'Let's sit down,' said Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, 'there's a sofa here.'

Trapped! thought Rainborough. He started to say 'No, let's - ', but Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt gave him a gentle push and he subsided on to the sofa. She sat down beside him. They looked at each other. Rainborough could see nothing of Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt except the light reflected from her eyeball. Yet he knew, somehow, exactly what her expression was and exactly what she was going to do. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. She had been aiming at his mouth, but missed it in the darkness. She tried again and found her objective. Rainborough remained quite still. There was a raging confusion inside his head. The b.i.t.c.h, a voice was saying, the b.i.t.c.h. He leaned towards her and began to kiss her brutally and indiscriminately upon her face and neck. He had never felt before that kisses could be so much like blows. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt became limp and he felt her sighing breath in his face. Rainborough stopped and sat back in amazement. 'John!' breathed Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt tenderly. She took his right hand and pressed it in a fierce grip.

Rainborough suddenly became conscious of his hand in a wave of pain which rushed straight up into his head. He gave a loud cry and dragged it away from her. His burnt palm was searing him as if it had been flayed. He jerked himself back and fell off the sofa with a crash. Then light was streaming in upon him, someone had pulled back the tapestry and faces were peering through.

'Dear me!' said Calvin Blick, 'whatever is the matter? Have you seen a ghost? Why, you've got Agnes Cas.e.m.e.nt in there with you! Having a bit of a wrangle, eh?'

Rainborough emerged, followed by Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, who was looking both dazed and furious and smoothing down her dress. She walked sharply away from Rainborough, who made a helpless gesture.

'Never mind!' said Calvin. 'More fish in the sea. Let me show you a picture of my sister, the one who's married to an engineer in British Honduras.' He drew out his wallet.

'I don't want to see your beastly pictures,' said Rainborough. He was looking at the dance-floor. Annette was still dancing with Mischa. Rainborough noticed that Rosa was leaning against the mantelpiece, fingering one of the French paperweights, and watching them closely. He thought that she looked very drunk. Peter Saward had evidently gone home.

At that moment Annette, who had been moving more and more sluggishly, suddenly threw her arms round Mischa's neck and sagged violently with all her weight, trying to pull him to the ground. Mischa, with an agile movement, slipped his head out of the circle of Annette's arms and she sat down heavily upon the floor. Several people laughed and began to help her up.

Calvin had taken out several photographs and was trying to attract Rainborough's attention. But Rainborough was now staring at Hunter. The boy had left the dance-floor and was looking open-mouthed and with a poignant expression of terror at Calvin.

'Here, look at this one!' said Calvin to Rainborough. He seemed to have noticed Hunter's terror and to be enjoying it.

'What's the matter with Hunter?' asked Rainborough.

He received no reply, for after that things happened very fast. Annette had got to her feet and was standing holding on to Mischa. Rosa was staring at them. Hunter's fear now rose to a frenzy. He could see Calvin holding up a photograph and waving it to and fro. He ran to his sister. 'Rosa,' said Hunter, in a tone of desperation. 'Do something! Create a diversion! Faint, scream, do anything!'

Rosa looked for a moment into her brother's terrified eyes. Then with a violent movement she turned and hurled the paperweight she was holding with tremendous force across the room. It caught the curving surface of the fish-bowl squarely in the middle and with a deafening crash the bowl broke into fragments. There was a silence in which the weary beat of the dance music was heard for a moment. Then everyone began to shout and precipitated themselves upon the remains of the bowl. The water spread in a great circle upon the floor, and within it the fragments of the paperweight were scattered like innumerable pieces of sugar cake. Suddenly fish seemed to be everywhere, gasping upon the carpet, clinging to the lamp-shades, sliding across polished tables, and wriggling upon chairs and settees. Helplessly, people began to pick them up and run about the room looking for somewhere to put them. Flowers were tossed away, and fishes s.n.a.t.c.hed from cushions or plucked from under stampeding feet were hurled into the vases. One was dropped by mistake into a decanter of gin. Hands reached out and every hand clutched its coloured fish. Under the tables and chairs they scrambled to gather them up, and the room was full of cries.

'Stop!' said Mischa. He was still standing in the middle of the dance-floor. He was as white as paper, as if all the blood had left his body.

