Under The Net - Iris Murdoch [13]
Ten
I awoke what seemed to be days later and found that in fact it was only half past eleven. It took me some time to remember why I was feeling so miserable, and I looked for several minutes at the gilt crown, which I had been clutching in my hand while I slept, without being able to recall what it was or how I came to be holding it. When the sorrowful events of the more recent past came back to me I set myself to wondering what I ought to do next. The first thing seemed to be to get myself as far as a chemist and take something for my headache. I did this. Then I quenched my raging thirst at a water fountain. The quenching of thirst is so exquisite a pleasure that it is a scandal that no amount of ingenuity can prolong it. After that I sat on a bench at Hyde Park Corner rubbing my head, and trying to make a plan. It was by now perfectly clear to me that my previous pattern of life was gone forever. I can take a hint from the fates. What new pattern would in due course emerge I had no means of telling. Meanwhile there were certain problems which would undoubtedly give me no rest until I had at least made some attempt to solve them. I was tempted to set off again then and there for Holborn Viaduct. But on second thoughts I decided that I had better collect my wits a little before attempting to face Hugo. I was still feeling very strange. In any case it was unlikely that Hugo would be at home during the day. The former argument bore equally against my trying to find him at the studio. I had better spend the day quietly, sleep in the afternoon perhaps, and then start again hunting for Hugo. I would have much preferred to look for Anna. But I had no idea now where to start looking. Also I wanted to lay quickly to rest the terrible suspicion that where I found Hugo now I would also find Anna. This idea didn't bear thinking about and so I didn't think about it. I then began to reflect at greater length upon the drama of the last few days, and as I did so I remembered with annoyance that in my agitation at leaving Sadie's flat I had failed to bring away with me the copy of The Silencer which I had resolved to confiscate for my own use. The more I thought about this the more it annoyed me. It remained to be seen whether I would ever again be able to hold a conversation with Hugo; but in any case it seemed to me that it was time for me to reassess the dialogue and decide whether it contained anything that was fit for salvage. One cannot, I felt, be so prodigal with one's past. The man who had written that curious work still lived within me and might yet write other things. It was clear that The Silencer was a piece of unfinished business. Where could I get a copy? It was no use trying libraries or bookshops. The most sensible thing was to go back to Sadie's and fetch the copy from there. I didn't want to meet Sadie again. But then it was very unlikely that she would be at home. As for getting in, I could get in the way that Finn had got in. When I had thought, this out it seemed to be an excellent plan. I would be doing something which was both important and absorbing, and that would keep me from worrying about Anna and Hugo. When I had quite decided this I took a seventy-three bus to Oxford Street, put Anna's crown in the Left Luggage office at Oxford Circus, drank a great deal of black coffee, and bought a packet of hairpins at Woolworths. I am the sort of man who will prefer to walk for twenty minutes rather than wait five minutes at a bus stop for a five-minute bus ride. When I am worrying about something inactivity and waiting become a torment. But as soon as some practical scheme, however hopeless, is on foot I am content again, and shut my eyes to everything else. So as I strode now along Welbeck Street I felt that I was doing something useful, and although my heart, as well as my head, was aching, I was by no means in a frenzy. I turned off the street, and sloping along the back alley, easily identified Sadie's fire escape. I padded up, fumbling for my hairpin. I hoped the thing would be easy. As I approached Sadie's door, however, I heard voices which were undoubtedly coming from her kitchen. This was a disappointment. I stood irresolute. It occurred to me that the speakers might be the char and her friend and that they might be persuaded to let me in. I walked up a step or two and thought that I caught the tones of Sadie's voice--and I was just going to go away when I heard somebody utter Hugo's name. Some spirit told me that this concerned me. I thought there might be no harm in hearing a bit more. So I ascended until, standing upright a few steps from Sadie's landing, my head was just below the level of the frosted glass of the door. There was laughter masculine and feminine. Then I heard Sadie's voice say, 'Those who don't keep correspondence are as wax in the hands of those who do!' There was more laughter, and a sound as of the clinking of ice in glasses. After that the masculine voice replied. I didn't hear what it said because I was too electrified by recognizing it. It belonged to Sammy. I sat down on the steps and knitted my brows. So Sammy was a friend of Sadie's, was he? I knew instinctively that the two of them were up to no good, and I felt a pang of concern for Madge. It was no use, however, my trying to think it all out on the spot, especially with the head that I still had. The only thing to do was to record a few more impressions. There would be time for thinking later. I found that, sitting down, I was just out of earshot; and standing up was exhausting, especially if I was in for a long session. So I crawled up the last two or three steps on to Sadie's landing and sat down cross-legged with my back against Sadie's door. Here I was within a couple of feet of the speakers, but safe from observation unless they should happen to open the door; which naturally I hoped they wouldn't do. Sadie was saying, 'We must catch him as soon as he reaches London. He's the sort of person who likes to be presented with a fait accompli. It's just a matter of seizing the initiative.' Sammy replied, 'Do you think he'll play?' Sadie said, 'Either he will or he won't. If he won't there's no harm done, and if he will...' 'If he will,' said Sammy, 'stand by for the moon!' They laughed again. They were perhaps a bit drunk. They were certainly tet