Iris Murdoch - The Sandcastle

The old school tie does its stuff!‘ said Prewett. Prewett had been at Bradford Grammar School.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Mor. ‘They take him for a person of distinction. And they are right,’ he added.

‘What I hate,’ said Prewett, ‘is to see Evvy crawling to those swine. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s worth ten of each of them.’

Nan and Mrs Prewett came in, causing a stir. Mor turned towards his wife and felt the accustomed shock at seeing her in party array. She was wearing an extremely décolleté black nylon evening-dress, with a very full skirt and sort of bustle at the back. About her shoulders she wore a cloudy yellow stole, made of some gauzy material and run through with golden threads. She also had on the ear-rings which Mor had accepted for her from Tim Burke, although they didn’t quite go with the severe smartness of the dress. Her fine bosom, extensively revealed, was rounded and powdery smooth. Her hair was sleekly curled about her face, in a fashion reminiscent of the nineteen-twenties, which showed off very well the strong shape of her head and the slenderness and pallor of her neck. She surveyed the room without nervousness. Her eyes flamed towards her husband.

After her came Mrs Prewett. Mrs Prewett was a tall stout woman, with a broad tranquil face and very large hands. She had elected to don a dinner-gown made of coffee-coloured lace, with a coffee-coloured slip to match. A serrated line crossed her enormous front from east to west, below it the generous contour of her breasts, above it a flicker of underclothes and an expanse of flesh mottled by the sun to a deep reddish brown. Her arms, which were white and rather plump, swung energetically from the short puffy sleeves of the lace gown as she looked about for Mr Prewett. She saw him and swept forward with a shout. Prewett was obviously delighted to see her. He began complimenting her on her appearance. With a strange pang of sadness Mor turned away to join Nan. Nan meanwhile had been presented to Sir Leopold, and was making herself extremely charming to him. Mor stood by watching, not included and feeling awkward.

Then Rain and Demoyte arrived. A curious synthetic cheer greeted their appearance, and a number of people hastened to surround them and make the pretence of a festive welcome. Sir Leopold, who had always detested Demoyte, made no move, but went on talking to Nan, his eyes riveted to the point at which her dress indicated, but just failed to reveal, the division between her breasts. Sir Leopold was well placed and he made the best of his height. Mor stepped back a little, so that he could observe the newcomers without being anywhere in Nan’s field of vision.

Demoyte looked splendid. He wore his evening-dress like a soldier, and confronted his foes with the familiar front, as shameless as brass and as hard as steel. He cast a belligerent look round the room, his lips already trembling with scorn. Beside him Rain was tiny. She wore a long white cotton evening-dress, very simply covered with blue flowers with black outlines, drawn well in to her small waist. A long twining string of black carved beads seemed to make her neck longer and her black-capped head smaller. Her hair was slightly untidy. She looked like a boy actor. Mor felt his heart twist and turn within him for sheer tenderness. He looked towards them with a love which embraced them both, the old man and the girl.

One of the Governors was being polite to Rain, and cutting out Evvy, who was also trying to talk to her. Demoyte was talking to Bledyard, and conspicuously indicating by his behaviour that this was one of the few people in the room that he could tolerate. Sir Leopold was still concentrating. Nan had turned a little so that she could see Mor. Mor looked away. He tried to attend to the problem of how to be rude enough to Sir Leopold for the latter to realize that the rudeness was intentional without being so rude as to be boorish.

Dinner was announced. Evvy had of course given no thought to the question of precedence. There was a courteous scrimmage in the doorway. The women were pushed forward. Besides Rain, Nan, and Mrs Prewett, there was a Mrs Kingsley, the wife of one of the Governors who had arrived rather late and was patently the oldest woman present. Evvy was now attempting to urge Rain through the door while Rain was trying to give way to Mrs Kingsley. Eventually, after an embarrassed silence had fallen and the protagonists had all started to say something and stopped, alarmed by the pause, Sir Leopold passed through the door first, with Mrs Kingsley on one arm and Nan on the other. Evvy followed with Rain and Mrs Prewett. Demoyte and Bledyard, still talking, went through next, and everyone else came after in a hurly-burly.

Fortunately the places at the table were all clearly labelled, so that the confusion was not repeated in the dining-room. Everyone found his position and Evvy said grace at some length. The company then sat down with relief and immediately received their soup. The place of honour was in the centre of the table facing the picture. Here sat Evvy in the middle place, with Rain on his right and Mrs Kingsley on his left. Demoyte sat next to Rain, and Sir Leopold next to Demoyte. Nan was on the other side of Sir Leopold. Another Governor was next to Mrs Kingsley, and Mrs Prewett sat at the end of the table next to Bledyard, with whom to everyone’s continually renewed surprise she seemed to get on very well. The rest of the company were disposed round the ends of the table and along the side nearest to the fireplace. Here Mor sat, opposite to Sir Leopold, so that both the women were facing him, Nan to his left and Rain to his right farther away. The fish had by now arrived, and with it the welcome glass of white wine. Mor hoped that Hensman had briefed Evvy about quantity as well as quality of wine. He felt an extreme need of alcohol, and spent a vain moment wishing that he were altogether elsewhere with Hensman and the guitar.

The soup and fish were good. The meat was only middling, but it mattered less as there was a good deal of red wine to wash it down with. Mor heard one of the Governors asking the name and year of the wine and approving of the answer. Evvy had evidently been well schooled by someone, doubtless Hensman. Mor emptied another glass. He began to feel a little less anxious. The evening was now half over and the women had so far not had occasion to notice each other. At this moment they could not even see one another, since they were on the same side of the table, and he could keep them both under his eye. Demoyte and Sir Leopold ignored each other. Sir Leopold talked to Nan, while Demoyte talked to Rain, across Rain to Evvy, or across the table to Mor. When not actually addressed, Mor sat silent, watching his wife and his beloved, turning over in his heart the grievous things that he knew, and waiting for the evening to end.

At last came the toast to the Queen, and the meditative glow of cigars was to be seen appearing here and there along the table. It was quite dark outside by now and the candles gave a bright but soft light to the room, in which gentle illumination the stained walls were, as Hensman had predicted, not conspicuous. Fortunately nobody so far seemed anxious to draw the curtains. Mor discovered to his relief that Madeira was to be served with the fruit. The waiter was not insensitive to his needs, and his glass was filled again. The candlelight touched the wine-glasses and the scattered silver. He looked through a maze of reflections towards Rain, and managed to catch her attention. She flashed him a quick look, humorous and loving, and made as if to close one eye. Mor, with a surreptitious and ambiguous movement, raised his glass towards her. She looked away. He now felt impelled to look at Nan. She was gazing towards him, though in lively and gesturing conversation with Sir Leopold. Mor noticed that she had drunk a little wine.