'It's no use,' he said. 'They will not survive.' He turned and picked up a large china bowl which had contained biscuits. 'Put them here,' he said.

Silence fell again. The music had ceased. Everyone came to Mischa, bringing the fish, and laid them in the bowl. He stood there like a priest. The last one was brought. But still Mischa stood there, rigid and white. For a moment it seemed as if he was going to faint. Then Calvin Blick came forward and took the bowl from his hands. Mischa turned on his heel and left the room.

Everyone stood there paralysed. Then they began to look at each other guiltily. Annette, who had been standing perfectly still on the spot where Mischa had left her, her hand raised to her mouth, was suddenly galvanized into activity. She spun round madly towards Rosa. 'You did that on purpose!' she screamed.

Rosa, who was leaning against the wall looking completely bewildered, turned towards Annette - and as she turned Annette launched herself upon her like a young tiger. Amid scandalized cries the two women reeled and fell struggling to the floor. Rainborough and Hunter ran to separate them. Calvin was watching with glowing eyes.

Rosa was the stronger of the two. As soon as Annette touched her she felt an enormous power inhabiting her limbs. At that moment she could have killed Annette, tearing her in two like a putty figure. Never had she experienced such a profound satisfaction of anger and hatred. In an instant she had Annette by the throat and was pressing her head back while with the other hand she tore at the bosom of her dress. The material gave way with a terrible rending sound. Then Hunter was between them, blindly pushing Annette away, while Rainborough pulled the girl to her feet. Hunter helped Rosa, who got up more slowly.

Annette wrenched herself free from Rainborough, who was trying to hold her arm and to expostulate. She stood for a moment with closed eyes, holding up both hands to support the front of her dress which was torn as far as the waist. Then she opened her eyes, looked about her, and suddenly ran out of the room.

Rosa shook herself like a dog. Her hair, which had been loosened by the struggle, cascaded down her back. She had been cut in the arm by some of the broken gla.s.s on the floor. People gathered round her. As she stood there looking at the blood upon her arm her eyes slowly filled with tears.

Sixteen.

WHEN Mischa had left the room, Annette had been in two minds about whether to run after him or to spring upon Rosa. Now having done the one, she had no thought but to do the other. She ran through the door and found herself in an empty room. She ran straight through a door on the other side and into another room out of which a flight of stairs led down. She ran down the stairs and then paused to listen. All the rooms were brightly lighted, but there seemed to be complete silence in the house. Then somewhere away to her right she heard a door closing. The room in which she stood gave her no access in that direction. She ran straight ahead into the next room, and found a door on the right side. She ran through another set of rooms, breathless, her feet scarcely touching the surface of the soft carpets; then a final doorway suddenly and unexpectedly let her out into the street.

After the lights within it was very dark, and the night was enormous and silent with an intensity which for a moment made her pause in awe. She was in an unfamiliar street. It was a damp night, with rare stars. It was not raining, but it had been, and a street lamp some way off streaked the roadway with reflections. Annette began to walk slowly towards the lamp. Her thin-soled shoes stuck to the pavement at every step.

As she neared the lamp she saw a figure ahead walking slowly. With a mixture of terror and triumph she slackened her pace. For a while Mischa walked on, and Annette followed twenty paces behind him. He was carrying his jacket and had rolled up his shirt sleeves, and walked with his head thrown far hack. She did not dare, she had no wish even, to catch him up. To walk in this way behind him seemed to Annette already a sufficient marvel. She walked after him softly, resolutely, tenderly, like a hunter; and after a minute she knew that he had heard her footsteps. She walked on in a dream with both hands clasped at her bosom to keep the torn dress in place.

After another minute he paused, and without looking round he made a curious gesture with one hand which Annette understood at once. Eagerly she sped forward and as she caught him up he drew her against him and they walked on so for a while with Mischa's arm about her shoulder. Annette was in a daze of beat.i.tude. There was no one in the streets, which were silent except for the soft sticky sound of their footsteps and the irregular tap-tap of water dripping from the trees. Wet leaves leaned down above their heads. A drop of water fell on to Annette's shoulder and ran down between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They walked through a square. The dripping sound, which at another time would have made Annette sad, seemed to her now the very voice of the spring. The air was soft and warm and the springtime was falling off the trees and rolling in cool drops upon her skin. Then suddenly there was a clear distant sound, and then another - and then again the silence.

