The Philosopher's Pupil by Iris Murdoch Page B

You mean you go out? ’
    â€˜I go as far as the Baths and the Church. I go to the Food Hall at Bowcocks.’
    â€˜One day I’ll immure you.’
    â€˜We are two people in despair.’
    â€˜You flatter yourself.’
    â€˜You mean you aren’t in despair?’
    â€˜I mean you are not. Women are incapable of despair.’
    â€˜How can you say that!’
    â€˜Oh they can cry, that’s different. God, this room smells of cigarette smoke.’
    â€˜I never smoke when you’re here.’
    â€˜You’d better not.’
    â€˜If you were here more I’d smoke less. Shall I open the window?’
    â€˜No, stay put, Miss Nightwork. I like the cosy stench of face powder and cigarette smoke and alcohol. Only I wish you wouldn’t put those potted plants in the bath. Potted plants in the bath are an image of hell. Chaos and Old Night. Not like your corset on the floor, which I rather like.’
    â€˜It’s not a corset.’
    â€˜Whatever it is. Chaos and Old Night.’
    â€˜Would you like another drink?’
    â€˜Hey nonny nonny - no. You have one, dear daughter of the game. I’ll walk about.’ George rose and began to walk, across the room, out into the hall, into the kitchen, back again to the window. He often did this. Reclining on the sofa with her shoes off, Diane watched him.
    Diane Sedleigh was the most genteel prostitute in Ennistone. (The man she had imprudently married once upon a time was called Sedley, but Diane thought that Sedleigh was more elegant.) She was a small slim woman with almost black straight hair which was cut short and clung to her small head, sweeping in a little neat pointed curve round her face on either side. Her dark brown eyes were not large but were ardent and eager, not unlike the eyes of Zed, Adam McCaffrey’s dog. She liked to hint that she had gipsy blood. No one believed this romantic hint but it was none the less true. She was a cousin, possibly a half-sister, of Ruby Doyle. (She had been christened, at St Olaf’s, her mother being Church of England, ‘Diamond’, but early decided that she had enough troubles without owning such a bizarre name. The familiar ‘Di’ easily became the elegant ‘Diane’.) There was a third girl too, sister or cousin. The gipsy father or fathers were legendary beings from another era and there had never been any family life. Diane had very small feet and small nicotine-stained hands. She sometimes wore black silky dresses, very short, with black stockings, and thought of herself as a ‘flapper’. She was dressed like that today, with a barbarous metal necklace which George had given her. His only gifts, apart from money, were cheap exotic jewellery. Sometimes when she wore trousers she posed differently, legs wide apart and shirt coming loose, showing her small breasts, a tiny defiant female pirate. Of course she pronounced her name Dee-ahn, not Die-ann.
    Diane had been beautiful when she was young, and had experienced the claims upon the world which beautiful women feel, especially if they are poor. She was now nearly forty. She came from a poor home in the Burkestown area of Ennistone. Her father left her mother, her mother went away with another man. Diane lived unhappily with a series of vague ‘aunties’, whose relationship to her and to each other remained conjectural. When she left school she worked as a waitress, then as a shop assistant in Bowcocks, then as a clerk in a betting office. One day she let her boss take some photographs of her in the nude. Was that the beginning of it all, was it fated, could it have been otherwise? It was a long story, the old story, Diane preferred not to remember how it went. She became pregnant twice, each time abandoned, and had to look after her expensive secret abortion herself. She was briefly married to that Sedley somewhere along the way. Men were beasts. She took to prostitution as a