Iris Murdoch - The Book And The Brotherhood

Rose would have been happy in these days, for she believed having seen them together, that Jean and Duncan would be `all right', had it not been for her anxiety about Tamar. Jenkin had of course not divulged to anyone what Tamar had told him. Gerard, after a cautious enquiry, sheered off the subject which was evidently secret, and hesaid nothing to Rose about Tamar's extraordinary arrival at Jenkin's house. Rose knew that Tamar had been 'in a state', had run away from home to stay with Lily, and was now back with Violet. Rose had written to Tamar asking her to lunch, but had had no reply Gerard and Jenkin seemed to have nothing to say onthe subject of Tamar's troubles. Neither had Lily, whom Rose had rung up. Violet's flat was not on the telephone. Rose had been making up her mind to write to Violet, or else to appear unexpectedly at her flat one evening, when the drama of Jean's accident took her to Boyars. On her return to London their was still no letter from Tamar. Rose had written to Violet but had had no reply.

Now it was Tuesday, and the bell at Rose's flat had rung punctually at ten. Crimond had come up the stairs and was in Rose's sitting room.

Rose's first surprise was the extraordinary effect upon her of Crimond's presence in the room. It seemed like some fault of nature. How could he be here? Of course she had seen him not long ago at Gerard's and had, even more lately, been alone with him in his house. But to find him standing there in her own room, waiting for her to ask him to sit down, was positively weird. She felt the electric field round about him and it made her twitch.

He had left his overcoat in the hall, the door was shut, the electric fire was on. Outside the sun was shining on the white stucco fronts of the houses opposite. Crimond was wearing a black jacket, perhaps the one inwhich she had last seen him, and a clean white shirt and a tie. The jacket was visibly frayed and worn, but he looked, for him, quite presentable. On the last occasion he had resembled a priest. This time he looked more like a penurious young writer, tired, rootless, clever, frail. He gazed at her with a sad look, then looked around at her room. He said, his first words, 'I've never been here before.’

Rose said 'Yes' to this evident truth. She noticed, now more particularly, his accent, which sounded rather affected, Scots overlaid with Oxford. She felt awkward, had not planned here they were to sit, had somehow imagined that their brief colloquy could take place standing up. She decided it would be more business-like, less like a social scene, to sit at the table in the window. She motioned him to a chair and they both sat down.

Rose said quickly and abruptly, 'What do you want? Is it about Jean?'

Crimond had undone his jacket and put his forearms on the table, stretching out his long hands which were covered with fine red hairs. His nails were carefully cut but imperfectly clean and the cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned. He considered Rose’s words and said, as if replying to some theoretical or academic question, 'The answer is no.'

`What is it then?'

Crimond made his thin mouth even thinner, looking first at the table and then at Rose. That will take a little time to explain.'

`I haven't got much time,' said Rose. This was not true. As Crimond continued to be silent, frowning, his pale blue eyes gleaming at her, she said, `I think I must tell you that Jean hay returned to her husband.'

Crimond nodded, then looked away and took a long controlled breath, not quite emerging as a sigh.

Does he want me to sympathise with him! thought Rose. Slit, said, 'Is it about Gerard?'

`Is what about Gerard?'

`Your visit! You wrote saying you wanted to discuss an important matter! I'm waiting to hear what it is!'

`No, it's not about Gerard.' He added, looking at her again and smiling faintly, 'Don't be impatient with me!'

I must be polite, thought Rose, it may be a 'thank you' visit after all. She said in a more conciliatory tone, 'So the book is finished.'

`Yes. I'm sorry I didn't say earlier that it was nearly finished. I didn't intend to mislead you all. It was just psychologically difficult to say so. Perhaps I was superstitious, yes, I was superstitious, about the book. I thought I might never live to finish it.'

`It has certainly taken a long time, you must feel quite lost without it.' Rose and Gerard had of course discussed how, and whether, the break with Jean connected with the completion of the book, but had reached no conclusion. Perhaps the ending of his long task had disturbed Crimond's reason. His appearance and his manner struck Rose as extremely odd, and she wondered again if he were actually mad.

`Yes, it's like death.' He spoke solemnly, gazing at her intently. 'It is – a bereavement.'

Rose looked away, looked at her watch. 'Perhaps you will take a holiday now?'

`I'm afraid I am incapable of taking a holiday.' There was a slight pause, during which Rose tried to think of some suitable commonplace. He went on, 'I like your dress, it's the same green as you wore at the dance.'

Rose, annoyed by his remark, said, 'I didn't see you at the dance.’

‘I saw you.'

That sounds like ill luck, she thought, if the wolf sees you first! Perhaps he really does want to talk about Jean? I certainly don't propose to sit here making polite conversation! ’You said you wanted to talk about something particular. Perhaps you could now say what it is?'

Crimond, who had been staring at her, looked away and again drew a long deep controlled breath. He looked about the room and seemed for a moment at a loss. 'It's something personal.'

'About you -'

'About me. Also about you.'

'I don't see how it can be about me,' said Rose coldly. She felt a tremor of fear, and all sorts of horrible crazy possibilities suddenly made their appearance. She thought, he's going to blackmail me – yet how can he – to get Jean back – or else it's something against Gerard – or – she hoped she was not playing her emotion. 'Does it concern Gerard too?'

‘No,' said Crimond, in a sharp peevish tone, `it does not concern Gerard, Why do you keep dragging him in?'

'I'm not "dragging him in said Rose, beginning to get annoyed.'You've been so mysterious and sort of menacing. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I think you are full of ill-will towards us.'

‘You are very wrong,' said Crimond, looking intently at her. He seemed now collected and very tense.

'You ought to be grateful to us.'

'I am grateful. But -'

'But what?'

''That's what I came about.'

'Well, then, what is it?'

'I want to know you better.'

Rose was amazed. 'You want all of us to be your friends again, after everything that's happened, after -?'

'No, not all. Just you.'

'Why just me?'

`Perhaps I had better be more frank.'

`Perhaps you had.'

‘I came here to ask if you would consider marrying me.'

Rose flushed scarlet, and pushed her chair back. She felt almost faint with a mixture of anger and amazement. She could hardly believe that she had heard rightly. She said, `Could you say that again?'

`Rose, I want you to marry me. Of course this must seem to you premature -'

`Premature -!'

`It would have been possible for me to proceed more indirectly, asking you out to lunch and so on, but such – gambits – would have been in the nature of subterfuges. I thought it better to announce my – my wish – at once, and let the other things follow from that.'

Rose clutched the collar of her dress and shrank back inher chair. She felt very frightened. `Mr Crimond, I think you aro mad.'

`Please, if you will, don't call me "Mr Crimond". I would like you to call me "David", but if at the moment you cannot, I would rather you just called me "Crimond", as other people do. I know that I am sometimes thought to be mad, but you must surely, and surely now, see that I am not.'