Iris Murdoch - An Unofficial rose

He spoke with more feeling than she had ever heard him display.

After his normal muteness, it was almost terrible to her to see him so moved, although he spoke quietly and with averted eyes. Yet the next moment she was wondering: why does he expect nothing?

'I hardly know what to say, Felix, she said, wanting to slow things down while she got her thoughts in order. It was very important what she said to him.

Felix, interpreting these words as some kind of negative, said hastily, 'Forgive me, forgive me. Let us drop the subject if you will. I should not have troubled you. And of course I can perfectly well go to India. Yes, really, it would be more sensible.

'Felix I' said Ann. 'Stop it I You really exasperate me I'

He gave her his eyes again, his wide' blue puzzled scrupulous soldier's eyes. He did not know what to make of her reaction. She hardly knew herself.

'I'm sorry, she said, ready for nervous laughter or tears, 'but you are so foolish! Of course we must talk about it now that it's come up. And of course I don't want to send you to India. But I must see what I'm doing. Could you be quiet for a moment instead of bounding around like a frightened horse?

Felix looked at her gratefully, entreatingly, and opened his hands towards her.

'You put me in a difficult situation, she said. 'You know I'm very fond of you. What more can I say? I can't tell you either to stay or to go. Don't you see? Oh dear — she floundered. She must not let him see what she really felt. So there was something which she really felt? She added suddenly and as if irrelevantly, 'Randall might come back: tomorrow. It had a cold dreadful sound. She felt her face harden in response to Felix's changing look.

'And if he came back tomorrow you'd take him back?

'Of course.

'And if he came back next year or the year after you'd take him back?

Ann looked away from him and out of the window. She saw outside in the last light the figure of Penn examining the dashboard of the Mercedes. She must be very very careful what she said. 'Yes, yes, I expect so. That was the right answer, wasn't it?

Ann went on hastily, 'I'm sorry to sound unsympathetic, Felix, but we mustn't be a pair of fools about this. I mean, you mustn't be a fool. This — about me — is a sort of nonsense. You must — attach yourself to someone younger, to someone — free. She almost choked on the word. 'There was a girl, wasn't there, a French girl? Mildred said something about a girl.

'There was a girl, said Felix. He hated this bit. 'There was a girl I was fond of in Singapore. But that's over and it wasn't important. Ann, please, I don't want to trouble you at all, but don't just thrust me aside like this. I've been in love with you for years, and it's not a sort of nonsense. I don't want to have to roar at you to convince you, but I'm prepared to roar if necessary.

'. What's her name?

'The Singapore girl? Marie-Laure. Marie-Laure Auboyer. But really, Ann —’

'Have you got a picture of her?

'Yes, but look here —’

'Could I see it?

'I haven't got it with me I' said Felix, his voice rising. 'But I tell you that's all over I' Then he murmured' Sorry.

What am I saying? thought Ann. Does he realize I'm jealous? She put her hand to her head. She had momentarily lost her balance. She said as calmly as she could, 'Felix, you really had better go now. I'm so tired and you startled me and I'm probably being stupid. We are old friends, and I certainly don't want to send you away, but I don't exactly want to «keep» you either if that means any sort of encouragement. Forgive me.

'I startled you —’ he said. 'I'm a brute. I think I will stay in England, if you don't mind. Perhaps I ought just to have waited without telling you I was waiting. But I assure you I'm not at all encouraged. I hope nothing and I expect nothing. I only ask you to let me see you a little and help you a little. I want the joy of serving you, even if it only lasts for a while. I want it, and I feel that because I love you I have a kind of right to it.

They both got up and stood rather stiffly beside their chairs. It was the moment of departure. Ann felt a strange heaviness of the limbs. It was as if for a little time she had been separated from her body and had rejoined it to find that it had lived, it had changed, in the interim. 'Perhaps it had been inhabited by an angel. She shivered again as at the light touch of some image, some thought. What was it? Then she realized that it was, absent from her for so long, the idea of happiness. No wonder she had not recognized it.

Felix moved after her towards the door. Then they stopped and stared at each other. Ann said to herself, and the thoughts came quite clearly, Felix assumes it may be years before I get over Randall, years before I am ready to fall in love again. But I am ready to fall in love again now.

It was not that she had suddenly ceased to love Randall. But she was certainly able now, if she relaxed her grip for a moment, to fall in love with Felix. She felt a terrible weakness at the knees. Did love really come upon one like this? Yet this love had been long enough in preparation. Was this falling in love? It was certainly falling. Falling. Falling. She held on to the back of a chair. As Felix inclined his head and began to move on in the direction of the door she realized with anguish that he was going to go without kissing her.

PENN GRAHAM found the behaviour of his English relations really incomprehensible. His uncle Randall had gone off publicly with another woman. Yet everyone was behaving quite calmly and cheerfully as if nothing had happened. Even Miranda, though restless and rather sulky, was scarcely more so than usual. Penn knew that if his own parents had parted he would have run mad.

They were over at Seton Blaise. Humphrey, Mildred and Felix were all in evidence, and Ann had come over with Miranda and himself. They had had a bonzer lunch with a butler waiting, and now they were walking in the chestnut grove which lay between the loop of the river and the little lake. Penn, who was walking by himself, could see the pale blue water between the trunks of the trees. It was a beautiful day, and a shifting yellowish green fell in elliptical coins of light through the gently moving branches. Penn was miserable.

His first feeling on realizing that he was in love with Miranda was a certain sense of achievement. He too, Penn Graham, was suffering from that famous ailment; and it did not take him long to realize that he had it in a very acute and probably quite exceptional form. Since then he had, he felt, lived through the whole history of love, and the dialectic of his suffering seemed to have spanned, in a few weeks, the whole of human experience. He began with a sense of exhilaration and with a pure unquestioning delight in the sheer existence of the beloved object. That Miranda should be: that was enough of joy. He contemplated, lying in bed that night, her marvellous beauty, her grace, her cleverness, her wit, her impish sharpness, and that sweet childishness which still hung like a veil upon her qualities of a lovely girl. Turning over and burying his face in the pillow he groaned with ecstasy and fell into a sleep of happiness.

The next morning to which he woke with an undifferentiated sense of bliss, produced however, as it wore on, a state of mind somewhat less solipsistic. Penn strayed forth into the world on that morning as into the Garden of Eden. He was a new man. A first man. A man. And since he had been made new it seemed to him somehow deeply evident that Miranda had been made new as well, and he wandered towards her through a rose-entangled forest full of sweet airs that gave delight and hurt not. He felt positively magnetic with the power of love, and did not doubt that since he loved Miranda so much he would be able irresistibly to draw her to him.