Роберт Эйкман - The Late Breakfasters (Faber Finds)

‘Of course. Now I’ll go on reading.’

His explanation was convincing but unsatisfying. Griselda felt that happiness precluded while it lasted the thought of its own fleetingness. Kynaston, moreover, every now and then between stanzas, flashed a look at her which was positively panic-stricken.

After several hours of reading, and several rounds of coffee in the pretty shepherdess cups which had been Peggy’s wedding present, Kynaston reached the lines:

‘“Or rather would, O! would it be so chanced,

That you, most noble sir, had present been

When that lewd ribald, with vile lust advanced,

Laid first his filthy hands on virgin clean,

To spoil her dainty corps, so far and sheen

As on the earth, great mother of us all,

With living eye more fair was never seen

Of chastity and honour virginal:

Witness, ye heavens, whom she in vain to help did call!”’

At this Kynaston broke off, thought for a moment, while Griselda continued mending a sock, then, with glassy eyes said ‘Darling. Would you care to take off your sweater and skirt?’

‘Of course, darling. If you wish.’ Griselda laid aside the sock and complied with Kynaston’s suggestion.

He looked at her doubtfully, his eyes still glassy. ‘You won’t be cold?’

‘That depends.’

‘You mean on how much longer we go on reading?’

This seemed not to require an answer, so Griselda simply smiled.

‘I’ll finish the canto.’

Griselda sank to the floor and sat close to the heater. Lena had given her a quantity (much greater than Lena could afford) of attractive underclothes as a wedding present, and she felt that she looked appealing as long as she could keep warm. Kynaston resumed:

‘“‘How may it be,’ said then the knight half wroth,

‘The knight should knighthood ever so have spent?’

‘None but that saw,’ quoth he, ‘would ween for troth,

How shamefully that maid he did torment:

Her looser golden locks he rudely rent,

And drew her on the ground; and his sharp sword

Against her snowy breast he fiercely bent,

And threatened death with many a bloody word;

Tongue hates to tell the rest that eyes to see abhorred.’”’

At the end of the canto, Kynaston looked at the floor and said: ‘Magical, isn’t it? And so modern.’

‘How much more is there?’ asked Griselda. She liked The Faery Queen , but was increasingly troubled by the draught along the floor.

‘We’re less than a third through. There are six books. Spenser actually hoped to write twelve. Each is concerned with a different moral virtue. We’ve only just begun Book Two. On Temperence.’

‘I remember,’ said Griselda. ‘What’s Book Three about?’

‘Chastity.’

Griselda’s bare arms were beginning to make goose-flesh.

‘Shall we go to bed, darling? It’s past midnight.’

Kynaston nodded. Griselda put away her pile of socks. Kynaston crossed the room like a man heavily preoccupied, and replaced The Faery Queen on her shelf. Then, pulling himself together, he said ‘Shall I bring you some hot milk? To make you sleep?’

‘I don’t know, darling. Should you?’

Kynaston turned, if possible, a little paler.

‘Or should we both have a stiff drink?’

‘Would that be a good thing?’

‘I’d like you to have what you want.’

‘I want bed. I’m frozen.’

‘I’m terribly sorry. Really I am.’

‘I didn’t mean that at all.’

The sudden turning on of the light emphasized the quantity of fog which had entered the little bedroom. Griselda realized that it was the only day for many mouths on which she had taken no exercise. With shaking hand, she cleaned her teeth, and fell into bed exactly as she was. She lay in the foggy freezing room (for the heater had not yet begun to take effect) with the light on, waiting for Kynaston.

He took much longer to appear than on the previous night. When he entered his face was set in a way which recalled to Griselda his repudiation of Lotus and his defiance of his father. Without a word he turned off the light and the heater, and climbed into his bed. He had not even bidden Griselda good night, or kissed her.

In the foggy darkness there was silence for a while. Then Kynaston said ‘Shall I turn on the heater again? We might leave it on.’

‘We can’t afford it, darling.’

‘Of course I’d rather not get up, but I don’t want you to be be cold in bed, darling.’

‘I don’t want to be either.’

This time there was a really long silence. Griselda, who was positively rigid with wakefulness, wondered if Kynaston had fallen asleep. Then she recalled that when asleep, he snored. Suddenly he spoke. ‘Griselda.’

‘What is it darling? I was thinking about The Faery Queen .’

‘On the subject of any physical relationship between us.’

‘Living together as man and wife?’ Griselda elucidated helpfully.

‘I imagine all that’s of secondary importance to you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you have always said you don’t love me.’

It was odd, Griselda reflected, how few people seemed to know the condition of being to which she would refer that word. She supposed she knew, and would always know, something that few knew, or would ever know. She felt to Kynaston as she had once felt to Mrs Hatch: very superior. Though she had lost, she had loved. All the same it was difficult to explain to Kynaston that lack of love as she understood the word, did not necessarily imply precisely proportionate lack of love as Kynaston understood it.

‘I married you.’

‘Yes.’ He sounded as if it was a case of forebodings being fulfilled.

‘I knew what I was doing, Geoffrey darling.’

‘Of course, darling . . . I’d better go on with what I was saying.’

‘I’m sorry not to be more helpful.’

‘No, it’s I who am sorry. You’re utterly in control.’

‘Go on, darling. What do you want to say?’

He gulped; and sucked at the bedclothes. ‘First, it’s marriage. At least I think it is. You know how it is with men?’

‘Not very well, darling, I’m afraid.’

‘A man sees marriage in terms of affection, domesticity, and inspiration.’

‘I understand that.’

‘With me it’s particularly true. I need a woman – a woman of character, like you, Griselda – to mould my life.’

‘I remember your saying so.’

‘You’ve seen Lotus. You understand that there’s been something between us?’

‘I guessed there had.’

‘You don’t mind?’ It was as if he hoped she did.

‘You say you love me.’

‘Passion’s possible with Lotus, great drowning seas of it, but none of the other things.’

‘Whereas with me—’ A hard shell was beginning to enclose Griselda’s entire body; beginning with her still cold feet.

‘With you the situation is further complicated by what you said last night. Whatever Lotus is like in other ways, she is good at making things easy. I hope you’ll let me put it clearly. Because I love you so much.’

‘Do you mean, darling, that you married me just because I don’t love you?’

‘Of course not, darling. I’m utterly determined to make you love me. I don’t think it would help for us to begin with a physical misunderstanding.’

That, however, was what they did begin with, Griselda, her new shell hardening and tightening all the time, had supposed that now for certain she would be spending the night alone, and an uncertain number of future nights, until (she surmised) she broke down in health or espoused a good cause. But, instead, Kynaston almost immediately entered her bed and gave her ample and unnecessary proof that his hints of unease and inadequacy to the circumstances were firmly grounded. Things were not made better by a continuous undertow of implication that it was all to please Griselda. At the end, there was very little mystery left, and less wonder.