Mary Westmacott - Giant's Bread

He paused and then went on, speaking very quietly and collectedly.

‘I can’t describe the thing – it happened quite suddenly, you know – in the middle of the night. There was very little time. The boat heeled over, you know, at an appalling angle … The two of them came together – slipping – sliding down the deck – they couldn’t save themselves.’

‘What two?’

‘Nell and Jane, of course.’

‘What’s Nell got to do with it?’

‘She was on board –’

‘What?’

‘Yes. I didn’t know. Jane and I were second-class, of course, and I don’t think we ever glanced at a passenger list. Yes, Nell and George Chetwynd were on board. That’s what I’m telling you if you wouldn’t interrupt. It happened – a sort of nightmare – no time for lifebelts or anything. I was hanging on to a stanchion – or whatever you call it – to save myself from falling into the sea.

‘And they came drifting along the deck, those two – right by me – slipping – sliding – faster and faster – and the sea waiting for them below.

‘I’d no idea Nell was on board till I saw her – drifting down to destruction – and crying out “ Vernon ”.

‘There isn’t time to think on these occasions, I tell you. One can just make an instinctive gesture. I could grab on to one or other of them … Nell or Jane …

‘I grabbed Nell and held her, held her like grim death.’

‘And Jane?’

Vernon said quietly:

‘I can see her face still – looking at me – as she went … down into that green swirl …’

‘My God,’ said Sebastian hoarsely.

Then suddenly his impassivity forsook him. His voice rang out bellowing like a bull.

‘You saved Nell? You bloody fool! To save Nell – and let Jane drown. Why, Nell isn’t worth the tip of Jane’s little finger. Damn you!’

‘I know that.’

‘You know it? Then –’

‘I tell you, it isn’t what you know – it’s some blind instinct that takes hold of you …’

‘Damn you – damn you –’

‘I’m damned all right. You needn’t worry. I let Jane drown – and I love her.’

‘Love her?’

‘Yes, I’ve always loved her … I see that now … Always, from the beginning, I was afraid of her – because I loved her. I was a coward there, like everywhere else – trying to escape from reality. I fought against her – I was ashamed of the power she had over me – I’ve taken her through Hell …

‘And now I want her – I want her – Oh! you’ll say that’s like me to want a thing as soon as it’s out of my reach – perhaps it’s true – perhaps I am like that …

‘I only know that I love Jane – that I love her – and that she’s gone from me for ever …’

He sat down on a chair and said in his normal tone:

‘I want to work. Get out of here, Sebastian, there’s a good fellow.’

‘My God, Vernon, I didn’t think I could ever hate you –’

Vernon repeated: ‘I want to work …’

Sebastian turned on his heel and left the room.

Vernon sat very still.

Jane …

Horrible to suffer like this – to want anyone so much …

Jane … Jane …

Yes, he’d always loved her. After that very first meeting he’d been unable to keep away … He’d been drawn towards her by something stronger than himself …

Fool and coward to be afraid – always afraid. Afraid of any deep reality – of any violent emotion.

And she had known – she had always known – and been unable to help him. What had she said: ‘Divided in time?’ That first evening at Sebastian’s party when she had sung.

Drowning hair … no, no, not that. Queer she should have sung that song. And the statue of the drowned woman … That was queer, too.

What was the other thing she had sung that night?

He had lost Abbots Puissants, he had lost Nell …

But with Jane, he had indeed lost ‘le dernier des amours que j’aimais’.

For the rest of his life he would be able to see only one woman – Jane.

He loved Jane … he loved her …

And he’d tortured her, slighted her, finally abandoned her to that green evil sea …

The statue in the South Kensington Museum …

God – he mustn’t think of that …

Yes – he’d think of everything … This time he wouldn’t turn away …

Jane … Jane … Jane …

He wanted her … Jane …

He’d never see her again …

He’d lost everything now … everything …

Those days, months, years in Russia … Wasted years …

Fool – to live beside her, to hold her body in his arms, and all the time to be afraid … Afraid of his passion for her …

That old terror of The Beast …

And suddenly, as he thought of The Beast, he knew …

Knew that at last he had come into his heritage …

It was like the day he had come back from the Titanic Concert. It was the Vision he had had then. He called it Vision for it seemed more that than sound. Seeing and hearing were one – curves and spirals of sound – ascending, descending, returning.

And now he knew – he had the technical knowledge.

He snatched at paper, jotted down brief, scrawled hieroglyphics, a kind of frantic shorthand. There were years of work in front of him, but he knew that he should never again recapture this first freshness and clearness of Vision …

It must be so – and so – a whole weight of metal – brass – all the brass in the world.

And those new glass sounds, ringing – clear –

He was happy …

An hour passed – two hours …

For a moment he came out of his frenzy – remembered – Jane!

He felt sick – ashamed … Couldn’t he even mourn her for one evening? There was something base, cruel, in the way he was using his sorrow, his desire – transmuting it into terms of sound.

That was what it meant being a creator … ruthlessness – using everything …

And people like Jane were the victims …

Jane …

He felt torn in two – agony and wild exultation.

He thought: ‘Perhaps women feel like this when they have a child …’

Presently he bent again over his sheets of paper, writing frenziedly, flinging them on the floor as he finished them.

When the door opened, he did not hear it. He was deaf to the rustle of a woman’s dress. Only when a small frightened voice said: ‘Vernon,’ did he look up.

With an effort he forced the abstracted look from his face.

‘Hallo,’ he said. ‘Nell.’

She stood there, twisting her hands together – her face white and ravaged. She spoke in breathless gasps.

‘Vernon – I found out – they told me – where you were – and I came –’

He nodded.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You came?’

Oboes – no, cut out oboes – too soft a note – it must be strident, brazen. But harps, yes, he wanted the liquidness of harps – like water – you wanted water as a source of power.

Bother – Nell was speaking. He’d have to listen.

‘Vernon – after that awful escape from death – I knew … There’s only one thing that matters – love. I’ve always loved you. I’ve come back to you – for always.’

‘Oh!’ he said stupidly.

She had come nearer, was holding out her hands to him.