Читать книгу The Sea Tower - Hugh Walpole - Страница 7

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‘And now, dear, I must show you everything.’

Mrs. Field was standing beside Christina in the hall under St. George and the Dragon.

At breakfast there had been Christina, Mrs. Field and Congreve Field. Mr. Field, it seemed, had his breakfast always in bed. Captain Green, as yet invisible to Christina, had gone off with Joe early to visit the farm. Joe, dressing, had been so impatient to be out and away that Christina had pretended to be asleep lest she should feel hurt by his abrupt answers. So weary had he been last night that at once, after kissing her, he had fallen asleep. She had awaked at six, and at six-thirty he had jumped up, was out of bed, in the bathroom and back again with his shirt on.

He had looked at her.

‘I’m awake,’ she had said, smiling.

Breathlessly, as though he had been running, he had said, kissing her:

‘Look here, darling, I must be out and see the place. There’ll be a thousand things to do. I shan’t be back till the evening. You won’t mind, will you? It will be a fine chance for you and mother to know one another.’

Only yesterday he had said: ‘Showing you everything will be the great thrill of my life.’

She said now: ‘Of course, I understand.’

‘You have another hour’s sleep.’ He kissed her again, murmuring tender words in her ear, and then she pretended to be asleep.

The dining-room was vast, and white flakes were peeling off the walls, which were hung with very bad pictures of defunct Fields. Three dogs, two setters and a Sealyham, sat slobbering on their haunches, and were given scraps.

Congreve Field was tall and dark like Joe but very thin, very pale, with a big white Roman nose. No one spoke very much. Mrs. Field read her letters and once or twice smiled at Christina. She had a sweet smile and there was a dimple in each cheek. She drank her coffee, carefully wiped her mouth, said: ‘At ten o’clock we’ll have a look round, shall we?’ and disappeared.

Congreve stared at Christina, then apologized.

‘Forgive me, but I’m a painter, you know.’

‘Yes, I know. Joe told me.’

It’s been a terrific shock to us, Joe marrying,’ he said. ‘But now I’ve seen you I don’t wonder.’ Then he too disappeared.

So there she was with her mother-in-law. Very nervous. She looked up at St. George for help, but saw that, oddly, there were some bird-droppings on his left cheek. How could that be, she wondered. Mrs. Field wore her black dress with a white soft collar and white edges to her sleeves. Almost like a uniform. She was so smart, clean, neat, that Christina thought of the new pin, but in her fresh rosy cheeks were the dimples, and her rather red fleshy lips were formed in an adorable little pout. Over her neatly parted hair she wore a black bonnet. On her hands were gardening gloves. Her small body was tight as a drum and yet softly rounded—feminine too. She carried herself regally, walking with her head up, challenging, her brilliant eyes looking into everything. She moved from the hips, her square back as straight as a board.

‘The old house was burnt down in 1830,’ she said. ‘Only the Tower remains. Very old. Part of it is Norman, but the base is much older.’

Turning a corner of the terrace, leaving the flower-garden behind them, they faced the full blow of the sea. A lawn ran to a stone wall. Beyond the wall there was a rough path and then a little sandbank that ran to a beach. Through the thin light-spun mist the sea swayed like oil shifting when its containing barrel is shaken.

On the right, standing forward on a huddle of rock that ended the beach, was the square Tower. Because the mist was sun-drenched the Tower had a pearl-shiny colour as though in its heart was hidden the sun that the mist reflected. The sea to-day was so still that only a rhythm like the soft purr of a cat measured the silence. Narrow slits of windows like the strokes of a pen broke the silver-pearl parchment of the walls.

‘What is it used for now?’ Christina asked.

‘Odds and ends—lumber.’

‘Has the sea had no effect on it at all?’

‘None. It’s as strong as time.’

Mrs. Field said this with pride and satisfaction. Such strength was admirable. They turned back to the garden. Mrs. Field asked some questions.

‘You’re an only child?’

‘No. I have a sister.’

‘That must be some comfort to your parents. They must have thought you very young to be married.’

‘They were glad to see me so happy.’

‘Ah, yes.... Joe is a dear boy. It must have all happened very suddenly, did it not?’

‘I think we fell in love at first sight.’