'A bird!' said Annette.

'Yes,' said Mischa.

'Why, it's morning!' said Annette.

She looked up, and the sky was changing to a dark overcast grey. She turned towards Mischa and found that now she could just see his face. He looked so melancholy that Annette wanted straightaway to take him in her arms. She felt, and with it a deep joy, the desire and the power to enfold him, to comfort him, to save him. She stopped walking and turned to face him. Mischa withdrew his arm from her shoulder and looked at her or past her with a patient vacant look. Now that the contact between them was broken Annette did not dare to touch him; with a gesture of helpless abandonment she let her hands drop from her bosom and the torn bodice of the dress fell towards her waist revealing two extremely round and white b.r.e.a.s.t.s. For a moment Mischa stood and contemplated her, as she rose like a mermaid out of the sea-green sheath of her dress. Then he sighed and very gently stretched out one hand and drew a finger down the outside contour of one breast.

After this he turned and walked on. Annette trembled, gathered her dress up and followed him, walking a pace or two behind. Mischa stopped and began fumbling in his pocket for keys. Annette saw that they were standing outside a garage.

'Is this where you keep your car?' asked Annette.

'Yes,' said Mischa. He was pressing the key into the lock.

'It's a long way from the house,' said Annette.

'No,' said Mischa, 'the house is here.' He pointed above their heads and Annette saw a line of lighted windows. They had come round in a circle. She shuddered.

'Let's go quickly,' she said. Mischa opened the door of a low grey car and she got in. The light came up on the dashboard, the engine gave a low purr rising to a roar, and then they were away.

The powerful headlights of Mischa's car showed to Annette first a long unfolding series of familiar streets, then a series of unfamiliar streets, then a great main road, and at last green hedges and avenues of trees and gra.s.s verges scattered with primroses and stained white with chalk. The car was climbing.

'Wrap that rug round yourself,' said Mischa.

Annette curled up in the front seat with the rug tucked about her knees. In the dim mysterious light that came from the dashboard she could see his profile. He never looked at her. She tried to remember, but could not, whether it was his blue eye or his brown eye which was nearest. It was too dark to see. Once they reached the open country the car leapt forward like a mad thing. An indefinite time pa.s.sed. A grey hazy light showed woods and villages which touched the car for an instant and flashed by. But within, there was a deep quiet. Annette moved, and her knee touched Mischa's side. She said nothing, but as the speedometer needle reached seventy she felt herself to be in paradise. She had never been so happy in her life before.

The car was descending. The wheels were grating sharply upon gravel and then grinding upon stones. Then suddenly Mischa began to brake violently and the car came bucking to a standstill. He turned off the engine. With the abrupt ending of its roar Annette could not at first realize whether what succeeded it was a silence or not. A thick mist surrounded them. Mischa stepped out of the car. Annette uncurled her legs. She felt very stiff. She opened the door and a cold wind blew straight into her face. She wished that the journey had not ended. She found herself standing upon damp stones and tumbled and almost fell. Mischa had moved ahead of her and taken a few steps. Then he stood still. A strange roaring sound was ringing in Annette's ears. It was very close, it was deafening. She took a step forward. Then she realized what it was. Mischa had driven the car almost into the sea. He was standing now with the waves breaking at his feet.

Annette was completely dazed. She came down to stand beside Mischa, picking her way carefully across a line of crackling sh.e.l.ls and yielding seaweed. It was a beach of large flat stones which crunched awkwardly underfoot. Annette felt suddenly in danger. The mist hemmed them in. She looked back towards the car. Only the tip of the radiator was visible behind her. The rest was lost in the mist. She looked towards the sea. She could see just as far as the place where the waves appeared out of the grey wall, already beginning to curl over and fall. They crashed violently upon the stones, came foaming forward in a great sheet of water, and then withdrew, drawing the beach after them with a rattling grinding sound. The endless rhythmical noise covered Annette and held her for a while motionless and appalled. Her hand at her breast became one with the intense beating of her heart. Then she turned to look at Mischa.

