Free An Accidental Man by Iris Murdoch

Ledgard?’
    â€˜No, thank you, nurse. I think there’s someone at the door. Could you sit with my mother?’
    Charlotte went out into the hall. The doctor had opened the door and George and Clara were coming in, followed by Gracie.
    Charlotte was irritated that Gracie had come. Gracie would be a spectator with alien thoughts.
    â€˜Oh Char darling!’ said Clara in a loud whisper. Clara had been crying.
    â€˜My dear,’ said George. He gripped Charlotte’s arm, pressed it hard and let it go. He touched her cheek with his hand.
    â€˜How is she?’ whispered Clara.
    â€˜Take your things off,’ said Charlotte in her ordinary voice. She felt stiff with something, embarrassment, hatred, grief, or perhaps the pity for her mother which she had been fighting off all day. How dare Clara cry.
    George and Clara put their coats on the settee in the hall. They were in evening dress, George very formal, Clara in long green silk with black embroidery, oriental. Gracie, who was wearing a white mackintosh, dug her hands into her pockets and leaned back against the hall door.
    â€˜Pretty dress,’ said Charlotte to Clara mechanically.
    â€˜Thank you, dear Charlotte.’
    The old litany.
    â€˜You wanted to see me, I believe,’ said the doctor to George.
    â€˜Oh, er, yes,’ said George, responding instinctively to the doctor’s important male manner. ‘How, er, — Nothing unexpected I suppose? Is she likely to pull round again this time? I remember last time —’
    â€˜I’m afraid not,’ said the doctor. He and George went into the drawing-room. The dining-room was Alison’s bedroom. Charlotte took her meals in the basement. There were no living-in servants. There had been a maid called Pearl, but Alison sacked her because she thought she had taken a Georgian spoon which later turned up inside the sofa. Charlotte did most of the work of the house.
    â€˜Dear Char, has it been awful?’ said Clara in a low voice.
    â€˜Not particularly. Come in and see her. She won’t know you.’
    Gracie pushed past them into the drawing-room, following her father.
    Charlotte opened the door again and there was Alison still there, propped up in what looked like a little shrine. The nurse had turned on the bedside lamp. Bottles glinted on the side table like offerings, there were flowers, too many flowers. It was like a Hindu temple Charlotte had once seen in a picture.
    â€˜Clara to see you, mother.’
    â€˜My darling,’ said Clara. She had never said that to her mother before in her life.
    â€˜Don’t upset her,’ said Charlotte.
    Clara advanced and took the chair which the nurse was offering. She took hold of Alison’s hand and then relinquished it quickly. Charlotte knew why. The hand felt dead already.
    Alison slowly turned her head. She had to turn it so as to see Clara out of her one eye. Her lips moved, muttering something.
    â€˜What’s she saying?’ said Clara. ‘“Release”? Oh my darling —’
    â€˜Don’t cry, Clara. You can stop those tears.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, Char. You are always so strong. I’m not sure that I can bear this.’
    â€˜Then go away,’ said Charlotte. ‘You told me to tell you. Now say goodbye and go.’
    â€˜I can’t — say goodbye —’
    â€˜Clara!’
    â€˜Sorry —’
    The single eye regarded Clara with intensity, the weak drooping lips moved.
    â€˜â€œTrees”,’ said Charlotte. ‘“Trees”, she’s saying. You know.’
    â€˜I don’t think so. What is it, mama? Tell Clara.’
    â€˜May I come?’ said George. ‘Dear Alison, hello, it’s George.’
    The doctor entered and stood beside the nurse at the door. George was behind his wife, leaning over her, looking into the old crooked face with a kind of curiosity. A handsome pair, thought Charlotte. George’s