‘Yes ... Joe is very handsome, isn’t he? I always expected him to marry. Now Congreve is quite different.’

There was a pause, so at last Christina said: ‘Yes?’

‘Congreve will never marry. He is entirely devoted to his painting.’

‘It must be wonderful—to paint!’

‘It gives him great happiness. He had a show in London once and could, I think, have done very well, but there seemed to him something vulgar in that success. Now he paints only for himself.’

They came upon a gardener, a strong, cross-looking man, with huge shoulders and a surly mouth.

Mrs. Field spoke to him sharply.

‘The rock-garden above the pond is looking very untidy, Curtis.’

‘There’s a lot to do, ma’am.’

‘What’s Harry doing?’

‘He’s in the houses this morning, ma’am.’

‘I want the rock-garden well kept.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

As they walked away she smiled. ‘It’s a difficult garden. There’s the sand and the wind. Everything has to be strong to live here. It is, of course, very exposed. Only certain flowers will grow.’

She took off her gardening gloves. She put one little plump pink hand on Christina’s arm.

‘I do hope you’ll be happy with us, dear. Do you think you will?’

‘I’m sure I shall.’

‘That’s right. What are your tastes? Do you play games? Are you domestic? What do you like best?’

‘I’m afraid I’m nothing very much. I did help in the house at home.’

‘That’s right. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to do here. Of course Joe is very busy most days. He looks after the whole place and very good he is at it. My husband has a heart and mustn’t exert himself.’

They were now standing by the criticized rock-garden. Like many other things inside and outside the house it appeared only half cared for. There was something curious here, for Mrs. Field herself was so perfectly ordered and well kept!

Christina looked back at the house. Mrs. Field said:

‘Yes. It’s very ugly, isn’t it? The fact is that 1830 was a very bad period in English taste. The Fields of that time had no taste at all. But we’ve all grown very fond of it. As you will too, my dear.’

No, Christina thought with a sudden flash of conviction. Whatever else happened she would never be fond of that house. The mist was clearing and now the sea was sparkling blue; gulls cried in the air. But the house even now was ugly, sulky, knowing its bad shape and shabby colour and hating the world as an ugly, self-conscious, lonely human being does. The Tower, now against the blue sky, was resplendent in contrast.

‘How beautiful the Tower is!’ Christina cried.

‘You will see how attached to the house you will be,’ Mrs. Field repeated. It was almost a command. Then her hand rested on Christina’s arm again.

At luncheon Christina met two more members of the family. Mr. Field was astonishing to look at, for his head was covered with beautiful white hair, but above his black eyes were jet-black overhanging eyebrows. He was very tall and as thin as a diviner’s rod. He had rather that air as of one who hangs above suspected hidden water. ‘If Mrs. Field dislikes tall persons,’ Christina thought, ‘what a trial Mr. Field must be to her.’

He was languid and lazy. He greeted Christina without interest. He said: ‘Sorry I wasn’t at breakfast. Got a heart, you know.’

She said that she was sorry.

‘Yes. Damned bore,’ he said.

He was very handsome and dressed elegantly in dark brown with a red tie. A monocle hung on a black chain across his breast. He paid no attention to his son Congreve, who also paid no attention to him. Mr. Field never spoke again throughout luncheon.

The other member of the family new to Christina was Matty, Mrs. Field’s sister. ‘It’s too obvious,’ Christina thought, ‘that she should be called Matty, for she is the typical old maid of all the novelists. She is Miss Bates all over again.’

And so she seemed. She was short and plump, eager, and ceaselessly talkative.

‘The dear, kind Sheppersons! Too good they are, too kind. They met me just as I came out of the post office. “Why,” they said, “we must drive you.” “Oh no,” I said. “It’s the merest step, and a little exercise ...” “But we insist,” said they. Clara Shepperson is always too good, with all the trouble she’s taking just now over the District Nurse, buying her a car and getting her taught to drive. Such an excellent woman, Nurse Baker, although she is a long time learning and still has that “L” on the back of the car. Something to do with a clutch, she tells me. It won’t move as quickly as it ought to. So into the car I had to get, willy-nilly, and off we went. Such a very handsome car. “Dear Mrs. Shepperson,” I said, “such a very handsome car,” and she explained that it was a new chauffeur—they’d only had him a week, but he seems a very worthy man with a good wife and two little girls who will go to the school in the village for the present. “Do tell me,” Mrs. Shepperson asked, “how is Miss Thompson?” As a teacher, of course, she meant, and I was only too glad to tell her that ...’

