Charles Snow - The Conscience of the Rich

Mr March felt envious of himself as a young man, not yet reconciled, not yet abdicating from his hopes of success. There were times when he called himself a failure. It was then that he invested all those rejected hopes in Charles; for everything that one aspired to, and had to dismiss as one discovered one’s weakness, could be built up again in a son. Could be built up more extravagantly, as a matter of fact; because, even in youth, the frailties of one’s own temperament were always liable to bring one back to realism, while the frailties of a son’s could be laughed off.

For a long time Mr March secretly expected a great deal from Charles’ gifts, more than he expressed during any of their arguments when Charles gave up the law. I remembered the end of that evening, after their quarrel, when suddenly he said ‘I have always wanted something for you’ and broke off the conversation, as though he were ashamed.

This afternoon at Haslingfield he was speaking in the same tone, concerned, simple, and with no trace of reproach. Months had passed. So far as he knew, Charles was still idle and ready to follow his own escape; Mr March could see his son also driven to waste himself. As he told us of his career at the bank, Mr March was speaking of his fears for Charles. When he let us see his own regret, he was desperately anxious that he and his son should not be too much alike. He looked at Charles as he told his stories, in a voice more subdued than I had heard it. ‘After all,’ he said, ‘ I didn’t do much. I wasn’t the man to make much of my opportunities.’

After lunch Mr March left us, and Charles and I went out to the deck-chairs in the garden. It was glaring and hot out of doors, by contrast with the shaded dining-room. Charles, affected by his father’s self-description, sat by me without speaking.

I heard a car run up the drive. A quarter of an hour later, Ann and Katherine came down from the house towards us. I noticed that Ann’s walk had the kind of stiff-legged grace one sometimes saw in actresses, as though it had been studied and controlled. By Katherine’s side, it made her look a fashionable woman: she was wearing a yellow summer frock, and carrying a parasol: she was still too far off for us to see her face.

When they came up to us, and she was introduced to Charles, it was a surprise, just as it had been on the night of Getliffe’s party, to see her smile, natural, direct, and shy. In the same manner, both direct and shy, she said to him: ‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’

Charles, standing up, her hand in his, said: ‘I believe we have.’

He added: ‘Yes, I remember the evening.’

She had spoken to him with friendliness. Although he was polite, I did not hear the same tone in his voice. He looked at Katherine. There was a glint in his eye I did not understand.

Ann lay back in her deckchair, and for an instant closed her eyes, basking in the heat. With her face on one side, the line between dark hair and temple was sharp, the skin paper-white under the bright sun. She looked prettier than I had seen her. Charles was glancing at her: I could not tell whether he was attracted: the moment we began to talk, he was provoked.

Sitting up, she asked me a question about Herbert Getliffe, going back to our conversation at the party.

‘I’ve heard a bit more about him since then,’ she said.

‘What have you heard?’

She hesitated; she seemed both interested and uneasy. ‘I couldn’t help wondering—’

‘What about?’

‘Well, why you ever chose to work with him.’

Charles interrupted: ‘You’d better tell us why you think he shouldn’t.’

‘I warn you that you’re going to meet his brother soon,’ said Katherine.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Ann said to her, ‘if Herbert Getliffe is a friend of yours.’

‘No. I’ve never met the man,’ said Katherine, who was nevertheless blushing.

‘You’ve gone too far to back out, you know,’ Charles broke in again. ‘What have you really got against Herbert Getliffe?’

Ann looked straight at him.

‘I don’t want to overdo it,’ she said uncomfortably and steadily. ‘I can only go on what I’ve been told — but isn’t he the worst lawyer who’s ever earned £4,000 a year?’

‘Where did you hear that?’ asked Charles.

‘I was told by a man I know.’

Charles’ eyes were bright, he was ready (I found the irony agreeable) to defend Getliffe with spirit. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘your friend isn’t by any chance a less successful rival at the Bar?’

‘His name is Ronald Porson. He happens to have been practising out in Singapore,’ said Ann.

‘He’s really a very unsuccessful rival, isn’t he?’

‘He’s a far more intelligent person than Getliffe,’ she said. With Charles getting at her, her diffidence had not become greater, but much less. Just as his voice had an edge to it, so had hers.

‘Even if that’s so,’ Charles teased her, ‘for success, you know, intelligence is a very minor gift.’

‘I should like to know what you do claim for Getliffe.’

‘He’s got intuition,’ said Charles.

‘What do you really mean by that?’

‘Why,’ said Charles, with his sharpest smile, ‘you must know what intuition is. At any rate, you must have read about it in books.’

Ann gazed at him without expression, her eyes clear blue. For a second it seemed that she was going to make it a quarrel. She shrugged her shoulders, laughed, and lay back again in the sun.

Soon Katherine asked her to play a game of tennis. Ann tried to get out of it, saying how bad she was. I imagined that it was her normal shyness, until we saw her play. Katherine, who had a useful forehand drive, banged the ball past her. By the end of the fourth game, we realized that Ann was not only outclassed but already tired.

‘Are you sure that you ought to be doing this?’ called Charles.

‘It’s all right.’ She was panting.

‘Are you sure that you’re quite fit?’

‘Not perfectly. But I want to go on.’

‘We’d better stop,’ said Katherine.

‘If you do, I shall claim the game.’ She was still short of breath, but her face was set in an obstinate, headstrong smile.

She served. They played another game. Charles was watching her with a frown. At the end of the set he went on to the court. She was giddy, and clutched his arm; he took her to her chair. Soon she was moving her head from side to side, as though making sure that the giddiness had passed. She smiled at Charles. He said in relief: ‘Why didn’t you behave reasonably?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ said Ann.

He scolded her: ‘Why did you insist on playing on after you’d tired yourself out?’

‘I was ill in the spring, you see.’ She was explaining her collapse.

‘Would it upset you,’ said Charles, ‘if I sent for a doctor?’

‘I’d ask you to if I needed one, I promise you I would.’

‘Just to relieve my own mind?’

‘I’d ask you to, if there was the slightest need.’

‘There really isn’t any?’

‘You’ll only irritate one if you fetch him.’

‘I don’t mind that—’

‘You haven’t had a doctor as a father, have you?’

‘You really don’t think there’s any need? You know enough about yourself to be sure?’ Charles reiterated.

Their sparring had vanished. They were speaking with confidence in each other.

‘You see,’ said Ann, ‘I used to have these bouts before. They’re passing off now.’

Just then Mr March walked down after his afternoon sleep. Before he reached us, he was watching Ann and his son. Then he looked only at Ann, and his manner to her, from the moment Katherine introduced them, impressed us all.