Mary Westmacott - Giant's Bread

‘Don’t forget to ask me to the christening,’ she said.

Nell flinched. She said haughtily:

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘It’s a family secret at present, is it? Nell, you damned little liar – you’re not going to have a child. I don’t believe you ever will have a child – too much risk and pain. What made you think of telling Vernon such a peculiarly damnable lie?’

Nell said sullenly: ‘I never told him. He – he guessed.’

‘That’s even more damnable.’

‘I don’t know what you mean coming here and – and saying things like this.’

Her protest sounded weak – spiritless. For the life of her she couldn’t put the necessary indignation into it. With anyone else – not with Jane. Jane had always been disagreeably clear-eyed. It was awful! If only Jane would go away.

She rose to her feet, trying to sound decisive.

‘I don’t know why you have come here. If it is only to make a scene …’

‘Listen, Nell. You’re going to hear the truth. You chucked Vernon once before. He came to me. Yes – to me. He lived with me for three months. He was living with me when you came to my flat that day. Ah! that hurts you … You’ve still got a bit of raw womanhood left in you, I’m glad to see.

‘You took him from me then. He went to you and never gave me a thought. He’s yours now if you want him. But I tell you this, Nell, if you let him down a second time, he’ll come to me again. Oh, yes, he will. You’ve thought things about me in your mind – turned up your nose at me as “a certain kind of woman”. Well, because of that, perhaps, I’ve got power. I know more about men than you will ever learn. I can get Vernon if I want him. And I do want him. I always have.’

Nell shuddered. She turned her face away, digging her nails into the palms of her hands.

‘Why do you tell me all this? You’re a devil.’

‘I tell it you to hurt you! To hurt you like Hell before it’s too late. No, you shan’t turn your head away. You shan’t shrink away from what I’m telling you. You’ve got to look at me and see – yes, see – with your eyes and your heart and your brain … You love Vernon with the last remaining corner of your miserable little soul … Think of him in my arms – think of his lips on mine, of his kisses burning my body … Yes, you shall think of it …

‘Soon you won’t mind even that. But you mind now … Aren’t you enough of a woman to jib at handing over the man you love to another woman? To a woman you hate? A present for Jane with love from Nell …’

‘Go away,’ said Nell faintly. ‘Go away …’

‘I’m going. It’s not too late … You can undo the lie you told.’

‘Go away … Go away …’

‘Do it soon – or you’ll never do it.’ Jane paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder. ‘I came for Vernon’s sake – not mine. I want him back. And I shall have him …’ she paused, ‘unless …’

She went out.

Nell sat with her hands clenched.

She murmured fiercely, ‘She shan’t have him. She shan’t …’

She wanted Vernon. She wanted him. He had loved Jane once. He would love her again. What had she said? ‘… his lips on mine … his kisses burning my …’ Oh, God, she couldn’t bear it. She started up – moved towards the telephone.

The door opened. She turned slowly. George came in. He looked very normal and cheerful.

‘Hullo, sweetheart.’ He crossed the room and kissed her. ‘Here I am – back again. A nasty crossing. I’d rather have the Atlantic than the Channel any day.’

She had completely forgotten that George was coming home today! She couldn’t tell him this minute – it would be too cruel. And besides it was so difficult – to burst in with the tragic news in the middle of a flow of banalities. This evening – later … In the meantime she would play her part.

She returned his embrace mechanically, sat down and listened while he talked.

‘I’ve got a present for you, honey. Something that reminded me of you.’

He took a velvet case from his pocket.

Inside, on a bed of white velvet, lay a big rose-coloured diamond – exquisite – flawless, depending from a long chain. Nell gave a little gasp of pleasure.

He lifted the jewel from the case and slipped the chain over her head. She looked down. The exquisite rose-coloured stone blinked up at her from its resting place between her breasts. Something about it hypnotized her.

He led her to the glass. She saw a golden-haired beautiful woman, very calm and elegant. She saw the waved and shingled hair, the manicured hands, the foamy negligee of soft lace, the cobweb silk stockings and little embroidered mules. She saw the hard cold beauty of the rose-coloured diamond.

And behind them she saw George Chetwynd – kindly, generous, deliciously safe …

Dear George, she couldn’t hurt him …

Kisses … What, after all, were kisses? You needn’t think about them. Better not to think of them …

Vernon … Jane …

She wouldn’t think of them. For good or evil she’d made her choice. There would be bad moments sometimes, but on the whole it would be for the best. Better for Vernon too. If she weren’t happy she couldn’t make him happy …

She said gently: ‘You are a dear to bring me such a lovely present. Ring for tea. We’ll have it up here.’

‘That will be fine. But weren’t you going to telephone to someone? I interrupted you.’

She shook her head.

‘No,’ she said, ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

MOSCOW.

Dear Sebastian, –

Do you know that there was once a legend in Russia that concerned a ‘nameless beast’ that was coming?

I mention this not because of any political significance (by the way, the Antichrist hysteria is curious, isn’t it?) but because it reminded me of my own terror of ‘The Beast’. I’ve thought about ‘The Beast’ a great deal since coming to Russia – trying to get at its true significance.

Because there’s more in it than just being afraid of a piano. The doctor in London opened my eyes to a great many things. I’ve begun to see that all through my life I’ve been a coward. I think you’ve known that, Sebastian. You wouldn’t put it in that offensive way, but you hinted as much to me once. I’ve run away from things … Always I’ve run away from things.

And thinking it all over now, I see The Beast as something symbolical – not a mere piece of furniture composed of wood and wires. Don’t mathematicians say that the future exists at the same time as the past – that we travel through time as we travel through space – from a thing that is to another thing that is? Don’t some even hold that remembering is a mere habit of the mind – that we could remember forward as well as back if we had only learnt the trick of it? It sounds nonsense when I say it – but I believe there is some theory of that kind.

I believe that there is some part of us that does know the future, that is always intimately aware of it.

That explains, doesn’t it, why we should shrink sometimes. The burden of our destiny is going to be heavy and we recoil from its shadow … I tried to escape from music – but it got me. It got me at that Concert – in the same way that religion got those people at the Salvation Army meeting.

It’s a devilish thing – or is it god-like? If so it’s an Old Testament jealous God – all the things I’ve tried to cling on to have been swept away. Abbots Puissants … Nell …

And damn it all, what’s left? Nothing. Not even the cursed thing itself … I’ve no wish to write music. I hear nothing – feel nothing … Will it ever come back? Jane says it will … She seems very sure. She sends her love to you by the way.