‘Do you know him?’ he says.
‘No, not at all. But you just have to look at him to see he’s unhappy.’
‘Oh, do you think so?’
It hasn’t occurred to Larry to consider the personal happiness of his teacher.
‘I’m Nell,’ she says. ‘Who are you?’
‘Lawrence Cornford. Larry, I mean.’
‘I like Lawrence better. How old are you, Lawrence?’
Her command of the situation so surprises him that he doesn’t think to object to such a sudden personal question.
‘Twenty-seven,’ he says.
‘I suppose you had a harrowing war and now you’re mature beyond your years. All I’ve been doing is going quietly mad in Tunbridge Wells. It seems so unfair that just when I’m old enough to be harrowed they take the war away.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Nineteen. But if you count former lives, I’m about nine hundred.’
‘Do you believe in former lives?’
‘No, of course not,’ she says. ‘Do I look completely potty?’ Then without waiting for an answer, ‘So why are you here?’
‘To learn,’ says Larry. ‘I want to be a better painter.’
By now they’re out on the street. Coldstream and the group with him are walking down the road. Without thinking, Larry and Nell follow.
‘So you have a private income, I suppose,’ Nell says.
‘My father is supporting me.’ Larry blushes a little at the admission. ‘But we have a strictly limited agreement. He’s giving me a year.’
‘To prove you’re a genius?’
‘To prove I’m in with a chance.’
‘How do you prove that?’
‘I’m to show my work. And we’ll see if anyone buys anything.’
The group ahead turn into the pub on the corner, the Hermit’s Rest.
‘How about you buy me a drink?’ says Nell.
They go into the pub, which is half full and noisy and smoky. The intense young student who was Larry’s neighbour in the class leaves Coldstream’s group and joins them.
‘Old boys’ reunion,’ he says, nodding behind him. ‘They were all at Euston Road. What do you make of all this Ruskin and taking measurements like a fucking tailor? I signed up to be inspired by an artist not trained by a draughtsman.’
‘I suppose he could be both,’ says Larry.
‘Never!’ The boy’s eyes flash with contempt. ‘An artist is an artist above everything. He may teach to earn his bread, but even when teaching he’s an artist. Why should he care about us? We’re impedimenta. I’ve seen his work. It’s good. But there should be more of himself on the canvas. He should take more risks. There should be more danger.’
Having so delivered himself of this verdict, he departs.
‘God, how the young bore me!’ says Nell.
‘You being so very old,’ says Larry.
‘Oh, I promise you, I bore myself. But I mean to grow older just as fast as I can.’
‘Not too fast, I hope.’
‘Why? Did you like being nineteen? Was it the best year of your life?’
‘No,’ says Larry.
‘You know life models pose naked.’
‘Yes.’
‘Shall I tell you why I’m doing it?’
‘If you want to.’
‘No. I’m asking you if you want me to tell you.’
She fixes him with truth-demanding eyes. Confused by her nearness, Larry smiles and shakes his head.
‘You don’t want me to tell you?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
‘Well, then,’ she says. ‘I’ve left home, and I’m not going back. I would have died if I’d stayed one day longer. I’m starting my whole life again, and this time I’m going to live it quite differently, among quite different people. I’m going to live a real life, not a show life. And I’m going to do it among people who live real lives. I know I’m not an artist myself, but I want to live among artists.’
‘Sounds like you want danger, like that boy.’
‘That’s just silly play-acting. Who wants danger? I want truth.’
This is strong stuff, made all the stronger by her unrelenting gaze, and her pale sensual face. The more he looks at her the more fascinated he becomes.
‘I think that’s what I want too,’ he says.
‘Then shall we help each other find it? Shall we, Lawrence?’
‘Why not?’ he says.
‘No, that’s no good. We don’t do things because we can’t think of a reason not to. We do things we want to do. We act out of desire.’
She doesn’t smile as she speaks, but nor is she as sure of herself as he first thought. Her intense gaze is asking for his support.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Yes.’