Throughout the meal Christina had a sense that something was waiting to be said. What was it? Not precisely an apprehension, not an enquiry, but a suggestion ... Mrs. Field was kindness itself. The meal was good and plain. Once Mrs. Field said: ‘No, Archer. Not the apple tart.’ Mr. Field had been going to help himself to a substantial portion. Now he waved the plate away.

‘Mr. Field is on a diet,’ she explained to Christina. ‘Such a bore for him.’

‘What are the dogs called?’ Christina asked. The two setters were called Daniel and Lion. The Sealyham was called Snubs.

‘He’s very snobbish, self-satisfied, arrogant,’ Mrs. Field said, as though she rather liked those qualities in him. He paid Christina no attention whatever. He seemed to be in some kind of alliance with Mrs. Field, who, however, threw him no scraps.

‘I like most Sealyhams, but not this one,’ Christina thought. There were three now she disliked, the maid, the gardener, the dog.

Congreve got up before the end of the meal and left.

‘He’s gone to work,’ Mrs. Field explained. ‘He mustn’t miss the light.’ Afterwards she said: ‘Now, dear, you’ll amuse yourself, won’t you? I have to go into the village about one or two odds and ends.’

She did not offer to take Christina with her.

The dining-room was now quite empty and everything silent, so Christina went up to her room. She stood there and saw that the sea-mist had come up, blotting everything out. It spun in the wind, like a huge spider-web. Her room was cold and, greatly to her own surprise, she began to cry. This was extraordinary, for she had scarcely ever cried in her life before. Nor could she say that she was desperately unhappy: it was rather the sudden separation from Joe. For weeks they had been constantly together, and during the last week had been without a break in one another’s arms, spiritually when it had been too public to be so physically. She had not realized beforehand that there would be this sudden change. That had been foolish of her, because, of course, it was bound to be so. She must reckon with his whole family and already she had been made to feel that they had a great claim on him. They also claimed that part of him in which she could have no share, the Joe that had existed before she met him—years and years of Joe: she had known him for three months only.

She must be wise. Oh! she must be terribly wise! But she was crying also because of her inexperience of people. She had known very few and they had always been kind to her; now, perhaps, they would not always be kind. Moreover she was quite inexperienced in love. She had never been in love with anyone before. Joe, absent, acquired a kind of added glory and also an added apprehension. Suppose that he did not really love her! Of course, of course he did. She had the evidence of the nights and days to prove it: but that might be, might it not, only physical love, and when physical love quietened, why, then ...!

She dried her eyes and resolved she would never cry again. It was true that they were all kind to her, and of course they had their own lives to which she must suit herself. It would even be natural if they resented her a little, but so long as Joe was at her side nothing mattered. Joe must be away from her often during the day. And suppose that they remained here for months and months? That must not be. She must be clever and subtle, influence Joe without his knowing that she was influencing him, until one morning he said: ‘Darling, we must get away. We must live by ourselves.’ Every married couple lived by themselves.

She stood up, resolving to be wonderfully wise, subtle, intelligent. She had a secret plan and purpose. She would be charming, friendly, useful, but, in reality, living only for the day when Joe and herself should escape. Escape! Already she was thinking of escape when she had been in the house only one night.

She had ceased to cry, but she had an overmastering impulse to find Joe, to seize him and say to him: ‘You do love me, don’t you? Say you do. Say you do. More than anyone on earth. You will give them all up for me. Say so! Say so!’

Idiot! Idiot! The way that silly girls behave in novels, the way to disgust husbands, kill love, ruin trust and confidence. Nevertheless she cried out aloud in the cold room: ‘Joe! Joe! You do love me, Joe, don’t you?’

She would go out, in spite of the mist, and investigate a little for herself. She put on a water-proof and went downstairs. The house was as silent as a dead house. No one to be seen. No one to be heard. She went on to the terrace, liking the wet mist on her cheeks. To the right, above the rock-garden, there was a building by itself. She opened a door and looked in. She stopped and said breathlessly: ‘Oh, I beg your pardon! I didn’t know——’ For it was a wide studio with a glass roof, and Congreve Field, in a stained white smock, stood there, staring at her.

