A Pure Clear Light Page 5

  ‘Hello? Oh, Gillian? This is Simon, Simon Beaufort, we met last week—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I remember clearly.’

  ‘Oh. Ah. Ha! Yes—well look—’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m well, thank you, and you?’

  ‘I’m fine. Nice of you to call.’

  ‘Oh—well—yes; look—I mean, come to think of it, I’ve probably chosen a completely stupid time, I dare say you’re doing something else—the fact is, I just wondered if you might feel like going to see a film with me tonight—there’s something good on at that Whiteley’s cinema, so I just thought—but as I say, you’re probably on your way somewhere else already, no matter, some other time perhaps—’ No. No other time. This is it.

  ‘No, I’m not. I’d love to. Where shall I meet you, outside the cinema?’

  So it was just as simple as that. There was nothing to it, nothing. Ask and it shall be given. And so Simon began falling into the abyss, in all its black, fathomless depth.

  20

  ‘Which one do you like the best?’

  ‘I like them both the same.’

  ‘Yes but which one do you really, really like, really?’

  ‘I don’t like either of them, really, really.’

  ‘You do. ’

  ‘I do not. ’

  ‘I know you do.’

  ‘I like them the same,’ Thomas piped up, ‘because they are the same. They’re exactly the same. That’s because they’re twins.’

  ‘Yes of course they’re twins,’ said Nell, impatient at his intervention, ‘that’s the whole point. I only want to know which one she likes. ’

  ‘I don’t like either of them,’ said Janey.

  ‘Ho, ho, ho,’ said Nell. ‘Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.’

  Flora was listening to all this through the kitchen window. ‘Nell!’ she called. ‘Could you come here a moment? I need you.’ Nell came inside. ‘Do leave poor Janey alone,’ said Flora.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I ask you to.’

  ‘No, but why?’

  ‘You’ll understand one day.’

  ‘You’re always saying that.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘When will I understand?’

  ‘When you’re a little bit older.’

  ‘I want to understand now. ’

  ‘The sentiment does you credit. But you’ll just have to wait, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I only asked which one she liked.’

  ‘Which one what?’

  ‘Which twin.’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘So that I can tease her.’

  ‘Why should you want to tease her?’

  ‘It’s fun.’

  ‘It’s naughty.’

  Nell was silent, and looked at the floor. ‘It isn’t fair,’ she said.

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘Being the younger. Nothing ever happens to me. It isn’t fair. ’

  ‘Oh, poor little Nell. Come here.’ Flora put her arms around Nell and cuddled her. ‘Poor little Nell,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to make something happen to Nell, won’t we? Would you like something nice, or something nasty?’

  ‘Something nice,’ muttered Nell.

  ‘Well,’ said Flora, ‘I’ll see what I can do. Are you sure you don’t want something nasty?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nell.

  ‘Sometimes you can’t have the one without the other, you see,’ said Flora. ‘Sometimes in that case it’s better to have neither.’ This gave Nell something to think about, so she was silent.

  ‘In the meantime,’ said Flora, ‘what shall we do tomorrow?’ They talked about the possibilities, one or two of which included the Hunters and another which didn’t, and Nell generally cheered up and stopped feeling sorry for herself. ‘In a few years,’ said Flora, ‘such a lot of things will begin to happen to you, I promise.’

  ‘But what will I do until then?’ wailed Nell.

  ‘You could try and read more,’ said Flora. ‘For a start. And perhaps, when we get back to London, you might like to start going to a dancing class.’ She said this off the top of her head.

  ‘Oh, can I?’ said Nell eagerly.

  ‘Of course, if you like,’ said Flora.

  ‘Can I go to ballet?’ said Nell.

  ‘Yes, I should think so,’ said Flora.

  ‘Oh, that’s pukkah,’ said Nell.

  ‘But you needn’t tell the others yet,’ said Flora. ‘It can be our secret, until it’s all fixed up.’

  ‘Okay!’ said Nell.

