them. When does conscience become intolerable self-consciousness ? When does spontaneity become self- assertiveness and rashness? I did not go to sleep till after five.
Twelve
At half past four the next Saturday I was driving along Park Side again. The common looked as murky and desolate as the day on which I had driven past on my way to wait for Andrew. Again I was smoking a cigar to calm my nerves. I repeatedly took deep breaths to counteract the heaving I felt beneath my diaphragm.
At the top of Mrs Lisle’s road there had been an accident. A large black labrador was lying, flanks heaving, in a pool of blood. A small crowd had collected. I could not help noticing things as I turned the car to approach from the other end of the street. The owner of the dog, a broad-backed woman, was bending over her wounded pet, her skirt was riding high on her bottom. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of flesh rolling over stocking tops. I cannot bear seeing animals in pain. This incident, however, was useful to me. It diverted some of my attention from myself. The dog was probably dying. I managed to see the meeting I was going to in some kind of proportion.
When I parked the car I did not hurry. I made a conscious effort not to. I carefully saw that the handbrake was on. I checked that both the rear doors were locked. On the pavement I dropped my cigar into the gutter and put my heel firmly on it until I knew it would be out. I looked carefully at the front of Mrs Lisle’s house, noting the number of windows , the colour of the window-frames and the drainpipes. I noticed for the first time that the front path was crazy-paved. There were three steps up to the front door. All three had recently been scrubbed. Even with all these efforts to externalise my attention my breathing was still heavy. I found that I wanted to go to the lavatory. I pressed the bell sharply.
*
Mrs Lisle led me into the house without a word. I looked around the drawing room; there was nobody there. Mrs Lisle glanced at me with slight reproach as I sat down. I wondered what Dinah had said to her about Andrew’s visit to the cinema. Mrs Lisle remained standing. She said:
‘I suppose you know the child isn’t coming. My daughter was coming anyway, so she’ll have to tell you why. I’m fed up with the whole business.’ She sat down on a small chair. ‘I didn’t see why I should do her dirty work for her.’
So Dinah was going to come after all. Of course the business about her going to be there anyway was obviously nonsense. The room looked drab and cold without the lights on. It was starting to get dark.
‘I’m sorry if I caused you any inconvenience.’
Mrs Lisle appeared to have said all she was going to until Dinah’s arrival. Suddenly she snapped:
‘You’re not a bit sorry. Why should you be?’ She got up and went over to the fire where she stood warming her backside. ‘I’d have thought she might have been grateful. The child actually enjoyed himself, which is a lot more …’ She stopped herself before adding what I felt sure would have been ‘… than he does at home.’
She looked angry with herself for saying as much. I felt that there was nothing I could say that would not exacerbate her mood. After a few moments she left me alone without another word. Another minute or two and I heard her footsteps in the hall. The door slammed. From the window I saw her stumping down the path in a fur-trimmed overcoat and feathered hat. I looked away and studied the landscape over the mantelpiece. Predictably several cows were drinking at a stream by a stone bridge. Some dark-looking oak trees hung their dismal foliage in a neat frame around the cattle. A paper lay on a table by the window. I walked over and picked it up. I should have been grateful even for Mrs Lisle’s stormy company in the empty house. A clock in the hall was tickingaudibly. I tried to read without success. There was something about the liner trains. Not even that
Twelve
At half past four the next Saturday I was driving along Park Side again. The common looked as murky and desolate as the day on which I had driven past on my way to wait for Andrew. Again I was smoking a cigar to calm my nerves. I repeatedly took deep breaths to counteract the heaving I felt beneath my diaphragm.
At the top of Mrs Lisle’s road there had been an accident. A large black labrador was lying, flanks heaving, in a pool of blood. A small crowd had collected. I could not help noticing things as I turned the car to approach from the other end of the street. The owner of the dog, a broad-backed woman, was bending over her wounded pet, her skirt was riding high on her bottom. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of flesh rolling over stocking tops. I cannot bear seeing animals in pain. This incident, however, was useful to me. It diverted some of my attention from myself. The dog was probably dying. I managed to see the meeting I was going to in some kind of proportion.
When I parked the car I did not hurry. I made a conscious effort not to. I carefully saw that the handbrake was on. I checked that both the rear doors were locked. On the pavement I dropped my cigar into the gutter and put my heel firmly on it until I knew it would be out. I looked carefully at the front of Mrs Lisle’s house, noting the number of windows , the colour of the window-frames and the drainpipes. I noticed for the first time that the front path was crazy-paved. There were three steps up to the front door. All three had recently been scrubbed. Even with all these efforts to externalise my attention my breathing was still heavy. I found that I wanted to go to the lavatory. I pressed the bell sharply.
*
Mrs Lisle led me into the house without a word. I looked around the drawing room; there was nobody there. Mrs Lisle glanced at me with slight reproach as I sat down. I wondered what Dinah had said to her about Andrew’s visit to the cinema. Mrs Lisle remained standing. She said:
‘I suppose you know the child isn’t coming. My daughter was coming anyway, so she’ll have to tell you why. I’m fed up with the whole business.’ She sat down on a small chair. ‘I didn’t see why I should do her dirty work for her.’
So Dinah was going to come after all. Of course the business about her going to be there anyway was obviously nonsense. The room looked drab and cold without the lights on. It was starting to get dark.
‘I’m sorry if I caused you any inconvenience.’
Mrs Lisle appeared to have said all she was going to until Dinah’s arrival. Suddenly she snapped:
‘You’re not a bit sorry. Why should you be?’ She got up and went over to the fire where she stood warming her backside. ‘I’d have thought she might have been grateful. The child actually enjoyed himself, which is a lot more …’ She stopped herself before adding what I felt sure would have been ‘… than he does at home.’
She looked angry with herself for saying as much. I felt that there was nothing I could say that would not exacerbate her mood. After a few moments she left me alone without another word. Another minute or two and I heard her footsteps in the hall. The door slammed. From the window I saw her stumping down the path in a fur-trimmed overcoat and feathered hat. I looked away and studied the landscape over the mantelpiece. Predictably several cows were drinking at a stream by a stone bridge. Some dark-looking oak trees hung their dismal foliage in a neat frame around the cattle. A paper lay on a table by the window. I walked over and picked it up. I should have been grateful even for Mrs Lisle’s stormy company in the empty house. A clock in the hall was tickingaudibly. I tried to read without success. There was something about the liner trains. Not even that
Similar Books
