Eleven

The next thing was that Georgie was not at her place. I had gone straight there by car after I had recovered my wits, and banged on the door, but there seemed to be no one in. I went to her room at the school, but she was not there and had not been there. I rushed back to her lodgings. There was still no reply. I went back to the school again and wasted time asking people. I felt both upset and offended, and after a while I returned to Hereford Square and spent the rest of the evening making a list of furniture, and telephoning Georgie, without result, at intervals. I did not seriously think she had been kidnapped or run over. I imagined that she must have been affronted by the way in which I pushed her off. I hated this idea: but felt confident of bringing her round fairly easily. It was not a pleasant evening, however. I drank a great deal of whisky, and went to bed.

I woke late the next day to hear the phone ringing. How well one sleeps when one is in grief. It was not Georgie. It was Antonia. She said she was glad to find me back, and asked if I would come to Pelham Crescent before lunch instead of her coming to Hereford Square in the afternoon. I agreed to this. Since I had made a fairly complete list of our belongings the matter could be as well discussed there as here. I telephoned Georgie's number again and got no reply. I decided I would call on Antonia, leave the furniture list with her, go to Georgie's, and come back to Antonia later on. I felt, still, hurt and cross rather than seriously anxious at Georgie's behaviour.

After I had washed and shaved I telephoned Georgie again, and tried the school, still with no results. When I was about to leave the phone rang again, but it was only Alexander to say that he and Rosemary were in London. He had come up to speak at a debate at the Institute of Contemporary Arts, and had stayed last night at Rosemary's flat. He wanted to know when he could see me. I told him I would ring him back.

It was a sunny morning, the first for a long time, frosty and very cold, but bright and clear with a light which, as it made the white crystals shine upon the leaves in the Hereford Square garden, reminded me of Austria, snow, skis, and old happiness. The painful elation which I had experienced yesterday at seeing Georgie in my house had vanished without trace; I was depressed, cross, weak, and terribly on edge. As I entered Palmer's front door I felt a sort of confused craven relief. At least here were people who would be gentle with me.

There was no one in the drawing-room. Then as I heard from Palmer's study the sound of Antonia's voice I knocked on the door. I opened it and went in. Antonia and Palmer were both there. Antonia was dressed in a quilted check housecoat which was new to me. Her hair hung down over her breasts in two plaits in a fashion which I had not seen her use and which disturbed me very much. She was tall, Greek. She was standing at the end of the divan, leaning with one hand on Palmer's desk. Palmer was sitting on the divan facing the door. He was wearing his loosely woven French jacket, a blue shirt, and a purple cravat. He looked sleek, clean, agile, young, a little raffish. In the bright sunny light I saw both their eyes fixed on me with concern, with a certain excitement, Antonia's big soft and fawny, Palmer's blue clear and cold. Behind them on the wall was the row of empty marks where the Japanese prints had been.

I realized instantly that something odd had happened. Neither of them greeted me, they simply stared, not smiling, and yet with a certain gentle retaining solicitude. I closed the door. For a wild moment I imagined that they were going to tell me that they had changed their minds about getting married. I took an upright chair from the wall by the door and placed it in the centre of the carpet and sat down on it facing them. 'Well, my friends?'

Antonia shook her head and half turned away. I began to feel rather alarmed.

Palmer said, 'Shall we tell him?'

Antonia, without looking at me, said, 'Yes, of course.'

Palmer gave me his level cold stare. He said, 'Martin, we have found out about Georgie Hands.'

This took me so terribly off guard that I instantly covered my face with one hand. I drew it away quickly, to change the gesture of weakness into one of surprise. I felt sick. I said, 'I see. How did you learn this?»

Palmer glanced up at Antonia, who had by now turned her back to me. He said after a moment, 'We'd rather not tell you just now. Anyway that doesn't matter.'

I stared back at Palmer. His limpid expression contrived to be tender and stony at the same time. He sat very straight and square, looking at me across the length of the room.

I said, 'What have you found out?'

Palmer again looked back towards Antonia. She spoke over her shoulder. 'Everything, Martin. The child, everything.' Her voice was rich with emotion.

I wished I could feel anger. I felt simply devastating guilt. I said, 'Well, there's no need to make such a fuss about it.'

Antonia made an inarticulate sound. Palmer kept me in his cool stare and shook his head very slightly. There was silence.

I said, 'I think I'd better go. I brought a list of furniture for Antonia to look at.' I threw the list on the floor beside me and made to rise.

'Wait, Martin,' said Palmer, in a voice that made me wait. After a moment, during which he seemed to wait for Antonia to speak, he said, 'I'm afraid we can't just leave this thing. Well, use your common sense, Martin, of course we can't. We have to talk about it. We have to react in an honest way. We can't pretend not to mind! Antonia has a right to hear from you on this.'

'To hell with Antonia's right,' I said. 'Antonia has forfeited her rights.'

'Martin,' said Antonia, who had not yet turned to face me, 'do not be rude and unkind as well.'

'I'm sorry I said that,' I said. 'I'm suffering from shock.'

'Antonia is suffering from shock too,' said Palmer. 'You must be considerate, Martin. We don't want to be unpleasant or censorious. But we must have this thing right out. See?'

'I see,' I said. 'Well, suppose you go away and let me talk to Antonia.'

'I think she would prefer me to be present,' said Palmer. 'Is that correct, dear?'

'Yes,' said Antonia. She was holding her handkerchief to her mouth. She turned about now and sat down on the divan beside Palmer, dabbing her eyes but still not looking at me. Palmer put an arm round her shoulder.

'Look here,' I said. 'What is there to talk about? You apparently have the facts and I don't deny them. Do we have to have the bloody court-martial as well?'

