Айрис Мердок - The Nice and the Good

Kate Gray came briskly down the street, stopped outside Ducane's house, rang the bell, and was instantly admitted.

She knew that Ducane could not be at home since he was going directly from the office to spend the evening with Octavian. Kate had come to make her personal investigation of Ducane's manservant.

'I want to come in and leave some things for Mr Ducane and to write him a note,' said Kate, advancing promptly into the hall. 'Could you let me have some writing paper please? And perhaps I could leave these things in the kitchen. Thank you, I know the way. I am Mrs Gray. You are Fivey, I believe.'

Fivey had followed Kate into the kitchen and was silently watching her unload from her basket a box of marrons glaces and a bottle of slivovitz, her offerings to Ducane and her excuse for calling.

'You keep things very neat in here, Fivey,' she said approvingly.

'Very neat and clean indeed. It's a pleasant kitchen, isn't it. Now these things are for Mr Ducane. You know he won't be home until late this evening, he's over with my husband.'

Kate surveyed Fivey across the table. She found him very unexpected indeed. Ducane's attempts at describing, in answer to a question of Kate's, his man's personal appearance had been vague and had made Kate anticipate something a little coarse and brutish. Brutish perhaps Fivey was, but with the picturesque romanticized almost tender brutishness with which the Beast is usually represented in productions of Beauty and the Beast, a large touching cuddly animal which had always seemed to Kate in her childhood greatly to be preferred to the tediously handsome prince into which it had to be metamorphosed at the end. Kate marked the apricot skin, so strikingly blotched with big brown freckles, the huge inflated shaggy head, the abundant hair and moustache the rich colour of a newly opened conker, the long long slanted eyes of the purest spotless light brown, the long straight line of the lips. He must comb it, she thought. I wonder if I could persuade Octavian to grow a moustache, I never realized it could be so becoming.

Kate became aware that she had for some moments been staring at Fivey, who had been staring back. She said hastily, 'Could you bring me some paper please, to write my note on.'

Without a word Fivey disappeared and returned in a moment with some paper. Kate sat down at the table and wrote Dearest John. His hands are spotted too, she thought, lifting her eyes far enough to see one of them. I wonder if he is spotted all over. She put in a comma and poised her pen. She could not think of anything to say to John. She went on Here I am, and crossed it out. She wrote 1've'just been to Fortnum's and I've got you some nice things. She said to Fivey, 'I don't think after all it's necessary to leave a note. Just tell Mr Ducane I delivered these.'

Fivey nodded and Kate slowly crumpled the note up. Something had gone wrong. She made out that what was wrong was that Fivey had not spoken. Ducane didn't say he was dumb, she thought.

She said, 'I hope you're happy here with Mr Ducane, Fivey?'

'Mr Ducane is a very kind gentleman.'

'Good heavens!' cried Kate. 'Mr Ducane never told me you were Irish!' There was no mistaking the voice. 'Why I'm Irish tool'

'I took the liberty of recognizing your accent, ma'am,' said Fivey. His face was impassive and the slanted brown eyes were intently fixed on Kate.

'How splendid, I come from County Clare. Where do you come from?'

'I come from County Clare myself.'

'What an extraordinary coincidence!' cried Kate. 'Well, that's a real bond between us. Where in Clare are you from?'

'On the coast there '

'Near the Burren?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'How astonishing I I come from quite near there. Are your people still there?'

'Only my old mother, ma'am, with her little house and a cow.'

'And do you often go back?'

'It's the fare, ma'am. I send my mother a little bit of my wages, you see.'

I must give him the fare, thought Kate, but how? He looks rather a proud man. Of course I can see now that he's Irish.

'Have you been in England long, Fivey?'

'Not long at all, ma'am. I'm a country boy.'

A real child of nature, she thought. How very simple and moving he is, a true peasant. Ducane didn't describe him properly at all. And she thought, I do rather wish he was our servant. I wouldn't at all mind having Fivey.

'London must be a bit intimidating. But I expect you'll get used to it.'

Kate, who by now felt very disinclined to leave the house, got up and began to prowl about the kitchen, patting cups and stroking saucepans and peering into bowls. She was beginning to feel quite at ease in the presence of Fivey as if warm rays from his reassuring beast-like presence were both caressing and stimulating her nerves.

'Have a marrow glace,' she said. She tore the box open and thrust it across the table towards him.

Fivey's large spotted hand descended and, still staring at Kate with unbroken concentration, he conveyed the marrow to his mouth.

He does stare so, she thought, but I rather like it. Bother, now I've opened that box I can't give it to John. I'll have to take it away with me. Or else give it to Fivey!

She resumed her prowling. 'What's that?' She pointed to a bowl-like steel sink with a round gaping orifice at the bottom of it.

'A waste disposal unit,' said Fivey with his mouth full of marrow.

'Oh. I've never seen one. Let's dispose of some waste.'

Fivey came over to demonstrate. He took a soggy newspaper bundle out of the rubbish bin, dropped it down the hole, and turned a switch. There was a formidable grinding sound.

'It's rather alarming, isn't it,' said Kate. As she leaned forward over the machine she rested her white nylon gloves for a moment on the edge of the bowl. Then, with a flash like the escape of a fish, one of the little white gloves slid down over the slippery steel surface and into the dark churning void below.

After it, with almost equal quickness, went Fivey's spotted hand, but not quick enough to save the little glove from its fate. Half a second later Kate had gripped Fivey by the wrist.

'Oh, be careful, be careful!'

They stood quite still for a moment staring at each other.

Kate drew back a little, drew him back still holding the thick hairy wrist in a firm grip. Then she released him, sat down, and reached out automatically for the bottle of slivovitz.

She said, 'That quite shook me. You must be terribly careful with that dangerous thing. I think I need a drink. Could you get two glasses?'

Fivey put two glasses on the table and sat down, not opposite to Kate but beside her. With a hand that trembled slightly Kate poured out the slivovitz. She had forgotten its quite extra ordinary sexy smell. She could still feel the texture of Fivey's hairy wrist engraved upon the palm of her hand. She turned towards him and they drank. her, ms arinx in ms rignt nano, ms iert nano upon the tame. The big extended relaxed hand looked suddenly to Kate like a couchant animal. It's all very odd, thought Kate, I'd quite forgotten the taste of slivovitz, it's wonderful, wonderful. She laid her own hand down very slowly and carefully on top of Fivey's hand, moving it about slightly to feel the hair, the skin, the bone. They continued to stare at each other.

Then with a kind of formal deliberation, as if he were about to take hold of her for a dance, Fivey put down his glass, moved Kate's glass out of the way, edged his chair nearer, and began to slide his arm round her shoulder. The chestnutcoloured moustaches grew nearer and nearer and larger and larger. Kate closed her eyes.