In the darkness of the hall he turned towards her. They were both breathless from the running.
‘Rain,’ said Mor, ‘Rain.’ It did him good to utter her name. He picked up the letter from the floor. ‘You brought a letter to say that you had decided not to come.’
‘Yes,’ said Rain. She was leaning back against the wall.
‘Why did you do that?’ said Mor gently, and did not wait for an answer. He suddenly felt calm. ‘Take your coat off.’
She took it off and he hung it on a peg. She still stood there by the wall. Mor came to her and picked her up in his arms. She was exceedingly light. He carried her into the drawing-room, slammed the door behind him with his foot, and laid her down gently on the sofa. Then he drew the curtains and lighted one of the lamps.
‘May I read your letter?’ he said.
‘Of course,’ said Rain. She was not looking at him.
Mor opened the letter. It read:
I am sorry. I ought not to have asked you to dine or said yes to your invitation. No more need be said. Please pardon my part in all this.
He put the letter away in his pocket. Thoughtfully he took out a packet of cigarettes, offered one to Rain, which she took, and selected one himself. Mor now felt amazingly and unexpectedly at his ease. He was in a terrible fix. He had behaved wrongly and he had involved another person in his wrong behaviour. All this would have to be sorted out. But just at this very moment there was an oasis of calm. He had caught her, he had brought her back, she lay there before him, she was not going away at once, he would not let her. Then deep within he felt again the joy which he had felt in the first day when he had looked at the flaky wood of the station gate. He loved her.
Mor turned and looked at Rain. She was looking at him. He knew that there must be a sort of triumph in his face. He let her read it there. She began shaking her head. ‘Mor,’ she said, ‘this is wrong.’
‘Rain,’ said Mor, ‘did you want to come?’
‘Of course I wanted to come,’ she said. ‘I wanted very very much to come. But I oughtn’t to have done. If I’d really willed not to come, if I’d felt clearly enough how bad it was, I wouldn’t have run the risk of delivering the letter-I would simply not have appeared. But I couldn’t bear the thought of your waiting and waiting.’
‘You wanted to come!’ said Mor. He could hardly believe it. ‘Will you have some brandy or some white wine?’ he said. What he wanted now was a moment of quiet.
‘I’ll have brandy,’ said Rain. She sat up on the sofa, running her hands nervously through her dark hair. It ruffled jaggedly around her face. The rain was coming down fast now. Its drumming increased in an alarming crescendo. Then there was a flash and a deafening crack of thunder. They remained immobile looking at each other.
‘Yes,’ said Mor, ‘I think I’ll have some brandy too. I feel a bit shaken after all this.’ The air was growing perceptibly cooler. The drumming continued. Mor turned on an electric fire.
He came and knelt on the floor beside the sofa. ‘Dear darling,’ he said. He looked upon her with amazement, with incredulity. ‘How is it,’ he said, ‘that you could possibly have wanted to come. That amazes me. How could you want to see me?’ He touched her hair.
Rain took the glass from his hand and laid it upon the floor. Then she threw both arms about his neck and drew him down until his head lay upon her breast. She held him close, caressing his hair. Mor lay still. A deep peace and joy was in him. He could have died thus. For a long time they lay quiet. The thunder rumbled overhead and the rain came down steadily.
At last Mor lifted his head and began to kiss her. She returned his kisses with an equal fierceness, her hands locked behind his neck, drawing his head back towards her. When they were sated with kissing, they lay, their faces very close, regarding each other.
‘When did you begin,’ said Rain, ‘to feel like this?’
Mor considered. ‘I think the very beginning,’ he said, ‘was when you took my hand on the steps leading up to the rose garden. Do you remember? The very first evening we met. I was so terribly moved that you took my hand. But I didn’t realize properly that I was in love till the day when I found you in the wood, when the boys were drawing you. Oh, Rain, I looked for you so hard that day, it was agony.’
She stroked his face, her eyes burning with tenderness. ‘That was a marvel,’ she said. ‘You came and released me from a spell.’
‘When did you first,’ said Mor — he could not find the words - ‘notice me at all?’
‘Dear Mor,’ said Rain, laughing at him, ‘I think it was when I was drawing you at Demoyte’s house that it first occurred to me that perhaps I was - falling in love.’
It stunned Mor to hear her utter these words. He looked at her open-mouthed. ‘This is all beyond me!’ he said.
Rain laughed again, a deep loose joyful laugh that was close to tears. ‘That was why I went to bed early,’ she said, ‘and why I wouldn’t show you the sketch. I thought you would certainly be able to read in it what I was beginning to feel.’
‘Will you give me the sketch?’ said Mor.
‘I want to keep it!’ she said, ‘but I’ll let you see it.’
‘Rain,’ said Mor, ‘it was such torment these last few days. I wanted to see you so much.’ He realized as he spoke that the torment had only not been unendurable because he had suspected in his heart that he would see her again.
‘I know,’ said Rain, ‘I too - I’ve thought of nothing else. I knew I oughtn’t to go to that cricket match. I stayed away all the morning and the beginning of the afternoon. But then I couldn’t bear it, I had to come.’