The amazement which had gripped her she read again upon his face. His lips were parted and his eyes seemed to start from his head. He was staring at the waves like a man cornered by a strange animal. Terror and fascination were upon his brow. When Annette saw him she was yet more afraid. He was breathing hard and every now and then his mouth moved as if he were saying something the sound of which was lost in the roar of the sea. Already the water was covering his shoes. Then he bent down, plunged his hand into the foam at his feet, and put his fingers to his lips. He licked his lips, tasting the brine.

'Mischa!' said Annette. She could hardly hear her voice, so deafening and continuous was the clatter of the waves upon the stones. He paid no attention. Perhaps he had not heard or perhaps he had forgotten that she was with him. Annette felt suddenly that she was alone upon the beach. The mist was lifting a little and the daylight was growing. Now she could see beyond the breaking point of the waves where the great rollers were coming in, their backs glistening in the silver light of the mist and the daybreak. Everything about her was beginning to glisten and become radiant with the unseen sun. She turned about and felt but could not hear the stones shifting and groaning under her feet. She was wet to the ankles. In an agonizing flash of memory the events of the night came back to her. She saw the fish lying struggling upon the dry cushions and upon the carpet. She wanted to weep, to scream; above all she wanted Mischa's attention.

'Mischa!' cried Annette, and seized him by the arm. He shook himself and moved away from her, his lips still moving, without turning his head.

Annette looked at him for a moment, her face screwed up with pain. Then gathering up her long skirt she turned from him and with a loud cry she began to run into the sea. After three stumbling steps through the withdrawing sheet of foam the next wave struck her at the knee. Annette kept her balance and managed to take another step. With an icy shock the water was swirling violently about her waist. She cried out shrilly at the intense cold. She saw the next roller rising above her. Her feet left the ground. The she felt a fierce jerk upon her arm, and Mischa was dragging her back out of the sea. Annette struggled, and for a moment they swayed to and fro upon the stones, and the great wave drenched them. Then as Mischa pulled her on, she slipped, grating her leg upon the shingle, and an instant later he had dragged her, half running and half slithering on her knees, well up beyond the water line.

Mischa turned on her. 'You little idiot!' he shouted, and shook her violently.

Annette sat down upon the stones. She was almost beyond thought and feeling. Her leg was hurting. She wanted nothing now but to be left alone. 'Go away,' she said to Mischa.

Mischa leaned over her with the face of a demon. He pulled her to her feet and dragged her to the car. 'Get into the back seat,' he shouted, 'and take your clothes off. Then put this coat on and put the rug round you.'

Somehow, trembling with cold, Annette slid out of the remnants of her green dress and for a moment she was naked, with one long damp leg trailing behind her on the stones and the other in the soft warmth of the car. Then she slipped on Mischa's velvet smoking-jacket, which had been left behind and was quite dry. She gathered the rug about her and collapsed on to the back seat. Then she saw Mischa. He had taken off his shirt and was wringing the water out of it. His chest and shoulders were entirely covered with long black hair which clung close to his body now in damp streaks. The hair of his head, darkened by the water, streamed down each side of his face and water-drops stood upon his cheeks like tears. When Annette saw this she began to cry.

With a tremendous jolt the car started. Annette closed her eyes, feeling the wet tyres slipping and grinding upon the shingle. The mist had turned from grey to silver and now to gold. Through clouds of gold they climbed up to the main road, and the long drive home had begun. The roar of the engine rose to a crescendo and Annette's tears flowed without intermission. She had never felt so wretched in her life before. By the time she was able to control herself a little and look at the back of Mischa's head, from which the sea-water was still dripping, they were pa.s.sing through the outskirts of London. Mischa said nothing until, as they were nearing the Thames, he said, 'You'd better put your own clothes on again before you go in.'

Annette could hardly attach meaning to his words, but she managed, for the last time, to make the rags of the green dress cling about her. Then she pulled the velvet jacket on again. As she completed this operation she saw with astonishment that they were outside the house in Campden Hill Square. The engine stopped and made a terrible silence. Mischa got out and opened the door of the car.

'I can't go in there,' said Annette in a clear voice.

