The Death of the Heart - Elizabeth Bowen [42]
"It was nice of her to remember my name, I thought. You see, we'd only met once."
"Oh yes, with Robert Pidgeon. Sorry I never met him. But he seems to move round, and I'm rooted here." Casting at Major Brutt one last uneasy flash of suspicion, Thomas added: "I've got this business, you know."
"Is that so?" said Major Brutt politely. He knocked off his ash into the heavy glass tray. "Excellent, if you like living in town."
"You'd rather get out somewhere?"
"Yes, I must say I would. But that all depends, at the moment, on what happens to come along. I've got a good many—"
"Irons in the fire? I'm sure you are absolutely right."
"Yes, if one thing doesn't turn up, it's all the more likely that another will.... The only trouble is, I've got a bit out of touch."
"Oh yes?"
"Yes, I've stuck out there abroad too long, it rather seems. I'd rather like, now, to be in touch for a bit; I'd rather like to stay for a bit in this country."
"But in touch with what?" said Thomas. "What do you think there is, then?"
Some obscure hesitation, some momentary doubt made Major Brutt frown, then look across at Thomas in a more personal manner than he had looked yet. But his look was less clear—the miasma thickening in the study had put a film over him. "Well," he said, "there must be something going on. You know—in a general way, I mean. You know, something you all—"
"We all? We who?"
"Well, you, for instance," Major Brutt said. "There must be something—that's why I feel out of touch. I know there must be something all you people get together about."
"There may be," said Thomas, "but I don't think there is. As a matter of fact, I don't think we get together. We none of us seem to feel very well, and I don't think we want each other to know it. I suppose there is nothing so disintegrating as competitiveness and funk, and that's what we all feel. The ironical thing is that everyone else gets their knives into us bourgeoisie on the assumption we're having a good time. At least, I suppose that's the assumption. They seem to have no idea that we don't much care for ourselves. We weren't nearly so much hated when we gave them more to hate. But it took guts to be even the fools our fathers were. We're just a lousy pack of little Christopher Robins. Oh, we've got to live, but I doubt if we see the necessity. The most we can hope is to go on getting away with it till the others get it away from us."
"I say, don't you take a rather black view of things?"
"What you mean is, I ought to take more exercise? Or Eno's, or something? No, look here, my only point was that I really can't feel you are missing very much. I don't think much goes on—However, Anna might know—Cigarette?"
"No thanks: not at the moment."
"What's that?" said Thomas sharply.
Major Brutt, sympathetic, also turned his head. They heard a key in the hall door.
"Anna," Thomas said, with a show of indifference.
"Look here, I feel I probably ought—"
"Nonsense. She'll be delighted."
"But she's got people with her." There certainly were voices, low voices, in the hall.
Repeating "No, stay, do stay," with enormous concentration, Thomas heaved himself up and went to the study door. He opened the door sharply, as though to quell a riot. Then he exclaimed with extreme flatness: "Oh... Hullo, Portia... oh, hullo: good afternoon."
"Good afternoon," returned Eddie, with the matey deference he now kept for Thomas out of office hours. "I say, don't let us disturb you: we're just going out again." Expertly reaching round Portia, he closed Thomas's hall door behind Thomas's sister. His nonchalance showed the good state of his nerves—for since when had old Thomas taken to popping out? Portia said nothing: close beside Eddie she stood smiling inordinately. To Thomas, these two appeared to be dreadful twins—they held up their heads with the same rather fragile pride; they included him in the same confiding smile. Clearly, they had hoped to creep in unheard—their over-responsiveness to Thomas only showed what a blow Thomas had been. They both glowed from having walked very fast.
Thomas showed what a blow they were by looking heavily past them. He explained: "I thought you were Anna."