nice comfortable room, but it’s quite different like that, isn’t it?’
She laid it down on a chair and looked at him. She needed to wound him as he was wounding her. She asked, ‘Why don’t you join the Communist Party, then?’ He simply maintained his steady grin; she realized that he must have joined it, otherwise he would not look so satirical. After a moment, she tried another tack: ‘Who’s paying for this house and this quiet intellectual existence?’ He reddened; and she persisted, ‘Your four fathers, no doubt. So your share of it comes from the profits made out of the kaffir store in the district. I don’t see that you are any better than I am, if it comes to that.’ He was waiting for a chance to get in at her, but she went on hastily, delighted with her advantage: ‘So I’ll leave you to your independence, until the bull gets into this rose garden.’
She quickly shut the door behind her, and walked rapidly down the garden. All vegetables, of course, she thought, trying to be spiteful, but on the verge of tears. No flowers for the high-minded, naturally! While she had been inside, the earth around the little green clumps of lettuce had dried. Small granules of grey earth lay evenly over the base of wet dark richness. The youth was steadily hoeing potatoes at the far end of the garden. He did not lift his head as she came past. Then she heard her name called: Solly stood on the veranda.
‘Matty – would you like to come to a meeting here tonight?’
She hesitated, then called back sardonically, ‘Unfortunately I have a sundowner party – ’ But she was unable to finish. Solly was doubled up in a pantomime of laughter.
She turned her back on him and walked away under the trees that shaded the pavement. It was some minutes before she was able to smile at herself and at him, her regret at having to leave was so strong. She felt forsaken; and nothing but the memory of Solly’s savage farewell laughter prevented her from hurrying back and saying that of course she would come to the meeting. When she reached the flat, she occupied herself with altering a dress to fit her for the sundowner party that night, and with an ironical consciousness of how Solly would see this proceeding. But there was something much stronger, a feeling of Well, then, I’ll show him! The showing him consisted in making the dress and herself as attractive as she knew how. It was not until she realized this that she remembered the moment when she had felt he might be thinking that she had come to him as a man, and not as a person in that romantic thing, a communal settlement. She burned with embarrassment; she could not forgive him. Now, looking back at the meeting, she could see the thing in no other way; everything they had said was permeated with this other emotion; to it she attributed his aggressiveness and that sarcastic stare. She was hating him quite vividly. In a short while, the memory of that interview had become quite unbearable; and she was putting stitches into the fabric of her dress with strong stabs of the needle, while she muttered incoherently, Idiot! Conceited idiot! And even: Can’t they ever see us differently?
When Douglas returned that afternoon, he was welcomed by an extremely cheerful young woman, who proceeded to amuse him with a satirical account of how she had rushed down to see Solly – all intelligent in blue trousers and sunburn – and how she had wanted to join the settlement. Because, as everyone knows, we girls go through these moments of not wanting to be married.
‘And me too,’ confessed Douglas, apologetically, kissing her with a rueful laugh. This mutual confession delighted them. They were back together in the warmest affection, which almost at once led to the bed – there was half an hour to fill in, as he pointed out. The half-hour was hilarious. In a mood of tearing gaiety, they experimented with a couple of new positions sanctioned by the book, and were freshly delighted with their efficiency. Then, seeing the time, six o’clock, that hour sacred to sundowner parties, they hastened off the bed and got dressed. They drove off to the party with the look of competent unconcern that they had both already learned to wear in public.
Colonel Brodeshaw’s house was in the part of the town which had been the most fashionable before the new suburbs began to spread. There were several avenues of big sprawling shady houses in big gardens – these were the nearest approach to an individual architecture the colony had achieved. They had been built for comfort, for the climate, by people with money and enough self-confidence not to need the extra boost of that kind of smart house which was now being built. They were the natural expression, in fact, of the type of English person whose families have been in the habit of administering this part or that of the British Empire, accustomed to making themselves comfortable in a difficult climate. Comfort was their keynote. The servants’ quarters, built in a row along the end of the back garden, and reminiscent of stables, were vast – not because these people intended to make their servants comfortable, but because they meant to have plenty of servants. The rooms were large and cool, the verandas enormous; whatever these houses might look like from outside, sprawling, shapeless, often shabby, they were a delight to live in.
The young Knowells drove through several avenues filled with such houses, and were able to feel a pleasant regret for the past. They murmured that it was a pity people did not build like that these days. They parked the car with a dozen others in the ditch outside a flaring hibiscus hedge, and walked up a narrow drive that was like a green tunnel. Through gaps in the foliage, hoses could be seen playing on a smooth green lawn, and beyond that the garden was bounded by a warm red-brick wall draped with morning glory, a vivid sky blue which was beginning – the sun was setting – to show edges of white. Soon it would be as if scraps of limp dirty-white linen hung among the green. A few steps further, and the front veranda was in sight, a garden inside a garden, for it was filled with painted tubs of flowering plants, and festooned with golden shower. People too, of course; but the veranda was as big as a large room, and able to absorb large numbers of people among the columns of brick and tubs of flowers.
From outside, Martha caught a glimpse of faces she knew, and felt a stab of disappointment: she could not rid herself of the belief that being married would introduce her to something new and exciting. She could see Donovan, and Ruth Manners; and was looking for others, when Douglas remarked, ‘Mr Player is going to be here, I believe.’ He tried to sound casual, but could not prevent a note of pleased deference.
Martha was looking for Mr Player, when they arrived at the top of the steps and were met by Colonel Brodeshaw and Mrs Brodeshaw. The Colonel was a tall, thin, bent man, with a small dark moustache and mahogany skin, so much the colonel in manner and appearance that it must save Martha the effort of looking for further individuality. His wife was competently dispensing hospitality in a black-and-white flowered dress, a colonel’s lady, clipped, brisk and smiling.
Martha had not taken two steps before she was absorbed into the warm embrace of Mrs Talbot, and welcomed with a warm but timid smile by Mrs Talbot’s daughter. Martha knew that of all the people who were being made happy by this marriage, Mrs Talbot was perhaps the happiest. She had received no less than three charming notes from her in the last week, welcoming her into – what? And now she was putting her arm around Martha’s shoulders, turning her away from other groups on the veranda, and leading her to a chair beside her own. Over her shoulder she smiled and murmured to Douglas, ‘You really must allow me to deprive you of Matty for just a few minutes.’ And Douglas, smiling and touched, seemed prepared to wait.
Mrs Talbot was, above all, a lady of charm. In each movement, each tone of her voice, was this suggestion of deferential murmuring grace; and as she seated herself beside Martha she did so with a hurried, almost apologetic movement of her hindquarters, as if even this personal necessity was something deplorable because it detracted from the wholehearted attention she was determined to bestow upon Martha. Both she and her daughter then leaned towards her, smiling with warm friendship, and proceeded to tell her how happy they were that Douggie was married at last, how wonderful, how suitable, how … As one woman arrived at the end of a breathless phrase, searching for the superlatives that could not express what she felt, the other took it up; and it was a duet of self-immolation towards Martha.
Martha seated, smiling a little awkwardly, looked
