John Powys: After My Fashion

Just as he was leaving for the office she suddenly said, ‘Would you like me to get your supper for you or shall I go away when I’ve washed up?’

The idea of coming back to a lonely room struck his mind at that moment as the one thing he couldn’t endure. ‘Will you do that?’ he rejoined eagerly. ‘Here’s a couple of dollars.’ And he placed the two notes on the table. ‘Then we can manage again as we did last night,’ he added. ‘I don’t suppose either of us cares for Greenwich Village gossip.’

So it was brought about that these two took up their queerly assorted and entirely chaste domicile together.

Catharine reverted to her former method of earning a little money by embroidering Russian smocks which she sold at one of the numerous little art shops which abounded in that vicinity. Richard sent off many passionate and penitent letters addressed to Furze Lodge and by every weekly mail received a brief acknowledgement from Nelly of the small sums he punctually dispatched to her.

He worked more assiduously at the office of The Mitre than he had ever done before, receiving sometimes a bonus from the editor for work done beyond his original contract.

But he was all the while anxiously looking out for some means of rehabilitating his literary fortunes. He had constantly in his mind the idea of sailing for England; but it was obviously impossible to do so until he had obtained some permanent income. He could not see himself arriving in Sussex without a cent. To present himself before his wife, not to speak of Mrs Shotover, penniless as well as disgraced, was more than he could contemplate.

The weeks and months dragged on and the innumerable circles of people in that cosmopolitan city began in their various ways to prepare to celebrate the far-off event which for a minority meant the birthday of a God, while for the majority it signified parties and presents and desperate attempts to defy Prohibition.

The afternoon of Christmas Eve found Catharine occupied in a pathetic effort to adorn their bachelor apartment with some sprigs of holly and mistletoe, purchased in Jefferson Market.

The girl had seen nothing of Karmakoff since that day at Atlantic City, and as far as she knew Richard had seen nothing of Elise. Her receptive nature, passively docile to the will of fate, had slipped insensibly into a sort of trance-like domesticity, the seclusion and regularity of which had a healing effect upon her wounded spirit. It was the first time in her life that she had felt herself to be necessary to another human being. The naïve way in which the incompetent Richard clung to her ministrations was a profound solace to her self-respect. Nothing but the feverish activity of that whirlpool of human effort which seethed and eddied around them could have enabled their association to pass uncriticized.

They invited no one to the flat and they went to see no one together. The few separate encounters they did have with former acquaintances led to no sort of inconvenience to either of them; and if one Greenwich Village habitué remarked to another that Cathy Gordon had ‘moved downtown’, the worst commentary that resulted was some such remark as, ‘They say she’s having an affair with that fellow in Charlton Street whose wife ran away.’

Richard did not mention to Nelly in any of his passionate love letters that he and her friend were living under the same roof. The instinct that prevented him doing this at first was an entirely unconscious one. It was Catharine herself who converted it into a deliberate and conscious repression.

‘I’d rather you didn’t say anything to Nelly about my being with you. She wouldn’t understand it. And why should we agitate her unnecessarily when we know that if she did understand it she would be quite satisfied?’

Richard, amused at this innocent piece of sophistry, had not worried further about the matter. Since his conscience was clear, let the affair go! He had grown accustomed to Catharine’s companionship. He had got fond of the girl; and his renewed loyalty to Nelly did not seem in any way impinged upon by this relationship. If any sort of scruple did flicker for a moment across his mind it was constantly being quelled by Nelly’s reiterated requests that he should look after Catharine. Well! Catharine was looking after him. So all was as it should be!

On this Christmas Eve, while the young girl was standing upon a chair, holding in her hand two large bunches of holly with the intention of fixing them behind a print after Watteau, she heard a sharp knock at the door.

She hurriedly jumped down and cried, ‘Come in!’

To her amazement and indignation the door opened and admitted Elise Angel.

The dancer was wrapped in a black Spanish cloak which she promptly flung down upon a chair. She then quite calmly closed the door behind her and, folding her arms with a dramatic gesture, ejaculated the words, ‘So it’s as they told me! I didn’t believe it. It seemed too funny to be true.’

‘What seemed too funny to be true, Miss Angel?’

‘That you and Richard should be living together.’

‘We’re not living together!’

‘Well, that you should be here, then. It isn’t for outsiders of course to inquire any further.’

‘I’m expecting him back any moment; so unless you want to meet him I advise you to leave your message quickly.’

‘ Mon dieu! We have changed from our little devoted Cathy! Richard must have been telling you fine stories about me.’

‘We’ve never spoken of you once. Not once. Will you sit down?’

The last words were uttered in a reluctantly softened voice. It was difficult in the presence of Elise Angel, even for a jilted rival, to keep up the role of moral indignation.

The dancer settled herself in the armchair and fixed upon Catharine a look so disarming that the young girl asked hurriedly, ‘Can I get you anything, a glass of water?’

‘No — no! child. I’m only a bit tired. Your friend has left me and sailed for Russia.’

Catharine Gordon turned pale and leant against the table. ‘Sailed for Russia?’ she gasped. ‘When?’

‘Oh several weeks ago. I ought to have come and told you before. We quarrelled before he went — of course.’

‘He left you, too?’

Elise Angel smiled. ‘Yes, my dear, he left me too! It seems that neither you nor I are very clever at keeping people. But you seem to have got Richard safely anyhow!’

‘Have you come to take him away?’

‘ Mon dieu! little one, heaven forbid! But my impression is that our good Richard is pining for his wife. You know that pretty young person is going to have a child?’

‘A child? He never told me!’

‘I don’t know why he should have told you, you funny thing, unless you’re in love with him now.’

Catharine Gordon frowned at this and shook her head.

‘Not yet?’ repeated the dancer. ‘You’re just living — what shall I say — like brother and sister?’

The young girl coloured and nodded furiously.

There was a moment’s pause during which the two women exchanged one of those indescribable glances which reveal without words so many things. Then the dancer stretched out her arms.

‘Come and be friends again, you darling! We’re both deserted now!’

The look which accompanied this gesture was too much for the generous-hearted Catharine. She slid down upon the arm of her rival’s chair and hugged her impetuously.

‘What you and I have to think about now,’ said Elise Angel, ‘is what we’re going to do with our dear Richard. I caught a glimpse of him in the street the other day and he looked to me wretchedly thin.’

Catharine pouted like a child at this.