'Come along,' said Mischa. Again she had the feeling that he was not looking at her, that he was looking past her or through her. Annette unpacked herself awkwardly and hobbled out on to the pavement. Mischa went up to the door and rang the bell. Then he got into the car and drove away, leaving Annette standing on the pavement.

She stood there for a moment in a trance of misery, clutching Mischa's coat about her. Then she climbed up the steps and opened the door, which was unlatched. She began to trail up the stairs. As she pa.s.sed Hunter's room he emerged and watched her. He said nothing. When Annette reached the landing below her own room she saw Rosa standing at the top of the flight of stairs. The door into Annette's room stood open. If only I could get that far, thought Annette. She was unable to focus her eyes on Rosa. She realized that she had the most terrible headache. She leaned against the banister to rest. Rosa was standing beside the door of her room like a fatal archangel.

'Wherever have you been, Annette?' asked Rosa.

Annette could think of nothing to say. She just felt too tired, far too tired. She pulled herself up another step. Then Rosa saw Mischa's coat.

'Annette - ' said Rosa, and then stopped. For a moment the house trembled. Hunter began to say something inaudible on the landing below.

Suddenly Rosa turned into Annette's room and began to drag open the drawers of her dressing-table. She seized an armful of clothes and hurled them down into Annette's face. Then pulling out one of the drawers entire she upended it at the top of the stairs. A surge of silk and nylon came cascading down.

'Don't!' cried Annette. She took a step back and then tried to spring up the remaining stairs. But weakened as she was by cold and exhaustion her hands were slipping on the banisters and her feet slithering on the soft torrent of clothing. She lost her balance, fell heavily backwards, and crashed violently upon the landing at Hunter's feet.

Rosa, who had given a cry of alarm when she saw Annette fall, began to pick her way down, kicking the clothes aside. Annette was sitting on the landing rocking herself to and fro. She began to let out a high-pitched wail.

'Oh G.o.d!' said Hunter. 'Oh, my G.o.d!'

He tried to help Annette up, but she shook herself free and fell back wailing more than ever. 'I think,' she sobbed out, 'I think my leg's broken' - and she abandoned herself to grief. Rosa came and sat beside her upon the floor. Hunter could see that in a moment she was going to start crying too.

'Oh, my G.o.d!' said Hunter. He made for the telephone.

Seventeen.

THERE had been complete silence for some time in Peter Saward's room. It was late in the afternoon and the lamp on his desk had been lit for more than half an hour. Outside the window a sad green light still lingered under the plane tree. Peter was never anxious to pull the curtains. He was not afraid of the spirits who come to press against lighted windows. He had laid his pen aside and was looking gloomily at the sheets of hieroglyphs. They were as impenetrable as ever. At last he stacked them into a neat pile. Then he reached out for his paper-knife and drew towards him a pair of thick volumes which had just arrived from Paris. He looked at his watch. He began to cut the pages. A short time pa.s.sed.

There was a knock on the door, and Mischa Fox came in. 'I'm late,' he said. 'I'm sorry.'

'That's all right,' said Saward. 'I haven't been wasting my time!' He swung his chair round and Mischa sat down on the floor at his feet. They sat for a short while without speaking, Mischa looking moodily into the corner and Peter Saward studying Mischa.

'You're looking tired,' said Peter Saward.

Mischa shook his head. 'Everybody has been going mad as usual!' he said.

'You make them mad,' said Peter.

Mischa considered this. 'I don't make you mad,' he said. He looked up at Peter. 'Did you hear what happened at the party after you left?'

'Yes,' said Peter Saward. 'Rainborough came and told me.' He frowned and shook his head.

'Ah, well - ' said Mischa. He spoke with the air of someone who has got over with an unpleasant duty and can now get on to brighter matters. 'Did you get the photographs?'

'Yes,' said Peter. He pulled out from a drawer in his desk a large shabby book with a green cover. The book b.u.mped to the floor and Peter followed it to sit beside Mischa. Mischa was already turning the pages, almost tearing them in his eagerness.