‘The rule is, we say what we want. We tell each other the truth.’
‘Yes.’
‘So I’ll start. I want to be friends with you, Lawrence.’ She holds out her hand. ‘Do you want to be friends with me?’
‘Yes. I do.’
He takes her hand and holds it, not shaking it. He feels her warmth.
‘There,’ she says. ‘Now we’re friends.’
15
‘Golly, you were hard to find,’ says Kitty, giving Larry a warm hug. ‘You shouldn’t just disappear and leave no forwarding address.’
‘I thought I had.’
She ushers him out of Lewes station to a dark green Wolseley Hornet parked outside.
‘George bought her in ’32. Isn’t she glorious?’
The December roads are icy. Driving slowly back to Edenfield, Kitty confides her worries.
‘You’ll find Ed’s changed a lot.’
‘I suppose it must be hard for him to adjust,’ says Larry.
‘See what you think when you meet him.’
Larry gazes out of the window at the familiar hump of the Downs.
‘You remember that place where you were billeted?’ Kitty says. ‘George is offering it to us at a peppercorn rent.’
‘Are you short of money?’
‘We have no money at all. We’re living off Ed’s demob payments. No, actually we’re living off George and Louisa. Ed’s looking round for some sort of job, but you wouldn’t say his heart was in it.’
‘He’s a VC, for God’s sake! Where’s the nation’s gratitude?’
‘The nation awards VCs an annual sum of ten pounds. But only if you’re non-commissioned. Officer class is assumed to have private means.’
She eases the car off the road and down the drive to Edenfield Place.
‘Just wait till you see Pammy. She’s turning into such a little madam.’
Louisa is there to greet Larry, and then George appears, nodding and blinking. Gareth, the indoor man, takes Larry’s weekend bag and his satchel up to his allocated bedroom. There’s tea laid out in the drawing-room.
‘All a bit more civilised than when I was last here,’ Larry says.
‘I rather miss the Canadians,’ says George. ‘They made such a jolly noise.’
‘Where’s Pammy?’ says Kitty.
‘Out somewhere with Ed,’ says Louisa. ‘They’ll be back soon.’
Ed doesn’t appear, so after they’ve had a cup of tea Larry and Kitty go in search of him.
‘He’ll be in the wood beyond the lake,’ says Kitty. ‘If he’s not up on the Downs.’
As they stroll past the lake house in the gathering dusk Larry says lightly, ‘That’s where I first met you.’
‘Reading Middlemarch.’
Ed comes into view on the far side of the lake. He has Pamela on his shoulders, and he holds her fast by her ankles.
‘My God!’ says Larry softly. ‘He’s so thin!’
Ed sees them and breaks into a careful bounding run. The little girl squeals with fear and delight.
Eyes shining, chest heaving, Ed reaches them and swings Pamela down to the ground.
‘Larry! Good man!’
He takes his hand and
pumps it.
‘I would have come sooner,’ says Larry, ‘but I didn’t know what sort of a state you were in. And look at you! You look like a ghost!’
‘I am a ghost.’ Then his eyes meet Kitty’s and he smiles. ‘No, I’m not. Not a ghost at all. And will you look at this! I have a daughter!’
Pamela is gazing curiously up at Larry. Her father’s joy at his friend’s arrival causes her to give him serious attention.
‘Hello, Pamela,’ says Larry.
‘Hello,’ says the little girl.
‘Come along, then,’ says Kitty. ‘There’s still some tea left.’
Ed puts one arm over Larry’s shoulders. He’s more animated than he’s been for days.
‘Oh, Larry, Larry, Larry. I am so glad to see you.’
He beats with one fist on Larry’s shoulder as they walk back to the house.
‘Me too, old chap. For a while I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.’
‘I hope you trusted you’d meet me in heaven. Or wasn’t I to be allowed in?’
‘They’ll serenade you with trumpets, Ed. You’re a genuine hero.’
‘No, no. Don’t say that.’
‘I was on that beach.’
