Iris Murdoch - The Sandcastle

The company was supposed to assemble at seven-thirty in the Common Room which adjoined the masters’ dining-room. Dinner was to be at eight. Mor had made arrangements for a taxi to call for Nan just before half past seven, and to go on to fetch Mrs Prewett. Rain was going to bring Demoyte over in her car. Mor himself had intended to get dressed much earlier and go over to schoel to offer his assistance to the staff and make sure that everything was quite ready in the dining-room. However, his dressing had taken longer than he expected, and it was nearly seven before he reached the scene. He peered in through the dining-room door; and then entered, whistling with amazement for the benefit of Hensman, who was standing by hoping to see signs of shock.

The room had certainly been transformed. The green leather armchairs were nowhere to be seen, and neither was the ponderous roll-top desk which was usually slanted across one of the corners, nor the massive deal cupboard whose contents were unknown since the key had been lost some years ago. Instead of these, three slim Regency tables, which Mor recognized as belonging to Prewett, decked the side of the room, adorned with flowers, and a fine sideboard had appeared to fill the space on one side of the mantelpiece. Of the upright chairs, the more deplorable ones had vanished, to be replaced by some imitation Chippendale, also Prewett’s, which did not harmonize too badly with the set of Victorian chairs which were the normal inhabitants of the room. The long oval table, usually covered with a length of green baize, was draped now in a silvery damask cloth which reached almost to the ground, and upon it a thick array of silver and glass in the light of some of the candles which Hensman had experimentally lighted. From the mantelpiece the bulbous and inexplicable brass ornaments had vanished, to be replaced by flowers - and above the mantel, surmounting all, was hung the portrait of Demoyte.

‘Marvellous!’ said Mor. ‘It’s unrecognizable.’

‘You relieve my mind,’ said Hensman. ‘I feared some traces might remain! You know Evvy’s motto - if a thing’s worth doing it’s worth just blundering through somehow. I thought I’d better take things in hand. I’m afraid the walls are rather discoloured where we’ve taken the monstrosities away, but when it gets dark and you’ve got nothing but candlelight that won’t show.’

‘I’m sorry you won’t be here,’ said Mor.

‘Don’t you worry,’ said Hensman. ‘There’s another party below stairs! The man I’m sorry for is Baseford - he’ll never get over missing this spread. Two kinds of wine, and all! By the way, did I tell you how the sherry battle ended? Evvy has now demanded the very best Spanish and nothing else will do!’ Evvy had previously been of the opinion that South African sherry, if served from decanters, would be quite good enough for his guests, especially as, in his view, it was mere snobbery to pretend that there was any difference in taste.

Mor laughed. ‘You’d better go and change,’ he said. ‘It’s after seven.’ Hensman was still dressed for tennis. Junior masters had been invited to the brief sherry-drinking before the dinner; for this they had been let off with lounge suits.

‘I’m not coming,’ said Hensman. ‘I bequeath to you the company of Sir Somebody Something-Something, Bart, and other such late joys. I must start organizing my own party. I’m just off to fetch my guitar. Cheerio! Happy drinking.’

Mor was left alone. He blew out the candles which Hensman had left burning, and began to look up at the picture of Demoyte which was hung high up, Rain was sure to think too high, above the ornate Victorian fireplace. It was a sunny evening, and the light was still good. The masters’ dining-room was situated at the end of the upper floor of the Phys and Gym building and was served by a kitchen which was now incorporated in Mr Baseford’s flat. It faced west, so that the sun was shining in past the heavy rep curtains, the colour of an old inky desk top, which Mor reflected must not be drawn together on any account. The picture of Demoyte looked different again. Bledyard had said that the man in the picture did not look mortal. To Mor then it seemed a very mortal face. But he knew that he was touched by the occasion, and by memories of the almost incredulous regret he had felt at the thought that the old tyrant, who had been used to an almost complete authority over hundreds of souls that feared him, was to be reft of his power and sent into exile, able now only to oppress and punish those who loved him. The number of those, Mor thought sadly, was few enough. This evening’s gathering would number more of Demoyte’s enemies than of his friends.

At that moment an efficient-looking butler, hired for the occasion, appeared and ushered Mor away into the adjoining Common Room. The butler then returned to put the finishing touches to Hensman’s masterpiece. As Mor entered the Common Room, Evvy came in the door, followed by Prewett. Another butler materialized with a large silver tray covered with sherry-glasses which had already been filled. Mor suddenly began to feel extremely nervous and apprehensive. Rain’s terrors had not left him untouched. He tried to calm himself by picturing the relief which he would feel when this absurd and hateful evening was over.

‘Ah, my dear fellow,’ said Evvy, ‘I’m so glad you’re here early. Yes, yes, I’ve seen the dining-room. Hensman’s done a fine job of work. I hope he’ll be able to be with us for the sherry - but he said he had a meeting of Scouts this evening and mightn’t manage to come.’

‘He’s gone off to Scouts, I’m afraid,’ said Mor. He was too depressed to take any pleasure in Hensman’s little joke.

Too bad!‘ said Evvy. ’I wanted his opinion on the sherry. Spanish, you know!‘ Evvy made a face like a choirboy acting a French roué in a parish play. ’No point in spoiling the ship for a ha‘porth of tar, is there? That’s my text for first School Service of next term, so I thought I’d better be guided by it! I only hope the Governors won’t think we’re indulging in unnecessary expense.

‘No,’ said Mor, ‘they’ll be delighted.’ The irresponsible reactionary old sybarites, he added to himself. Demoyte had always been quite right about the Governors.

‘It’s only once in a while, isn’t it?’ said Evvy. ‘Do you think one might just sip some sherry before our guests arrive, to try it? I must confess, I need some Dutch courage. Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking“ is the simple truth for me, a sermon isn’t the same thing at all, and the prospect will quite spoil my dinner. By the way, Bill, I’m so glad your wife has agreed to speak, it’s terribly kind of her to take it on. She really was my last hope. I’d asked at least twelve people before I got to her.

Mor noted this instance of Evvy’s tact, saw Prewett note it, and forgot it at once. ‘I’m glad too,’ he said. ‘It’ll be good for her.’ The words were empty. The future in which Nan would enjoy the benefit of her daring did not belong to him.

The door opened to admit Sir Leopold Tinsley-Williams, the man with whose company Hensman was so ready to dispense, followed by Bledyard and two other masters. Evvy, who had just taken a glass of sherry from the tray, turned with inarticulate cries of embarrassment and welcome, and spilt the sherry with one hand, while the other sawed to and fro, undecided whether it should shake hands with Sir Leopold or offer him a drink. The butler took charge of the situation, spreading social calm by the very bend of his head.

Mor retired a step or two with Prewett, and was glad to find a drink in his hand. Prewett looked rather odd in evening-dress too. Mor was relieved to be with him for a moment. He replied briefly to his inquiries about Don. Some more Governors arrived. Mor and Prewett backed farther away and surveyed the scene, making comments. It was notable that Bledyard’s evening-dress fitted him extremely well, and made him look handsome and slightly wicked. He looked like a man who was used to these garments, and in this respect resembled the Governors rather than the masters. He was talking now in an animated way to several of the former, among whom he appeared to have a number of steady acquaintances.