'Oh, splendid,' he cried, 'these are the best ones I've ever seen! So detailed, and not just the usual things. How clever of you, Peter!' He was like a child in his delight, he almost clapped his hands, and his face was transfigured by a look of mingled joy and pain, quite unlike the tense expression of irritated distress which it had worn a moment ago.

'Oh, if you knew, Peter,' said Mischa, 'how this moves me. How astonishing photographs are! There is a thing in my heart which these pictures touch and which will soon be restored to me. I feel it turning already. What a miracle it is to feel that, after all, nothing dies.'

Peter Saward was sitting awkwardly upon the floor, his arm resting on the seat of the chair. He was absorbed in watching Mischa. A sea of books surrounded them both.

Mischa had paused over a photograph. 'Do you see that little street?' he said. 'There was a shop there, you can almost see the edge of it, where I used to buy sweets. Our house was that way. There was a street and a square and then the street where we lived.' He turned another page.

'Now here,' said Mischa, 'you should be able to tell me where this is! Can you say what would be just round this corner?' He showed Peter Saward one of the pictures.

Peter reflected for a moment. 'Your school?' he suggested.

'That's right!' cried Mischa. He was so delighted by this he almost embraced Peter. 'Do you know,' he said, 'since I last saw you I've remembered the name of the German schoolmaster, the one I was trying to think of. He was called Kuneberg.'

'Kuneberg,' said Peter Saward He looked at Mischa, feeling again the puzzlement and tenderness with which these curious encounters always filled him. Mischa was a problem which, he felt, he would never solve - and this although be had got perhaps more data for its solution than any other living being. Yet it seemed that the more Mischa indulged his impulse to reveal himself in these unexpected ways to Peter, the more puzzling he seemed to become. It was now a long time since Mischa had taken it into his head to talk to Peter about his childhood; and since he had started to talk he had sketched a picture of the most astonishing detail. At first Peter had not been at all sure that everything that Mischa told him was true; now he was certain that it was true as Mischa could make it and that the pursuit, here, of exactness and completeness was for him a terrible necessity.

Sometimes when they were together Mischa would sit for minutes on end trying to remember something, such as the name of this schoolmaster - and at such times his face would pucker and contract and become for the moment like the face of a child. It was Mischa who had suggested that a really good set of photographs might aid his memory further - and Peter Saward had been able to obtain some from a friend at the Warburg Inst.i.tute.

'And here,' said Mischa, he had before him a picture of a fountain, 'there was a bronze fish. How strange, I had forgotten this completely! You can't see him here, he's on the other side. And the water came, not out of his mouth but out of his eyes. I remember asking my mother why he was crying. And in that square,' he went on, turning a page, 'there used to be a big fair every autumn. It was a terrible thing, that fair.' He fell silent suddenly, biting his lip.

'Why?' asked Peter Saward.

'There were - compet.i.tions, side-shows,' said Mischa, 'the children would all take part. And do you know what they would give us as prizes? Little chickens, a day old.'

'Oh?' said Peter Saward.

'Well, just that,' said Mischa. 'We would play with them until in a day or two they died. They could not survive. Everyone knew that. The fairmen knew, my parents knew - ' His voice died away. Peter Saward looked at him quickly for a moment. Mischa's eyes had filled with tears. Peter Saward was not unduly startled. During these strange conversations Mischa often wept.

'I remember that so clearly,' said Mischa, 'the first time. I was very small. I could not understand what had happened to my chicken. Someone explained, as if it were the most ordinary thing.'

Peter Saward was silent. He felt, as he so frequently did during Mischa's reminiscences, tormented in some incomprehensible way.

'After that,' said Mischa, 'I watched other animals to see if they would die. But no - one does not see animals die. One is not so privileged. Even dead animals one does not see. Think of all the creatures that there are which live their lives about us, birds and animals and all kinds of insects. Helpless creatures and who do not live for long. Yet one hardly ever sees one dead. Where do they go to? The surface of the world ought to be covered with dead animals. When I thought about this,' said Mischa, 'I used sometimes to - '

'To what?' said Peter Saward after a moment.

'To kill animals,' said Mischa. He was sitting perfectly still, one knee raised and one leg curled under him. He stared through the wall as if he were seeing the past.

'Why did you do that?' asked Peter, very softly, speaking to Mischa's thought.