Iris Murdoch - The Bell

Dora’s first instinct was to rush straight to Paul and tell him herself before he found out in some other way. Perhaps she could break it to him gently, calm him down, explain. She began to run along the terrace, passing Mrs Mark who looked at her inquiringly and started to say something. But before she got to the steps she was vividly picturing the scene and had changed her mind. As soon as Paul knew that Noel was here he would be deaf to any further commentary from her. Incoherent with rage and jealousy he would charge straight past her. She could never control him. Who could? She ran back again, once more passing Mrs Mark, who once more looked at her inquiringly and started to say something, and began to ascend the steps to the balcony. Noel, who had emerged from the stable yard, came across and began to pursue her up the steps, calling, “Dora, can we fix somewhere to meet later on?” Dora paid no attention, rushed in through the hall and out into the corridor. She had decided to go and see Michael. It was just possible that Michael might make Paul see that, for the sake of the brotherhood, no public scene must be made on this day of all days.

Dora had never visited Michael’s office, but she knew roughly where it was. When she found the door she knocked and bounded in without further ceremony. Her entry was so rapid that she had time to witness a little of the previous scene before its participants realized it had come to an end. Michael was sitting in a chair, leaning well forward, his elbows on his knees, his two hands extended. Toby was sitting on the floor just in front of him, one leg curled under, the other crooked up at the knee. One hand clasped his raised leg while the other was in process of making some gesture in Michael’s direction. As Dora entered they both scrambled hastily to their feet.

“Oh hello, Toby,” said Dora, “that’s where you are, is it. I’m terribly sorry to bother you, Michael, but something awful has happened.”

Michael looked appalled. “What?” he said.

“Someone I used to know has turned up, a journalist, to write about the bell. But when Paul finds out he’s here he’ll tear the place up. You must go and tell him not to.” This seemed to state the case.

Michael looked relieved. Then he looked at Toby. Toby mumbled something about “Better be off now.” Dora began to say something to him but he went off without looking at her. Michael made to follow him, got as far as the door, and then came back looking confused and distracted. Dora was firm. Generalship was beginning to come to her. She said to Michael, “Do you understand?”

“Yes, no,” said Michael. “This man, this reporter is here now and you think Paul will make a jealous scene? Can’t you persuade him to go?”

“He won’t go,” said Dora, “and it’s no use your telling him to. What I want you to do is to prevent Paul from exploding. I’m going to tell Paul about it straight away.” She turned and set off again at a run. She could hear Michael’s footsteps following her. They clattered down the uncarpeted stairs and out through the hall.

On the terrace, Noel was talking to Mrs Mark. They stopped to stare at the spectacle of Michael and Dora.

Noel said, “Everyone seems to be in a terrible hurry today.”

Mrs Mark said, “Oh Michael, don’t go away, the Bishop will be here any moment!”

Michael who was down on the grass by now, ran back to reassure Mrs Mark. Dora kept on in the direction of the causeway. By the time she had reached the middle of the causeway and was almost out of breath she saw Paul emerge from the end door of the parlours. She started to wave to him frantically. As she neared the end of the causeway she saw a dark Rolls Royce coming slowly down the avenue from the Lodge gates.

Dora rushed up to Paul, who had quickened his pace when he saw her waving. She could see his frown from a long way off. “Noel is here!” she cried.

“Who?” said Paul.

“Noel Spens,” said Dora. “You know.”

Paul was tense and cool. “You say”, he said, “that Noel Spens is here. You yell this at me as if it were good news. He came to see you?”

“He came to report the bell business,” said Dora.“Paul darling, don’t get into a rage!”

“He came to see you,” said Paul. “You invited him?”

“Of course I didn’t invite him!” shouted Dora. “Do you think I’m mad? He just came to interview people for his paper.”

“Well, I’m going to interview him,” said Paul. “I’m going to give him an interview he won’t forget!” He began to walk quickly across the causeway.

Dora followed, still talking and trying to hold onto his arm. The causeway was not quite wide enough for two people to walk side by side when disputing. The bishop’s car could now be seen in the distance crossing the bridges at the far end of the lake. Paul began to run.

At the end of the causeway Dora, who had been outdistanced, made a spurt and caught him up. As she did so she could see Michael running towards them down the grass slope from the house. Dora seized hold of Paul’s hand violently and tried to pull him back, crying, “Paul, it’s not my fault, I didn’t want him to come! Don’t spoil everything for the others by being furious now!”

Paul turned on her. He detached her hand from his with the other hand, and said to her quietly but baring his teeth,“There are moments when I hate you!” Then he gave her a push which sent her flying back into the long grass.

Paul went on running. Michael converged on him, his arms spread out like someone who wants to prevent an animal from charging out of a field. Dora got up from where she had fallen in the grass, found her shoe which had come off, and began to run too in the direction to the terrace. The Bishop’s car was just approaching the house. She passed Michael and Paul who had now met and came to a standstill. They both seemed to be talking at once. Dora did not think they needed her assistance.

The Rolls Royce came onto the terrace with the dignified condescension of a very large car moving slowly. It stopped at the foot of the steps, quite near to the bell. Mrs Mark, who had after all been left to hold the fort alone, rushed forward. James appeared a moment later on the balcony and began to hurry down the steps, falling over his feet. Noel lounged out of the refectory, eating a bun. Dora arrived panting and had to double up immediately because of an agonizing stitch.

The Bishop, who had apparently been driving himself, got slowly out of the car with the affable leisureliness of the great personage who knows that whenever and wherever he arrives he is immediately the centre of the scene. He was a big portly man with frizzy hair and rimless glasses, dressed in a plain black cassock and purple stock. His large fleshy face turned slowly, glowing with friendliness. He pulled a stick out of the car on which he leaned lightly while shaking hands with Mrs Mark, James, and Noel, and then with Dora, whom he was anxious not to exclude although she was hovering uncertainly in the background. Dora decided he took her for one of the maids.

“Well, here I am!” said the Bishop. “I hope I’m not late? My charming chauffeur has abandoned me – a lady, I hasten to say, and also my secretary. The exigencies of motherhood called her to a higher task. She has three children to look after, that is not counting myself! So at much wear and tear to my own nerves and those of my fellow motorists I have driven myself to Imber!”

“We’re so glad you’ve managed to come, sir,” said James, beaming. “We know how busy you are. It means a lot to us to have you at our little ceremony.”

“Well, I think it’s all most exciting,” said the Bishop. “And is this exhibit A?” He pointed with his stick to the white ribbony mound of the bell.