'You misunderstand us, Martin,' said Palmer. 'There is no question of a court-martial. Who are we to be your judges? On the contrary, we should like to help you. But you must realize two things: first that we both love you very much, and second, that you have deceived us on a matter of very great importance.'

'Martin, I can't tell you how it hurts,' said Antonia, still in a voice of tears, looking at the floor and twisting the damp handkerchief.

'I'm sorry, my dear,' I said.

'Ah, but are you?' said Palmer. 'We thought we knew you, Martin. We have just had a surprise. I will not say that we are disillusioned, but I will say that we are distressed. We have, in a sense, to start again. We have lost our grip. We have to see where you are, we have to see what you are. We are not trying to blame you, we are trying to help you.'

'I don't want your help,' I said, 'and as for blame, I can do that job myself. I'll talk to Antonia, but not to both of you.'

'I'm afraid you must talk to both of us, Martin,' said Palmer. 'We are both wounded and we are both concerned. For our sake as well as your own you must talk to us, and talk to us frankly.'

'How can you have told such lies, Martin?' said Antonia. At last she managed to look at me. She had shed her tears and was more controlled now. 'I was so surprised,' she said. 'I know I sometimes tell lies myself, but I thought you were so truthful. And I thought you loved me so much.' She choked on the last words and put the handkerchief to her face again.

'I did love you so much,' I said. 'I do love you so much.' I could not stand much more of this. 'I just loved Georgie too.'

'And love her,' said Palmer.

'And love her,' I said.

'Honestly,' said Antonia, 'I just can't think how you were capable of it.' A rational indignation was saving her from tears.

'Christ, one can love two people,' I said. 'You ought to know that.'

'All right,' she said, 'all right. And that you should deceive me – well, I don't exactly understand it, but I can imagine it. But when Palmer and I told you about us, that you should not have been honest then … I can't conceive how you could sit there pretending to be virtuous and let us carry all the guilt. It's not like you, Martin.'

'No, indeed, it isn't like you,' said Palmer, 'yet it must belong to you. Even psycho-analysts get surprises. We were very straight and honest with you. It simply didn't occur to us to deceive you. As Antonia says, you might at least have been truthful then. However, it humbles one. We must just try again to understand you. For understand you we will.'

'I can't explain,' I said, 'though there is an explanation. It doesn't matter.' I felt sick in confusion and guilt. I could not possibly make it clear to them the compulsion under which I had treasured the secret of Georgie. Understanding was out of the question; and indeed how passionately, just then, I did not want to be understood.

'But it does matter, Martin,' said Palmer. 'It matters very much. And we are in no hurry. We can talk about this all day if necessary.'

'Well, I can't,' I said. 'What do you want to know? Georgie's twenty-six. She's a lecturer at L.S.E. She's been my mistress for nearly two years. We had a child and got rid of it. That's the lot.'

'Oh, Martin,' said Antonia, and she was quite in control by now, 'don't pretend to be a cynic and not to care. It doesn't ring true at all. We know you love this girl and we want to help you. We know you haven't it in you to take a mistress without loving her deeply. I confess it was a shock to me to learn this. But I can get over it and I know how to be generous. Of course I'm jealous. It would be impossible not to be. I've already talked all this out with Anderson. But I think I really and truly do want what's best for you. Only you must be more frank and simple with us now. Please.'

'Antonia has been very honest with herself and with me,' said Palmer. 'You know how very much she loves you. She cannot but be shocked, not only by your deceit, but by the very existence of this girl. And it is natural, and indeed proper, that this revelation should arouse her love for you in an active and jealous form. Which is, for all of us, a painful situation. But she has behaved rationally, finely, and you need fear no resentment from either of us. In fact we want, as it were, to give you our blessing. So you see how wrong you were, and how unjust to us 1'

'We'll see you through, Martin,' said Antonia, who had been nodding her head throughout the previous speech. 'Who knows but that this strange tangle may not be for the best in the end for all of us? We'll stand by you and Georgie. This was really what I wanted to say. I'm sorry I seemed so upset and cross. It did distress me terribly that you deceived me. But indeed I do believe that you loved me all the time. So do not be guilty or worried, darling Martin.'

'I won't be guilty or worried, I'll be raving mad,' I said. 'I don't want you to see me through. I want to be left alone by both of you at long last.'

'You are mistaken about your wishes,' said Palmer. 'You don't so easily escape the toils of love. The fact is that this discovery has cast a shadow on us all, and we must all work to remove that shadow.'

'You mean I must be tidied up so that you and Antonia can go ahead?'

'You must be, as you put it, tidied up for your own sake also,' said Palmer. 'A lot of lying must be compensated for by a lot of truth-telling. I'm sure Georgie will agree with us. And then we shall be much happier, all four of us.'

'You were on about all three of us some time ago,' I said. 'Now it's all four. Why do you leave your sister out? Let's have a quintet.'

'Come,' said Palmer a little stiffly, 'be serious, Martin. You must take some responsibility for what you've done. As I said, we've got to understand you. And we shall understand you a good deal better after we've met Georgie.'

'Over my dead body.'

'You will have to be reasonable in the end,» said Palmer. 'After all, you are hardly in a position of .strength. So you may as well be reasonable now. Antonia has only just heard of this young woman. It is very natural that she should wish to meet her. And you should both be thankful that she will do so in no spirit of anger.'

'I'm told she is beautiful and clever,' said Antonia, 'and young: which is a lovely thing for you, Martin. Can you not see that I mean what I say? Can you not be generous enough to receive the gift of my good will, my blessing?'

'I tell you I shall go mad,' I said. 'You talk as if you were arranging my marriage. After all, for Christ's sake, you're not my parents!'

Palmer smiled his broad white American smile and drew Antonia closer to him.