Mor felt, it is fate, it is not our will. We have both struggled against it. But it has been too strong. As he thought this, he answered himself. No, it is our will. And with this came a great sense of vigour and power. He took her triumphantly in his arms.
‘Mor,’ Rain said, murmuring into his ear, ‘Mor, we cannot do this, we are behaving like mad people.’
Mor heard her, and her words moved in his head, becoming his own thought. It was a searingly painful thought. He continued to hold her close to him. Such pain could not be endured; and if it could not be endured, then there must be some way to avoid it.
‘We have no future,’ said Rain.
He felt her tears upon his cheek. She is brave, he thought. She says this so soon. I would have waited. He held her and went on thinking.
‘Mor,’ said Rain, ‘please speak.’
‘Dear heart,’ said Mor. He sat back on his heels. The brandy was untasted beside him. He drank some of it. Rain sipped hers. He felt as if they were adrift together. A world of appalling desolation surrounded them. But at least at this moment they were together. The brandy was putting courage into him. He could not, he would not, let her go. Yet there was no way.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ said Mor, ‘but I want to go on seeing you.’ Once he had said this clearly, he felt better.
Rain was silent. ‘I know,’ she said at last, ‘that I ought to say no to that, but I can’t. If you want to see me, I shall see you. But we are mad.’
Mor felt profound relief. ‘It can’t be,’ he said, ‘that you really love me. You must try to find out your real feelings. Let us have a little time at least for these things to become clear.’ As he said this he felt much better. Here was something rational to hold on to. The situation was not yet quite clear. Perhaps Rain didn’t really love him - and if not there was no problem, or at least not the same problem. They must wait a while to see what their real feelings were - and during that time they must quietly encounter each other, patiently waiting.
‘Do not deceive yourself,’ said Rain. ‘If our feelings are not clear now, they will never be clear. If there is something called being in love, then we are in love.’
My God, what honesty, thought Mor. But he did not want her to lead him into a place from which there was no issue. He countered at once. ‘All right, call it so - though how you can love me is still a myste
ry. But if it’s granted that we do see each other again, then at least nothing can be decided at once. We must wait a while. I feel far too confused to make any decision - except the one that we’ve made.’
Rain was sitting up in his embrace. She had emptied her glass of brandy. ‘Mor,’ she said with a wail in her voice, ‘what is there to be decided? You are married. You are not going to leave your wife - and really there is nothing more to be said. We may see each other again - but in the end I shall have to go.’ She hid her face in his shoulder.
Mor sat there thoughtful, in a strange repose. He rocked her against him. Was it unthinkable that he should leave Nan? The thought was so colossal and came upon him so unexpectedly that he drew in his breath. His mind closed up at once. He would not think of this. At least he would not think of this now. He must have time - and meanwhile he must hold Rain and make her trust him and make her patient. ‘Do not let us torment ourselves any more for the moment,’ he said.
His tone impressed her. The remained for a while in silence. ‘Have you been in love before?’ said Mor. He was lying beside her now on the sofa, her head pillowed on his shoulder.
‘Yes,’ said Rain, ‘do you mind? I was in love when I was nineteen with a young man in Paris, also a painter.’ She sighed.
Mor felt a fierce pang of jealousy. Rain at nineteen. ‘A Frenchman?’ he said. ‘What happened?’
‘Yes,’ said Rain. ‘Nothing happened, really. My father didn’t like him. He went away in the end. He got married since, I heard.’ She sighed again, very deeply.
Mor held her violently to him. He wanted her.
‘You know,’ said Rain, ‘like Mr Everard you probably think that I must have lived a very gay life in France — but it wasn’t so. We lived very simply in the south, and we didn’t often go to Paris or London. My father was so jealous of everyone.’
Mor tried to picture her life. It was difficult. ‘You will tell me more,’ he said, ‘in time.’ It was a consoling phrase.
Mor looked at his watch. Somehow it had got to be half past eleven. Now that he knew that he would see her again he was not anxious to detain her. He felt that enough had been said to bind them together - and he did not want to alarm Demoyte by keeping her out late. He said, ‘You ought to go home, my child.
Rain sat up and made a rueful face. ‘I’ve been very silly,’ she said. ‘I told Mr Demoyte that I was going up to London and would spend the night there. I had to say that so as to get away from him - otherwise he would have kept me the whole evening. And I did intend when I’d delivered the note to get into my car and drive up to London. It’s parked in the school grounds. But what shall I do now?’
‘You could go back to Demoyte’s and say you’d changed your mind,’ said Mor, ‘but it would sound rather odd. I think he’d guess the truth or something like it.’
‘I should hate to hurt him,’ she said.
They sat there avoiding each other’s eyes. The rain was battering the house on all sides.
‘There’s no earthly reason,’ said Mor, ‘why you shouldn’t stay here. It’s idiotic anyway to go out on a night like this. You can sleep in Felicity’s bed. I’ll go and put some clean sheets on it now.’