‘Come in. Delighted to see you.’

‘I’m disturbing you.’

‘Not at all. All the light’s gone anyway.’

She looked about her. Against the white walls pictures were piled, their backs only visible. From where she stood by the door she could see clearly the picture on the easel. It was of a naked man and woman, embracing, a pale blue sky and a white pillar behind them. The woman’s face was a white mask; the man’s back and thighs were white like death. Congreve stood regarding her very cheerfully and with the greatest admiration.

‘Sit down. That’s the only comfortable chair. How do you like my picture?’

‘They are like ghosts—but I don’t know anything about painting.’

‘Ever heard of Picasso?’

‘No. I haven’t.’

‘That’s the ghost of the ghost of Picasso. In his blue period, you know.’

‘Oh yes.’ Christina smiled. ‘You see—I know nothing about painting.’

‘I see you don’t.’ He came and sat near to her, drawing a shabby little stool, from which the stuffing was protruding, near to her.

‘I want to apologize at once,’ he said. ‘I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. But you need have no fears. I shan’t want to make love to you. I’m like my pictures—bloodless. I have no sexual life of any kind.’

Almost without knowing that she said it, she murmured:

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

‘You needn’t be. I never had very much, but when you’ve been here a month or two you’ll understand why I have none at all now. I’m perfectly happy,’ he added quickly.

She said nothing.

‘That will seem impossible to you—because you are very young, and, I suppose, madly in love with Joe. When you’re older you’ll know I was right. I have surrendered myself completely and so I’m happy.’

‘What have you surrendered to?’ she asked.

‘Ah—ah—that too you will find out later. If you look at that picture it may seem a symbol to you later on.... How do you like us all?’ he asked abruptly.

‘I can’t say,’ she answered lightly. ‘I’ve only seen most of you once, and Captain Green I haven’t seen yet at all.’

He had been looking at her intently.

‘I know what you’ve been doing. You’ve been crying. You’ve powdered your nose since, but your eyes are bright with the reflection of tears.’

‘Yes, I have. It was very silly of me. I wasn’t unhappy exactly—but it’s the first time Joe and I have been separated for a long time.’

Congreve nodded.

‘I know. And you’ve been thinking you’ll never see him again. In a sort of way you won’t.’ The fright in her eyes amused him. ‘Not as he’s been the last week, I mean. You’ve been his sole horizon since he married you. But of course that couldn’t go on.’

‘No. It couldn’t,’ she agreed.

‘If I’d been you,’ he added, ‘I’d have made the honeymoon last just a little longer.’

‘Oh, but this is still our honeymoon!’ she cried.

He looked at her almost maliciously.

‘You’ve walked into the Enchanter’s Castle. Nothing will ever be quite the same again.’

‘I can walk out again.’

‘With Joe?’

‘Of course with Joe.’

‘Any time you like?’

‘Any time I like.’ She looked at him defiantly.

‘Any time you and Joe like, you mean?’

‘Any time Joe and I like.’

‘But suppose Joe doesn’t like?’

‘We’re married. We like the same things.’

He got up and went over and looked at his picture.

‘By Jove, you are young!’ he said.

Her heart was beating tumultuously. And for no reason at all. She stood up and faced him.

‘I wish you’d tell me what you’re hinting at all the time. It’s perfectly simple. Joe and I are married and love one another. We’ve come here for some months to stay with your mother. Later on we shall have a home of our own.’

In spite of herself, her voice was shaking.

‘Don’t be angry,’ he said, laughing. ‘You mustn’t take anything I say seriously. I’m quite meaningless—except to myself. All I mean is that it is very interesting to me—even exciting—to see you arrive here, to speculate on what will happen, to observe my brother now that he’s a married man....’

‘You speak,’ she said, ‘as though there’s something I ought to be afraid of.’

‘Isn’t there always something we ought to be afraid of, all of us?’ he asked.

‘I needn’t be afraid of anything,’ she said stoutly, ‘so long as I’ve got Joe.’

