Free The Unicorn by Iris Murdoch Page A

She was certainly an eccentric lady.
     
To pass off the strangeness of the moment Marian said, ‘You’ve kept them very well !’
     
‘I don’t do much walking.’
     
It occurred to Marian that indeed Mrs Crean-Smith had not been outside the house since her own arrival here. She must be ill, thought Marian.
     
Nolan stood back, preparing to be dismissed. He was a trifle shorter than either of the women, and seemed smaller still, almost dwarfish, frowning now and bunched up.
     
‘Stay, Denis, you shall read too.’
     
Marian was surprised. She said thoughtlessly, ‘Oh, can you read French?’
     
‘Yes.’ He gave her a hostile look.
     
Marian thought, he is a little jealous of me. He sees me as an intruder here.
     
‘Denis is very clever,’ said Mrs Crean-Smith. ‘You should hear him play the piano and sing. We must have a musical evening soon. Do stay.’
     
‘No. I must go and see to my fishes.’ He picked up the box with the bat in it. ‘Good night.’ He retired abruptly.
     
‘Look after my little bat,’ said Mrs Crean-Smith after him. She sighed. ‘Has he shown you the salmon pool?’
     
‘No,’ said Marian. ‘I’ve hardly talked to Mr Nolan. Are there salmon then? Mr Scottow said they’d gone.’
     
They’ve come back. Only don’t tell Mr Scottow.’
     
Ill - or deranged, thought Marian.
     
‘He will show you the salmon pool, I expect. Have you ever seen salmon leaping? It’s a most moving sight. They spring right out of the water and struggle up the rocks. Such fantastic bravery, to enter another element like that. Like souls approaching God.’
     
As Marian reflected upon the slightly unexpected simile, her employer rose and began to glide about the room. She was much given to looking at herself in mirrors. She moved now from glass to glass. ‘Listen to the wind. It can blow dreadfully here. In the winter it blows so that it would drive you mad. It blows day after day and one becomes so restless. What do you think of my page?’
     
‘Your - Mr Nolan? He seems very devoted.’
     
‘I think he would let me kill him slowly.’
     
There was a startling possessive savagery in the words which was oddly at variance with the accustomed douceur. Yet her manner, it struck Marian suddenly, was that of a sort of despair. Ill, or deranged, or in despair.
     
‘But everyone here is devoted to you, Mrs Crean-Smith.’
     
‘Please call me Hannah. Yes, I know, I’m lucky, Gerald Scottow is a tower of strength. Shall we read now? You shall start, you have such a lovely accent, and later we’ll see if I can translate it all.’
     
Transported immediately, forgetting all else, into a familiar world of delight Marian began to read.
     
Ce toit tranquille, ou marchent des colombes,
Entre les pins palpite, entre les tombes;
Midi le juste y compose de feux
La mer, la mer, toujours recommencée….
     

Chapter Five
 
     
‘All the people round here are related to the fairies,’ said Jamesie Evercreech.
     
Marian laughed.
     
She was in a good humour. It was a bright sunny day and the sea was the colour of amethyst. The wind had dropped. The base of the black cliffs steamed gently in the hot sun. She and Jamesie were bowling along in the Land Rover in the direction of Blackport, where they were to pick up a crate of whiskey and some clothes which had come on approval for Hannah. Jamesie, who was a keen photographer, was also going to get supplies for his camera. He had used up his last roll of colour film taking a large number of pictures of Marian on the previous day. She was partly flattered and partly unreasoningly alarmed at this attention.
     
Today all seemed suddenly gay and normal and Marian was quite simply delighted at the thought of a visit to civilization. To see a paved street, to buy a newspaper, to enter a shop, see ordinary people passing, these things seemed positive treats; and although the pubs were taboo, there was apparently a little fishing hotel where she could see