Iris Murdoch - The Sandcastle

‘Mor,’ Rain said, murmuring into his ear, ‘Mor, we cannot do this, we are behaving like mad people.’

Mor heard her, and her words moved in his head, becoming his own thought. It was a searingly painful thought. He continued to hold her close to him. Such pain could not be endured; and if it could not be endured, then there must be some way to avoid it.

‘We have no future,’ said Rain.

He felt her tears upon his cheek. She is brave, he thought. She says this so soon. I would have waited. He held her and went on thinking.

‘Mor,’ said Rain, ‘please speak.’

‘Dear heart,’ said Mor. He sat back on his heels. The brandy was untasted beside him. He drank some of it. Rain sipped hers. He felt as if they were adrift together. A world of appalling desolation surrounded them. But at least at this moment they were together. The brandy was putting courage into him. He could not, he would not, let her go. Yet there was no way.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ said Mor, ‘but I want to go on seeing you.’ Once he had said this clearly, he felt better.

Rain was silent. ‘I know,’ she said at last, ‘that I ought to say no to that, but I can’t. If you want to see me, I shall see you. But we are mad.’

Mor felt profound relief. ‘It can’t be,’ he said, ‘that you really love me. You must try to find out your real feelings. Let us have a little time at least for these things to become clear.’ As he said this he felt much better. Here was something rational to hold on to. The situation was not yet quite clear. Perhaps Rain didn’t really love him - and if not there was no problem, or at least not the same problem. They must wait a while to see what their real feelings were - and during that time they must quietly encounter each other, patiently waiting.

‘Do not deceive yourself,’ said Rain. ‘If our feelings are not clear now, they will never be clear. If there is something called being in love, then we are in love.’

My God, what honesty, thought Mor. But he did not want her to lead him into a place from which there was no issue. He countered at once. ‘All right, call it so - though how you can love me is still a mystery. But if it’s granted that we do see each other again, then at least nothing can be decided at once. We must wait a while. I feel far too confused to make any decision - except the one that we’ve made.’

Rain was sitting up in his embrace. She had emptied her glass of brandy. ‘Mor,’ she said with a wail in her voice, ‘what is there to be decided? You are married. You are not going to leave your wife - and really there is nothing more to be said. We may see each other again - but in the end I shall have to go.’ She hid her face in his shoulder.

Mor sat there thoughtful, in a strange repose. He rocked her against him. Was it unthinkable that he should leave Nan? The thought was so colossal and came upon him so unexpectedly that he drew in his breath. His mind closed up at once. He would not think of this. At least he would not think of this now. He must have time - and meanwhile he must hold Rain and make her trust him and make her patient. ‘Do not let us torment ourselves any more for the moment,’ he said.

His tone impressed her. The remained for a while in silence. ‘Have you been in love before?’ said Mor. He was lying beside her now on the sofa, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

‘Yes,’ said Rain, ‘do you mind? I was in love when I was nineteen with a young man in Paris, also a painter.’ She sighed.

Mor felt a fierce pang of jealousy. Rain at nineteen. ‘A Frenchman?’ he said. ‘What happened?’

‘Yes,’ said Rain. ‘Nothing happened, really. My father didn’t like him. He went away in the end. He got married since, I heard.’ She sighed again, very deeply.

Mor held her violently to him. He wanted her.

‘You know,’ said Rain, ‘like Mr Everard you probably think that I must have lived a very gay life in France — but it wasn’t so. We lived very simply in the south, and we didn’t often go to Paris or London. My father was so jealous of everyone.’

Mor tried to picture her life. It was difficult. ‘You will tell me more,’ he said, ‘in time.’ It was a consoling phrase.

Mor looked at his watch. Somehow it had got to be half past eleven. Now that he knew that he would see her again he was not anxious to detain her. He felt that enough had been said to bind them together - and he did not want to alarm Demoyte by keeping her out late. He said, ‘You ought to go home, my child.

Rain sat up and made a rueful face. ‘I’ve been very silly,’ she said. ‘I told Mr Demoyte that I was going up to London and would spend the night there. I had to say that so as to get away from him - otherwise he would have kept me the whole evening. And I did intend when I’d delivered the note to get into my car and drive up to London. It’s parked in the school grounds. But what shall I do now?’

‘You could go back to Demoyte’s and say you’d changed your mind,’ said Mor, ‘but it would sound rather odd. I think he’d guess the truth or something like it.’

‘I should hate to hurt him,’ she said.

They sat there avoiding each other’s eyes. The rain was battering the house on all sides.

‘There’s no earthly reason,’ said Mor, ‘why you shouldn’t stay here. It’s idiotic anyway to go out on a night like this. You can sleep in Felicity’s bed. I’ll go and put some clean sheets on it now.’

She caught his coat as he got up to go. ‘Mor,’ she said, ‘you’re sure you don’t mind my staying and not -’

Mor knelt down again beside her. I love you,‘ he said, ’will you get that into your head, I love you.‘ He kissed her.

As Mor went upstairs he felt how strange and wonderful it was after all to be keeping her in the house. He began to make up the bed. He wanted to sing.

Rain soon followed him up. ‘I shall go to bed soon,’ she said. ‘I’m terribly tired.’

Mor felt exhausted too and knew that he would sleep well. He sat down for a moment on the edge of the bed and drew her on to his knee. She curled up, her arms about his neck.

‘Mor,’ said Rain, ‘one thing - are you absolutely certain that your wife won’t come back in the night and find me here?’

‘It’s impossible, my darling,’ said Mor, ‘she’s in Dorset. Anyway, she wouldn’t come back in the night. And I know she in Dorset.’

‘I feel frightened all the same,’ said Rain. ‘I think I should die if she came back.’

‘She won’t come back - and you wouldn’t die if she did,’ said Mor. ‘But I tell you what I’ll do. All the outer doors have bolts. I’ll bolt them all, including the front hall door, and so no one could come in, even with a key. Then if my wife should come we’d hear her ring, and you could go out of the back door before I let her in. But these are just wild imaginings. No one will come.’

At last he left her to go to bed. He went downstairs and bolted all the doors. When he came up again her light was out. He called good night softly, heard her reply, and then went to his own bed. The rain was still falling steadily. The thunder had passed over. Very soon he fell asleep.

Mor was awakened by a piercing and insistent sound. He sat up in bed and saw that it was just daylight. A cold white light filled the room. It was still raining. In an instant he remembered the events of last night. Rain was with him in the house.

Then the sound came again. Mor’s blood froze. It was the front-door bell. It rang a long peal and then was silent. Who could be ringing at this hour? He got out of bed and stood there in his pyjamas, paralysed with alarm and indecision. Then the bell rang again, and then again, two short insistent peals. It must be Nan, he thought - no one else would ring like that, as if they had a right to come in. Horror and fear shook him. He crossed the room in the pale light and put on a dressing-gown and slippers. The bell rang again. Mor went out on to the landing.