‘Well—supposing Joe’s afraid of something—or someone?’

‘Joe’s afraid of nothing on earth!’

‘Isn’t he? He used to be. Perhaps marriage has changed him. That’s what I want to find out.’

She went to the door.

‘Good-bye,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m not afraid of you anyway.’

‘Of course not,’ he answered. ‘Nobody is.’

She slipped out into the sea-mist and there in the heart of it, like a wreathed Triton, was Captain Timothy Green. She knew at once that it was he. His physical appearance was all that it should be: short, square, fearfully thick about the shoulders, chest like a barrel, thighs like bolsters, buttocks out determinedly rearwards, thick neck out determinedly frontwards, little bright blue eyes, the fair eyebrows bushy, face weather-beaten. Yes, the sea-captain from Conrad’s novels, M’Whirter or another. And Christina, thinking of them, felt, almost as though with her hand, the soft plush surface, a kind of false iridescence, shining and stretching over the hard true bone of sea experience. Then, when he spoke, the voice was all wrong, for it was soft, rather high-pitched, eager to be liked.

‘I know who you are,’ he said, grasping her hand. ‘Joe’s wife.’

‘Yes, I am—and you’re Captain Green.’

‘I’m Timothy Green.’ He was grinning all over his face so that his blue eyes almost disappeared, the corners of the eyes ran to wrinkles and his large ugly mouth showed his strong white teeth. ‘I’m lucky to catch you. I’m off next week.’

‘Oh, are you?’ Christina said: they were moving towards the house. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Now you can’t say that,’ he answered, laughing, ‘when you don’t know me—don’t know me a little bit. The fact is, Mrs. Joe, I’ve been idling here for months. Yes, idling. That’s the word, I’m afraid. You see, Mrs. Joe, it’s so pleasant here. Everyone’s so kind to me. Your husband and I are brothers—that’s what we are, Mrs. Joe, although I’m a lot older. We’re brothers. We’d die for one another if the call came.’

He looked laughing into her face, the beads of sea-mist glistening on his nose and roughly shaved chin.

‘I ought to be jealous of you, Mrs. Joe. The last thing we any of us thought of was of Joe marrying.’

‘Don’t be jealous, Captain Green,’ she said. ‘Joe isn’t a man to change. He’ll be just as fond of you.’

‘Women make a difference—anyway where men are concerned. I’m a widower, you know.’

‘No, I didn’t know.’

‘Yes, I’m a widower. And I find it hard enough sometimes. At my age. Forty-five. I like women. I always have. Yes, I’m a widower these three years, worse luck.’ He gave a profound sigh.

Christina had noticed that a new note of protest, almost of anger, had crept into his voice. He looked, for the moment, greatly troubled, his brown forehead all wrinkled and a white line showing under his strong brown curly hair. He was wearing no hat. He had a bald patch almost like a tonsure.

‘I’m very glad indeed that I should have just a few days with you. When you love a man as I love Joe and that man marries, why, then it’s mighty important to you the kind of woman it is. Now I have seen you—forgive a rough sailor—I don’t blame Joe. I don’t see how he could have helped it.’

‘Thank you, Captain Green.’

‘Now look here, Mrs. Joe—Tim, Timothy, not Captain Green. Am I Joe’s best friend or am I not?’

‘And my name’s Christina.’

‘Fine. Pretty name. I like it. We’ll shake on it, shall we?’

They stood close together, her hand within his large strong rough clasp. It seemed that he did not want to let it go.

But she had suddenly realized something. If Captain Green was here that meant that Joe too had also returned. Joe was back! Joe was back!

Wildly, almost triumphantly, she cried: ‘Joe must be back!’

‘Of course. He’s in the house!’

She broke from him and ran, pushing back the heavy front door, through the hall, through the drawing-room door. There she paused. It was Joe’s voice that she heard.

On one side of the fire Mrs. Field was sitting, her body a little forward, her hands busily moving at some sewing. Opposite, Joe, still in his riding clothes, was seated. He was reading.

‘Lovely she looked in the perfect tea-gown that she had chosen for his allurement. Her little throat, bubbling with laughter ...’

Mrs. Field looked to the door, smiled, held up her hand for silence.

Christina stole softly to a chair, sat down and waited.