Free A Fairly Honourable Defeat by Iris Murdoch Page B

time.’
    ‘Well, let us have that time, my darling. You will stay here, won’t you, and not go away? Do feel that this is your home.’
    ‘I have no home. God, your house is elegant, Hilda. Just look at those black and white toile de Jouy cushions and that yellow china dog and that set of lustre jugs and that stripey French urn thing, I remember that, into which, if you had known I was coming, you would have put three perfect roses!’
    ‘Darling, you’re just the same! You always used to mock our domestic arrangements.’
    ‘Envy, Hilda, pure envy. I’d give my ears for a house like this and a husband like Rupert. A husband that works. Functions, I mean. Could I have some more whisky?’
    ‘I’m afraid the ice is melting.’
    ‘Haven’t you got a portable ice box? I must buy you one. Except, damn, I haven’t any money.’
    ‘Don’t worry about money, Morgan. I do want to tell you that. You’ve got enough troubles and it’s silly to worry about money if it isn’t necessary. Rupert and I have plenty and you can stay on here—’
    ‘Well, I’m not totally destitute and if I pick up the old threads I expect I can get a job in England.’
    ‘I’m so relieved you’re staying—’
    ‘God, what’s that noise outside?’
    Hilda got up. ‘Simon has just upset the tray with the champagne glasses on it. I’m afraid they’re all broken.’
    ‘Dear Simon. He hasn’t changed. Except that he’s better-looking than ever and more grown-up looking.’
    ‘Married life evidently suits him.’
    ‘Come back here, Hilda. Don’t touch me, but I want you near. I want to look at you. Sometimes in America I’ve longed for you.’
    ‘I’ve longed for you. I’ve felt so happy since I knew you were coming back.’
    ‘You must think very ill of me.’
    ‘I love you, you fool.’
    ‘I don’t think I could bear it if you really condemned me in your heart. I think I should die of it.’
    ‘I don’t condemn you, idiot. Of course I don’t understand. But when I do understand—I won’t condemn you—ever.’
    ‘Ah, you think you will understand—I wonder—’
    ‘Morgan, did you know that Julius—?’
    ‘Yes. I saw it in the evening paper. I bought the Standard at London airport and there was Julius’s picture.’
    ‘It’s odd, isn’t it.’
    ‘Uncanny. We might have travelled on the same plane. It was nice to see the old Evening Standard again, though I’m a bit out of date with the strip cartoons. Have they still got Modesty Blaise and Billy the Bee—?’
    ‘Morgan, Morgan, Morgan—’
    ‘Where’s that bloody handkerchief?’ Morgan took off her glasses and covered her face with the handkerchief. There was silence for a moment.
    ‘You had no idea Julius was coming to London?’
    ‘I didn’t know where Julius was. I knew he’d left Dibbins.’
    ‘When did you last see him?’
    ‘Oh months and months ago. It seems like years ago. Absurd, isn’t it. When I got onto that aeroplane I thought I was going away from Julius, away, away, away. And now here he is at the other end. Perhaps it’s fate.’
    ‘Fate—Morgan, did you leave Julius or did he leave you?’
    ‘I suppose that question has been much canvassed?’
    ‘I’m afraid so, my darling.’
    ‘Well, literally I left Julius, but spiritually he left me. It was complicated and—awful. Awful, awful, awful.’
    ‘Have things entirely broken down between you?’
    ‘Yes. Broken down, broken off. We haven’t communicated since, oh, nearly the beginning of the year, when I just cleared out of Dibbins lock stock and barrel and abandoned all my students and all my classes and everything.’
    ‘I remember. You didn’t write for some time. Then you wrote from that address in Vermont.’
    ‘Yes. I stayed with a nice old German philologist and his wife up there. They didn’t understand a thing. Well, neither did I. I was practically insane. I still am. More whisky please. Those damned ice cubes have all melted.’
    ‘I’ll get some