She caught his coat as he got up to go. ‘Mor,’ she said, ‘you’re sure you don’t mind my staying and not -’
Mor knelt down again beside her. I love you,‘ he said, ’will you get that into your head, I love you.‘ He kissed her.
As Mor went upstairs he felt how strange and wonderful it was after all to be keeping her in the house. He began to make up the bed. He wanted to sing.
Rain soon followed him up. ‘I shall go to bed soon,’ she said. ‘I’m terribly tired.’
Mor felt exhausted too and knew that he would sleep well. He sat down for a moment on the edge of the bed and drew her on to his knee. She curled up, her arms about his neck.
‘Mor,’ said Rain, ‘one thing - are you absolutely certain that your wife won’t come back in the night and find me here?’
‘It’s impossible, my darling,’ said Mor, ‘she’s in Dorset. Anyway, she wouldn’t come back in the night. And I know she in Dorset.’
‘I feel frightened all the same,’ said Rain. ‘I think I should die if she came back.’
‘She won’t come back - and you wouldn’t die if she did,’ said Mor. ‘But I tell you what I’ll do. All the outer doors have bolts. I’ll bolt them all, including the front hall door, and so no one could come in, even with a key. Then if my wife should come we’d hear her ring, and you could go out of the back door before I let her in. But these are just wild imaginings. No one will come.’
At last he left her to go to bed. He went downstairs and bolted all the doors. When he came up again her light was out. He called good night softly, heard her reply, and then went to his own bed. The rain was still falling steadily. The thunder had passed over. Very soon he fell asleep.
Mor was awakened by a piercing and insistent sound. He sat up in bed and saw that it was just daylight. A cold white light filled the room. It was still raining. In an instant he remembered the events of last night. Rain was with him in the house.
Then the sound came again. Mor’s blood froze. It was the front-door bell. It rang a long peal and then was silent. Who could be ringing at this hour? He got out of bed and stood there in his pyjamas, paralysed with alarm and indecision. Then the bell rang again, and then again, two short insistent peals. It must be Nan, he thought - no one else would ring like that, as if they had a right to come in. Horror and fear shook him. He crossed the room in the pale light and put on a dressing-gown and slippers. The bell rang again. Mor went out on to the landing.
At the same moment the door of Felicity’s room opened and Rain came out. She had already dressed herself. She must have heard the bell before he did. She was carrying her stockings over her arm as she had done on the day of the Riley disaster. He read upon her face the same frozen horror as he felt upon his own. The bell began to ring again and went on ringing. The whole neighbourhood must be being wakened by the sound. It rang out with violence in the dreary pallid silence of the morning.
Mor took Rain’s arm. Neither of them dared to speak. He began to lead her down the stairs. She was trembling so much that she could hardly walk. Mor was trembling too in fits which shook his body from top to bottom. The bell was still ringing. It stopped just as they reached the foot of the stairs. Here they were only a few paces from the front door. Mor drew in his breath. Their footsteps must be audible. He could hear the patter of the rain outside. He hoped that it would drown the sound they were making.
He drew Rain, half supporting her, through the kitchen, and unbolted the kitchen door. His shaking hands could scarcely control the bolt. The front-door bell rang again. Mor threw the kitchen door open and pointed to the gate in the fence beyond which was an alley which led away into the next road. For a moment he put his arms about her shoulders, and then he turned back towards the front door.
As he did so his heart sank utterly. He did not know what sort of demon of fury and suspicion might now confront him. He felt as if Nan would launch herself upon him like a tiger as soon as he let her in. Slowly he began to draw back the bolt. Then he opened the door.
Mor stood petrified with amazement. A man was standing on the step with his back to the door. Violently, amazement was followed by relief. The man turned his head slightly, then turned right round and looked at Mor with equal surprise. They stood for a moment staring at each other. Then Mor recognized the man. It was the gipsy-looking woodcutter whom they had seen in the wood, playing with the cards. A second later Mor realized the fantastic thing that had happened. The gipsy had been sheltering from the rain under the porch, and without noticing it he had been leaning his shoulder against the bell.
In a wild relief Mor put his hand to his face. At the same moment he felt anger against the gipsy for having given them such a fright. He said, ‘You’ve wakened the whole house up. You were leaning against the bell. Didn’t you he
ar it ringing?’ The sound of his voice was strange, coming after the terror and the silence.
The gipsy said nothing. He had not taken his eyes off Mor’s face. He turned and went away without hurry down the path. The rain fell relentlessly upon his black head.
Mor closed the door. He ran towards the kitchen. Heaven only knew how far Rain might have got by this time. He ran out of the kitchen door and nearly fell over her. She had been waiting just outside the door. He pulled her back into the house and began embracing her like a mad thing.
‘Mor, Mor,’ said Rain, ‘what was it?’ Her face was still twisted with fear and her hair was plastered to her head, blackened by the rain.
‘It’s mad, mad,’ said Mor. ‘We must be haunted. It was that gipsy. The one we saw in the wood. He was sheltering at the door and leaning with his shoulder against the bell.’ He began to laugh in a helpless desperate way, clutching her to him.