Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

`I expect you'd like something to eat too?' said Rose. 'Or what about some hot soup?'

`No, really – just lemonade or Coke or something. I mustn't stay long, I've got to get back.'

`Are you an undergraduate?' said Gerard.

`Yes.'

`What college? What are you reading?'

Rose, in the kitchen, was fetching out orange juice, a tin of soup, bread, butter, cheese. She had seen the parcel in the hall and knew, for Gerard had told her he was expecting it, what it contained. She felt sick and unreal. The tall blond boy had a resemblance to Sinclair. She thought, Regent scratching at the door, and now this. Oh God. But it's nothing to do wide Sinclair. We are surrounded by demons.

`Did that young chap remind you of anyone?' said Reeve, guiding his Rolls through the London evening traffic.

`Yes.'

`Of course, Neville's not so thin, and the nose and mouth no, not really like -'

`Not really.'

Of course, thought Rose, they don't remember Sinclair, they don't recall what he was like. Do they ever look at photos of him? No, of course not. They have unmade him. Originally, they had to. Now he's just forgotten. They must have I'd, uneasy about that inheritance, not exactly guilty, but it mum have been an awkward transition which they wanted to put behind them, to be as if it had always been them and riot w, They had not wept at Sinclair's funeral, at that disposal of lik broken body. They never knew Sinclair, they never really liked him. Perhaps that wasn't unreasonable. He had alwayo treated them as country cousins. They did not have long to wait for the title, the father so soon followed the son into non-being. Another bit of luck. They could not but have been pleased when that accident happened. At the funeral they must have been concealing their delight at such a remarkable, unexpected turn of events. Sad of course, but for them, lucky, splendid, for them and for their children and their children’s children.

As Reeve, who was not used to driving in London, fell silent, preoccupied with the Shepherd's Bush roundabout where an unwary driver may suddenly find himself on the motorway, Rose was being assailed by terrible new fears. That boy, that revenant, what was he doing now, alone with Gerard, what was happening now? Had Gerard noticed the weird resemblance, how could he not have done? Supposing Gerard were to . fall in love with that boy, that sudden sinister intruder, coming in out,if the rainy dark and bearing such a fateful burden? People who so much resemble the dead may be demons, suppose the demonic boy were to kill Gerard, suppose he were to be found mysteriously dead, like Jenkin? Perhaps the mystery of Jenkin's death was but the forerunner, preluding that of Gerard? The hideous idea then occurred to her that perhaps the fateful figure was Sinclair himself, Sinclair returned after due time as an envious ghost or revengeful spirit, taking, through Gerard, revenge upon them all. For were they not all guilty of his death, for not preventing him from taking up that Loaf sport, or not, on that day, proposing to him some other Irian? Did we not bring about his death, she thought, we who loved him so much, by our negligence, by certain particular careless acts – and they, the others, the gainers, by their perhaps unconscious prayers? Rose knew that these were awful and wicked imaginings, brought about by all sorts of present accidents, by grief itself, old old grief and the torture chamber of fate. Yet she could not stop the swift work of her Mick thought, the spinning out of awful pictures. The boy had brought that book, which was even now with Gerard, its proximity so dangerous to him, a vibrating ticking infernal machine. Perhaps Gerard, sitting up to read the book, would die mysteriously in the night?

Reeve, now safely in the Bayswater Road, the next hazard being Marble Arch, was saying, 'Of course no one can take the place of their mother, but they've always been so attached to you, ever since you were their Auntie Rose when they were little. And, you know, this change has been so terrible for us all – we have to think ourselves into a new era, make, really, a new eginning. Our life must have a different pattern – as of course it must an yway with the children almost grown up – well, some would say grown up, I suppose, but in so many ways bey are still children, they're at a dangerous vulnerable age, hey need love and care, they need a home with a centre. liat's where you come in. We must see more of you – and my dea is this, and I hope you'll think it over, that you should lane to live with us at Fettiston. Mrs Keithley can run the house, she practically does it now, and we're getting in another village woman, a sturdy soul. You won't have to be a housekeeper. What we want is your being there, and somehow as being in charge of us. You know how highly we think of you in every way. And of course we'll be in charge of you too. I t's too early to talk of happiness, the children can't conceive of being happy again, but of course they will be – and I shall recover, I shall have to, and people do. And, dear Rose, I do see your being with us in that new way as something, for all of us, happy and good. We'll have a place in London, a big flat or a house, and we'd hope you'd live there too, or keep your present flat as well, we wouldn't monopolise you! But I can't help feeling your belonging more to us would be good for you too. We've often thought – well – how lonely you must be all by yourself. I know you have old friends like Gerard and Patricia, but they inevitably have other interests, and there's nothing like family. Anyway, think it over. I'm sorry to spring it on you in this hugger-mugger way, I didn't mean to say it in the car! The children have been at me for some time to make this little speech! I feel sure we'll persuade you – when you realise how much we need you, you'll want to come!'

Rose thought, Aunt Rose, the lonely ageing spinster aunt, so much needed, to take charge, to be taken charge of. Perhaps they had even discussed what to do with her in her old age. And why not, to all of it why not? It was not just the voice of common sense, it was the voice of love. She thought, perhaps after Jenkin's death all the old patterns are broken. I must stop mourning and yearning. She had missed Neville's and Gillian's childhood. Soon she could be baby-sitting for them, cherishing their children, holding them on her knee. (But I don't like children, thought Rose!) New duties were after all a source of life. Somebody needed her in a new way. And Gerard – perhaps even now she had already lost him, or lost, it was more just to say, her illusion of something more, something closer and more precious, which he had yet to give her.

`To talk of more frivolous matters,' Reeve was going on, `we're planning to go on a cruise in the Easter vac, four whole weeks, and we want you to be our guest – please, please! It sounds marvellous, the Greek islands, then southern Russia. I've always wanted to be on the beach at Odessa! You will come, Rose dear, won't you?'

`I've got some engagements round about then,' said Rose, `an old school friend is coming over from America -'

`I'll send you the details – do fit it in, your being with us would make it perfect – and let us know soon because of the booking.'

Rose was shocked at the speed with which she had invented the old school friend. Well, she knew how to lie. And all her old illusions, were they not lies too? She did not want to say yes to the cruise, yet she realised she did not want to say no either. Did she not at last – had it come to that – simply want to go where she was needed?

Reeve was silent now, manoeuvring round Marble Arch, finding the right street to turn into, following Rose's directions. There was the question of where to park the car. Did a yellow line matter at this time of night? The street was already crammed with parked cars. Would it not be best if he set Rose down to claim their table? He hoped to be back fairly soon! Rose got out of the car, waved goodbye to her anxious cousin, and saw the Rolls move slowly and uncertainly away. At least t had stopped raining. She hurried into the hotel and left her oat. After that, instead of going to the dining room, she found a telephone and rang Gerard's number. The 'phone rang everal times, Rose could already picture herself in a taxi racing back to his house with death fear in her heart.