Free A Fairly Honourable Defeat by Iris Murdoch Page A

and brother-in-law. Rupert put the bag down, hesitated, and then, obeying a signal from Hilda, withdrew. Hilda closed the door.
    Morgan looked at the bed which was covered by a heavy green silk bedspread. She slowly pulled the bedspread off onto the floor. She took off her glasses, laid herself carefully face down upon the bed, buried her face in the pillows, and, just as Hilda started to say something, burst into streams of silent tears.
    There was a soft dragging sound as Hilda moved a chair across the carpet to the edge of the bed. A moment later she laid her arm across Morgan’s heaving shoulders.
    ‘Sorry, Hilda, please don’t touch me.’
    ‘Sorry, darling.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘Shall I go away?’
    ‘No. Just stay here and be quiet.’
    There was silence in the room, through the open window a sound of bird song and a murmur of voices where Rupert and Axel and Simon were still talking in the garden.
    Hilda had got up and was walking about. Something was thrust against Morgan’s hot cheek. It was a large clean handkerchief. Morgan fumbled to unfold it. More tears, more tears, more tears.
    ‘Hilda.’
    ‘Yes, darling.’
    ‘Could I have a large Scotch on the rocks?’
    ‘On the—? Oh yes, with ice. I’ll get it at once.’
    ‘I couldn’t drink—down there—with them.’
    ‘I won’t be a moment. Would you like anything to eat with it? A little cold lamb? Or aspirins or anything?’
    ‘No, no, nothing else. Bring the whole bottle, would you. And a jug of water. And two glasses.’
    ‘Yes, yes, I think some whisky would do me good too!’
    As soon as the door closed Morgan sat up abruptly. She sat on the edge of the bed and mopped her face over with the cool handkerchief. The tears were less. She went over to the wash basin and soaked her burning eyes with cold water and dried her face on a crisp starchy embroidered face towel. She put on her glasses and went over to close the window. She returned and looked at herself for some time in the mirror above the basin. She would have liked to say something to herself, something apt, something bracing and encouraging, something witty perhaps; but she could not formulate it and she looked at herself in silence. Then when she heard Hilda’s steps again upon the stair she returned quickly to her prostrate position upon the bed. That moment of self-regard had strengthened her, as she knew it would.
    Hilda drew up a low table for the tray and sat down again upon the upright chair. Morgan pulled herself up, arranging pillows.
    ‘Is this how you like it, sweetheart?’
    ‘Yes, that’s fine. No water, not at the moment. Just ice. Thanks.’
    ‘You’re sure you don’t want to rest, to be alone?’
    ‘No, I want to talk to you. I feel mad, Hilda, mad. ’
    ‘Take it easy, child.’
    ‘Whisky’s good. Could you lend me a comb? Thanks.’
    ‘You’re looking beautiful, Morgan.’
    ‘I feel a wreck. You’re looking fine, Hilda. You’ve put on weight a bit. You don’t mind my saying so? So has Rupert.’
    ‘We’re getting old.’
    ‘Nonsense. So Simon and Axel are still together?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘No sign of a crack? I wondered if that thing would last.’
    ‘They seem to be getting on all right.’
    ‘I’m rather sorry Simon went that way. I suspect Axel doesn’t like me.’
    ‘He’s just shy.’
    ‘I remember when we were children you would never admit that anyone disliked anyone! It does happen, you know. Do you have a cigarette?’
    ‘Yes, I have. Here. Your luggage is following by boat?’
    ‘Yes. It’s mainly books. Well, some clothes and things. And notebooks and so on. I may not have mentioned it in my letters, but I did quite a lot of work at Dibbins.’
    ‘Good. Your letters weren’t terribly informative, actually! They moved from the curt to the enigmatic to the frantic. I haven’t really got a picture.’
    ‘Christ, do you think I have? I don’t know who I am, Hilda. Maybe you’ll have to tell me. It may take some