  ‘But no more teasing,’ said Flora. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  So after this she left poor Janey alone; but it was difficult. Indeed, it was difficult.

  21

  ‘Did you like that?’

  ‘It wasn’t bad.’

  ‘Shall we have something to eat now? Do you feel like a Chinese? There’s a good one here somewhere, isn’t there?’

  ‘You must let me pay.’

  ‘I won’t hear of it.’

  ‘Then I won’t come with you.’

  ‘We’ll go halves then.’

  ‘Like the adults we are. Good.’

  When they were eating he said, do you always refuse to be paid for? and she said yes, generally speaking.

  ‘In any relationship,’ she said, ‘autonomy is a primary good.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Simon.

  ‘And it has to begin with financial autonomy,’ she said. ‘Even when it doesn’t end there.’

  ‘I see,’ said Simon.

  ‘Good,’ she said.

  She asked about his work; he said nothing about his Grande Illusion. ‘I’m just a hack,’ he said.

  ‘Like me,’ she replied.

  Simon leaned back. ‘How did you come to choose accountancy?’ he said.

  She was picking up a fritter: she was the sort of person who’s very good with chopsticks. She was wearing another of those simple, costly outfits: a skirt and jersey; you had to have an eye for these things before you so much as noticed. You see (they said) I don’t have to try; I wouldn’t even dream of it.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I intended originally to go to the bar. I actually read law, but then, I thought well, sod it; it will be years before I’m earning enough to feed a cat. Autonomy again, you see.’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ said Simon.

  ‘Of course, I probably won’t stay forever in the private sector,’ she went on. ‘My plan was to earn enough to buy a decent house and perhaps a few shares, and then go into the SFO. Or the NAO. Or something of the kind. You know.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’

  ‘The idea of hunting down City scoundrels appeals to me greatly,’ she said. ‘Down these mean streets, etcetera. Or should that be labyrinths? Even better. But the money’s absolutely pathetic, you see.’

  ‘Will you really be able to give it up when the time comes?’

  She looked at him, astonished. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘As soon as I’ve got the house and the shares. That’s my autonomy insurance, you see. Not a lot of shares. Not a huge house.’

  ‘I see,’ said Simon, again. He was almost mute with amazement. Here it was, the new woman: autonomous.

  ‘I don’t,’ she said, deftly picking up a last mouthful from her plate, ‘care about money as such. ’

  ‘Ah,’ said Simon.

  ‘I mean, do you?’

  ‘I never thought. That is—having none—to speak of—the question hasn’t arisen.’

  ‘Need a question arise, in that sense, before one thinks about it?’

  ‘No-o-o, no of course not.’

  ‘Well then?’

  ‘I suppose, if I cared about money, I’d be in a different game, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, I dare say so.’ She looked away; the subject was exhausted. He felt that he had failed in some way. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time alone,’ she suddenly said—as it were, in explanation of what had gone before. Simon was jo
lted back from the sense of failure, of unease, to which their exchange had brought him: he looked, slightly puzzled, at her face. Her brown eyes looked out at him from its pale, almost unremarkable—almost plain—oval: nearly expressionless: almost completely candid, like those of an animal or a small child. ‘I’ve thought about lots of questions,’ she said. ‘I always assume other people have too.’

  ‘My wife’s like that,’ Simon said, without thinking; and then he did think, and was appalled. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘There’s nothing to apologise for. There it is.’

  There was a silence: not—surprisingly—uncomfortable, but deep. It was to be endured. It was part of the deal. Simon had not truly understood, until this moment, until this realisation, that there was a deal. It was he who spoke first. ‘Let’s go for a bit of a walk,’ he suggested, ‘shall we?’

  She smiled at him, and began to rise. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ she said.

  Simon signalled for the bill, and when it came punctiliously counted out his half share and half the tip, while he waited for her return. Flora and the children had been mentioned and briefly discussed, in Gillian’s presence, in Camden Town. She knew as much as she ought, as she could wish: that subject was now and forever dealt with. It was the flag which waved, bravely, just beyond the edge of the abyss. No matter how far he might fall, he would never lose sight of it; neither would she; there it was.

