backing up his sisters. I’m afraid it’s been quite a conspiracy. Are you angry? Have some more chocolate.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I mean, yes, more chocolate. I don’t seem to be angry – except a bit with Julian on Miles’s account. But I don’t understand, really I don’t, Geoffrey. Is that what you’re called? Not Geoff, or anything?’
‘Geoffrey is fine.’ He handed the chocolate. ‘Let me tell you what my daughters did towards the end of our week at the hotel. They came to me together and, with intense gravity, Kit informed me that they were quite sure you and I liked each other – she used the word my grandmother would have used even to describe what Tristram and Iseult felt for each other – and they had, that morning, had the information about Miles, so I could with a clear conscience take you away from him.’
She said dazedly, ‘But I thought they liked Miles.’
‘They do. They admire him as an actor and as a man. I tell you, they don’t disapprove of homosexuality. But they don’t feel a homosexual should have first claim on a woman they want their father to have. I know it’s preposterous, ludicrous, even. But it’s also good sense.’
‘But how could they know that you felt anything at all about me – let alone what I felt about you?’
‘They’re very deeply attached to me, and they became attached to you with astonishing swiftness. And I suspect that, to the eyes of love, love shows. I knew about you, as well as about myself, almost from the beginning.’
She was becoming more and more dazed. ‘But you couldn’t have known about me, any more than they could. I didn’t know about myself – not until today, when I was alone here. Those children made the whole thing up and put the idea into your head.’
‘It was in my head from the first day I met you. Oh, I don’t say I fell in love at sight but I did feel very much attracted. And if you’ll look back honestly you’ll find that you … well, at least felt something. I’ve a great many faults but I’m not particularly conceited and I tell you I knew. There was … something in your eyes.’
Already a retrospective self-knowledge was rushing at her. ‘Oh, my God, was there something Miles could have seen? Was that why you thought he’d let me come alone today?’
‘I don’t know that he saw a thing, as regards you. But my own feelings were so strong that I should have thought anyone could see them. And I can’t imagine Miles behaving like a dog in a manger. Does he usually?’
‘There’s been no question of it. I’ve never –’ She broke off, shaking her head hopelessly. ‘Oh, you’ve got it all wrong.’
‘Are you telling me you’ve never had any lovers?’
‘Not since I married. There were some before.’
‘Then is Miles bi-sexual?’
‘No. He’s completely homosexual. Though he would, if I’d wished it …’ She shook her head. ‘That doesn’t mean that I don’t love him. It’s just that it’s not that kind of love.’
‘Then all these years there’s been no one?’
She smiled. ‘Perhaps I’m what Kit says she is, frigid. Though I wasn’t in my unregenerate youth.’
He, too, smiled. ‘That’s surely a matter that’s easily decided.’
He came round the table, pulled her to her feet and took her in his arms. Her response to his kiss was so overwhelming that she had to cling to him for support.
‘Oh, dear,’ she said weakly. ‘I do apologize.’
He laughed. ‘Apologies were never less called for. All the same, as we’ve rather a lot to discuss, we’d better leave it at that for the moment. Well, almost at that.’ He kissed her again, less lingeringly, then settled her back in her chair. ‘Drink some chocolate. Have a piece of cake.’
‘Let them eat cake,’ she said balefully. ‘Oh, Geoffrey, need we talk – now?’
He placed the cake knife on the kitchen table. ‘Look, there’s the drawn sword between us. Obviously one needs protection from frigid women. My dear love, of course we must talk. When will you tell Miles? Or rather, when will you have it out with him? I’m sure he knows already.’
She said thoughtfully, ‘I think you’re wrong about that. Even if he knows about you, he couldn’t know about me – when I didn’t know myself.’
‘All right. Let’s say it was all wishful thinking on the part of me and my children. It doesn’t matter now.’
‘But of course it does. If Miles doesn’t know yet, why should he ever, if we’re discreet? I can’t bear the thought of his knowing.’
‘My dear Jill, one can’t divorce a man without his knowing.’
She sprang up so suddenly that her chair overturned. ‘You must be mad. I couldn’t conceivably divorce him.’
‘Then let him divorce you. Though I should have thought, when it’s not a real marriage –’
‘Marriage isn’t only sleeping together. I’ve had years and years of loving kindness from Miles.’
‘And God bless him for that. But surely –’ He came round to pick up her chair. ‘Well, don’t back away from me. I’m not going to rape you.’
‘I don’t mind your raping me. I’m all for it, in fact. But I’m not leaving Miles. I couldn’t, Geoffrey. Oh, dear, I
quite see that you want a wife –’
‘I don’t want a wife, I want you. Did you really think I’d settle for an affair? Remember, my children are in on this.’
She was shaken by sudden fury. ‘Blast your children. The nerve of it – you and them. The great Thornton take-over bid! Well, it isn’t going to work. Oh, God!’
He had taken her in his arms again.
‘It’s not fair,’ she said at last. ‘You know I’m in love with you and you’re just taking advantage of me.’
‘Oh, no, I’m not. Now or ever.’
‘You mean you’re going to hold out for marriage? How bloody priggish. Darling, please, even apart from Miles, I’m not suitable for you. I don’t belong to your world. And I wouldn’t begin to know how to be a politician’s wife. I haven’t even any political opinions.’
‘Then you can try mine on for size. Jill, none of that matters.’
She said earnestly, ‘But you know it does, when it comes to marriage. Why can’t we just be lovers? The children needn’t know. And probably Miles needn’t, though if he did there’d be no trouble. I even think he’d be glad for me.’
‘I daresay. But I’m not sleeping with you by courtesy of a queer.’
‘There we have it,’ she said with bitterness. ‘That’s how you really feel about him. Oh, you pretend to be tolerant and enlightened but it is pretence. You really despise him.’
‘I don’t, and I’m deeply sorry I said that, though it’s not really a derogatory term. I’ve heard many homosexuals use it about themselves.’
‘It’s all right for queers to call each other queer, just as it’s all right for Negroes to call each other niggers. Anyhow, the way you said it was insulting.’
‘Was it? Yes, it probably was. Listen, we’d better get this clear. I like and admire Miles. And my tolerance – even the word’s an impertinence; let’s say my enlightenment – anyway, it is genuine. But I can’t quite control my resentment that a completely homosexual man should have married a normal and obviously highly-sexed woman. No doubt it’s a convenience to have a wife –’
She interrupted him. ‘It’s got nothing to do with that. He married me for my sake, not for his. You don’t understand all he’s done for me, all we’ve meant to each other all these years. You don’t understand anything.’