‘I don’t want to talk about that,’ says Ed, withdrawing his arm. ‘Tell me about you. Is it art, or is it bananas?’
‘It’s art for now. I’ve enrolled in a course at Camberwell College. I’m having a go at taking it seriously.’
‘And frivolously too, I hope. Art should be fun too.’
‘It’s more than fun, Ed. It’s what gives me my deepest happiness.’
Ed stops and gazes into his friend’s eyes.
‘There, you see,’ he says. ‘I’d give anything to have that.’
Alone in his bedroom, a fine large room over the organ room with a west-facing window, Larry changes slowly for dinner, and thinks about Kitty. It frightens him how much he longs to be in her company, and how happy he is when her lovely face is turned towards him. But his part is to play the role of faithful friend, both to her and to Ed; and play it he will.
Over dinner he has an opportunity to observe the curious relationship between George and Louisa. Louisa has got into the habit of talking about George in his presence as if he doesn’t hear her.
‘Is George doing something about the wine?’ she says. ‘Oh, isn’t he hopeless! Sometimes I wonder that he manages to get out of bed in the morning. You never saw a person with less get up and go.’
‘The wine is on the table, my dear.’
‘He hasn’t got his napkin on. You’ll see, he’ll spill the sauce all down his tie.’
Obediently, George tucks his napkin into his collar. His eyes peep at Larry through the thick lenses of his glasses.
‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’ he says.
Ed hardly touches his food. Larry sees how Kitty watches his plate with anxious eyes. Louisa complains bitterly about the petrol rations.
‘They say they’ve increased the ration, but four gallons a month! That won’t get anyone very far.’
‘I think the truth is we’re broke,’ says Larry. ‘The country, I mean.’
‘Do let’s not complain,’ says Kitty. ‘Think how frightening it was, not knowing day by day if people were still alive even.’
When dinner is over Ed slips away, not saying where he’s going. Louisa and George settle down to a game of Pelmanism, which it turns out is their customary evening relaxation. Louisa spreads out the cards face down on the long table in the library.
‘George has a surprisingly good memory for cards,’ she says. ‘I think it must come from all that peering at maps.’
Kitty and Larry leave them to their game. They retreat to the smallest of the family rooms, the West Parlour. Here family portraits hang on chains against a pale eau-de-nil wallpaper, and the chintz-covered armchairs are deep and comfortable. For a few moments Kitty looks at Larry in silence, and he too remains silent, not wanting to break the sweet intimacy.
‘Well?’ she says at last.
‘He’s not in a good way, is he?’
‘He won’t see a doctor. He won’t see anyone.’
‘How is he with you?’ says Larry.
‘He’s kind, and gentle, and loving. And you see how he is with Pammy. But most of the time he just wants to be alone.’
‘What does he do when he’s alone?’
‘I don’t know. Nothing, as far as I can tell. He just thinks. Or maybe he doesn’t think. Maybe he wants to be alone so he can switch himself off, or something.’
‘Sounds like some sort of breakdown.’
‘He had a terrible time in the camps. He was kept handcuffed for four hundred and eleven days.’
‘Jesus! Poor bastard.’
‘I just don’t know what to do.’
She’s clasping her hands together as she speaks, working them against each other, as if trying to rub out some invisible stain.
‘Will you help us, Larry?’
Her lovely face is looking at him in mute appeal, admitting the unhappiness she can’t name.
‘I’ll try talking to him,’ says Larry. ‘But he may not want to talk to me.’
‘He’ll talk to you if he talks to anyone.’
‘You say he’s looking round for a job.’
‘He isn’t really. He knows he must find some kind of income. But the way he is at present, I don’t see that he’s employable.’
Larry nods, frowning, pondering what best to do.
‘I love him so much, Larry,’ Kitty says. ‘But we’re sleeping in separate bedrooms for now. It’s what he wants.’ There’s the glisten of tears in her eyes as she speaks. ‘I wish I knew why.’
‘Oh, Kitty.’
‘Do you think it’s me?’
‘No. It’s not you.’