  22

  Their walk brought them naturally, in due course, to her front door. ‘Will you come in?’ she said. He simply nodded, and followed her into the building.

  Luxury, of the bathetic kind. She turned her head and grinned at him. ‘Nice here, isn’t it?’ she said. They ascended several floors in a very opulent lift and then walked the length of a corridor, and she unlocked a heavy mahogany door. ‘Here we are, then,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

  She led him into a vast almost empty sitting room—a standard lamp was alight, and a blue chinchilla cat sat on a sofa in its glow. The curtains had not been drawn; the windows looked across the street at another mansion block opposite. She caught sight of his face. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry—I should have warned you. Too awful, isn’t it?’ She laughed. ‘Sit down, anyway, and I’ll get you something to drink.’

  ‘No, really, nothing to drink,’ said Simon.

  ‘Or would you like some tea?’

  ‘Tea would be terrific.’

  Simon was still staring around the room. How could such a place be her home? It contained nothing but two very large leather and chrome sofas, with some matching armchairs, and a Shiraz rug; and there was a large pedestal desk by the windows with an old office chair drawn up to it. Gillian sat down next to the cat, who had not moved, and waved at the other end of the sofa. ‘Do sit down,’ she said, beginning to laugh again. ‘Oh my dear, if you could see your face! I’ll get the tea in a moment—just let me explain—’ but she continued to laugh, and Simon joined her. ‘You see,’ she said, ‘well—it’s a long story, but this flat was actually Albie’s idea.’

  Oh God. ‘Albie?’

  ‘Albert J. Short the Second. An American broker with whom I lately cohabited. He went back to the US eighteen months ago, never to return. I just haven’t had time to turn this place in for something else. Well, there’s not really much point, until I’m ready to turn it in for the place. That little grey home in the west that I was telling you about. So in the meantime—but at least I got rid of most of the Albie f and f. He had a strange penchant for Harrods furniture department, had Albie. Well, Harrods everything, actually. Dear Albie.’

  ‘Tell me about him.’

  ‘He jogged. That was why he insisted on buying this particular flat. So close to the park. Straight up the street, and you’re off. And then there was the baseball game on Sunday. So you see—anyway.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Oh, we were just a couple of crazy kids.’

  ‘You were?’

  ‘Pretty much. Well, I was a bit of a drip before I met Albie. Little Miss Muffet with a nice tidy game-plan. Albie taught me to dance, as it were.’

  ‘Good for Albie.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Oh, it came to a natural end. No, really. No tears, no recriminations. We still fax each other once in a while. He’s just got married, actually. I was invited to the wedding.’

  ‘Did you go?’

  ‘I would have, but it was just too awkward to get away at the time. As it was, I sent a present that I knew Albie would simply love. ’

  ‘This is a bit disconcerting.’

  ‘Is it? Let’s have that tea then.’ She left the room, and Simon sat on the leather sofa, thinking about Albert J. Short the Second, who had taught her to dance.

  ‘And this cat,’ he said, when she returned with the tea, ‘was that Albie’s choice too?’

  ‘How did you guess?’ she said. ‘I don’t even like cats! But Albie had to go to New York for a week, just after we moved in. On the Saturday morning after he left, Harrods—who else—telephoned to make sure there was someone here: they said they had a special delivery for Miss Selkirk. I was expecting something spectacular in the way of cut flowers, but half an hour later, this turned up. In the form of a kitten, you understand. In a de luxe cat basket, accompanied by a week’s supply of cat food and the rest of the paraphernalia. And his pedigree. So that I wouldn’t be lonely, you see.’

  ‘I hate to say this,’ said Simon, ‘but that Albie is beginning to sound something like a pukkah sahib. ’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, smiling; ‘he was something like. Certainly something like.’ She stopped smiling and her expression was suddenly remote. ‘Do you take sugar?’ she said. ‘Milk?’ She gave him the cup of tea. ‘But no one’s perfect,’ she said.