‘We’ve been apart so long. You’d think at least he’d want that.’
‘I’ll try and talk to him,’ Larry says.
‘Now,’ says Kitty. ‘Go to him now.’
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘Yes, I know.’ She looks down, suddenly ashamed. ‘I follow him sometimes, just so I know where he goes. He’ll be in the chapel.’
‘The chapel!’
‘We were married there, remember?’
‘Of course I remember.’
‘He goes and sits there by himself. Sometimes for hours.’
Larry gets up out of his armchair.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
*
A first floor corridor leads past bedrooms to a bridge across the courtyard entrance. This is the family’s private way to the chapel. The vaulted space is in darkness but for a single light over the altar. When Larry first enters, it appears to be empty.
‘Anyone here?’
A voice answers from the darkness.
‘Is that Larry?’
‘Yes, it’s me.’
Ed uncoils himself from where he’s been lying, stretched out on a row of dark oak chairs. Larry walks down the aisle to him.
‘I suppose Kitty sent you.’
‘Yes.’
‘Dear Kitty. She does her best with me.’
Larry is on the point of saying something noncommittal and sympathetic when he changes his mind.
‘Why don’t you just sort yourself out, Ed?’
Ed raises his eyebrows, smiling.
‘There speaks the voice of reason.’
‘Sorry. Stupid thing to say.’
‘No, you’re right. But the thing is, I’m not sure I can sort myself out. And even if I could, who’d sort out the world?’
‘Oh, honestly,’ says Larry.
‘All the rottenness and mess.’
Larry thinks of Kitty gazing at him in the parlour with tears in her eyes.
‘It won’t do, Ed,’ he says. ‘What right do you have to indulge yourself in the luxury of despair? You have a wife. You have a child.’
‘Well, well.’ He’s not smiling any more. ‘Did Kitty ask y
ou to tell me that?’
‘This isn’t from Kitty. This is from me. We’ve known each other for almost fifteen years. You’re my best friend. You’re the man I admire most in the world. Compared to you, I’m nothing.’
‘Oh, don’t talk such rot.’
‘You think I don’t mean it? I was on that beach, Ed. I was in such a total funk I couldn’t move. I would have sat there on those bloody pebbles for all eternity. I was sick with fear, helpless with fear. And then I saw you.’
Only now does Larry realise he is here for his own reasons too. There’s something he must say to his friend: a tribute and a confession.
‘Don’t do this, Larry,’ says Ed.
But Larry can’t be stopped now.
‘It was like seeing an angel,’ he says. ‘I saw this man come walking up the beach where the bullets were flying and the shells were landing, like he was taking a stroll in the park. Up and down that beach he went, saving life after life, and every time he turned back from the boats he threw his own life away. And as I watched him, the fear went out of me. You were my angel, Ed. Because of you I got up and I walked to the boat, and I lived. I’ll never forget that to the day I die. Mine was one of the lives you saved that day. By Christ, you earned that VC. You earned a hundred VCs. Do you have any idea what that means? God was with you that day, Ed. I know you don’t believe in God, but I swear to you he was by your side on that beach. I’m supposed to be the believer, but God wasn’t with me. God abandoned me the moment I stepped off the boat into that sea of dead men. But God was with you, Ed. Why? I’ll tell you why. Because you gave yourself up to God and God knows his own. I didn’t. I clung to my wretched little life. I thought only of myself. You walked with angels, and God saw you, and God loved you. And because God loved you and protected you, you have lost the right to despair. You have to love yourself, whether you want to or not. That’s the choice you made on the beach at Dieppe. That’s your life now. So wake up, and live it.’
He stands before his friend, pink in the cheeks, breathing fast, furiously pushing his hands through his curly hair. Ed looks back at him, his blue eyes bright.
‘Quite a speech.’
‘Have you heard a single word I’ve been saying?’
‘I heard every word.’
‘I’m right, aren’t I? You know I’m right.’
Ed gets up and stretches, reaching his arms high up into the shadowed air. Then he starts to prowl, up as far as the altar and back.