  Desire for her had been waxing and waning from one hour in her presence to another; she would seem to invite, and then to elude him. Sometimes she seemed to lead him, unintentionally, into a dark cul-de-sac of the spirit where desire was quite unthinkable.

  ‘Not until they die,’ Simon said. ‘Then they become perfect. Read the obituaries if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘True enough,’ she said. ‘Well, that’s something to look forward to.’

  ‘As long as you want to be perfect.’

  ‘But of course I do.’

  He could have sworn that she was quite serious.

  ‘You’re a funny girl,’ he said.

  ‘I’m thirty-three.’

  ‘A long way from perfection.’

  ‘I can certainly use the time.’

  ‘You’ve got such a lot more than I have.’

  ‘Not such a lot, surely.’

  ‘It seems a lot to me.’

  ‘At any rate, then, you’re nearer perfection than I am.’

  ‘All appearances to the contrary.’

  He reached out to replace his empty teacup on the tray and she took it from him. Their fingers touched very briefly. They were out of the cul-de-sac. It was time. She glanced around the room. ‘I really should do something about the rest of this stuff,’ she said vaguely. ‘Perhaps I’ll send it to an auction.’

  ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘Do it soon.’

  ‘The bedroom’s all right,’ she said. ‘I was entirely responsible for that.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said.

  ‘Would you like to see?’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I would.’

  She got up, and took his hand. ‘It’s this way,’ she said.

  23

  Simon could see, driving back to Hammersmith, just before dawn, after his first night with Gillian Selkirk, that his life was going now to be quite different, in some way that he could only barely foresee. All that was certain was that he had been re-invented in some deep and fearful manner.

  No sooner had he crossed the threshold of that bedroom than coloured lights had seemed to flash on and off madly in his consciousness and his veins had filled with their mul
ticoloured energy: her power of bewitchment had become the power to transform and even to control and he had truly found himself in a new mode of existence. What had seemed surely the descent into an abyss then appeared rather—or also, simultaneously—an ascent into an empyrean other-world. He had not waited even to undress properly or to let her do so. It had been horrifying, and glorious, all at once: the dread which he had felt from the start had become one more thing, one ultimate thing, to be embraced.

  So this was where he lived, was it? This the house—this plain brick three-storey façade with its five white-framed windows, its dark blue door with a brass knocker (nice work there, Mrs Brick)— this his hallway, these his children’s macs, that his wife’s umbrella in the cast-iron stand? Simon went, unwillingly, to face the worst of it, into the kitchen, and sat down at the table: and after a few moments of simply sitting, waiting, bringing it all into focus, this room so redolent of Flora and the children, he thought, who was the man who lived here before?

  And he truly could not remember how it had felt, before, coming in here, in the evenings, say, after work; reaching for the gin; that life was too obscure now even to inspire a sense of loss. The question of whether this new creature I am has acted rightly or wrongly, Simon thought—but he had not thought: he had been inspired, the thought had come unbidden, like a gift of the spirit— the question is simply not pertinent. He had entered a realm beyond right and wrong. He had stepped—simply in the natural course of events, without seeking to do so—into a world where there was no need, and no place, for such questions: where one simply acted. It was a benefaction, which he had done nothing—that he knew of—to deserve; it was simply a piece of luck, beyond reason or justice. He had entered a sort of paradise—yes, that was as near as one could get to describing it. This was not a matter for either celebration or sorrow; it was a simple, neutral fact. All he had to do hereafter was to walk very carefully along the straight line before him.

  He felt quite calm. If he’d been a believer—in any sense of that term—he might have thought, thanks be to God; but as he was not—in any sense of that term which he comprehended—he only thought, there it is. And just for an instant he heard the echo from the depths of the abyss, yawning fathomlessly on either side of this fine straight line where his feet were now planted.