CHAPTER
EIGHT
"So where did you
get to last night?" Harding asked, as Andrew came down to the lounge,
prior to breakfast, at about 8.30am.
"I was looking for you, you know."
"Is that so?" the writer wearily responded, a slight
but perceptible blush in swift accompaniment.
"Well, as a matter of fact I was, er, invited by young Pauline to
view her private library and, er, listen to her reading some poems. I was in her bedroom."
"Ah, so that's where you were!" Harding exclaimed
with evident relief. "I had no
idea. Thought you might have gone to
bed."
"What, with Pauline?"
Harding had to laugh.
"No, with yourself of course!
Hey, don't look so aggrieved! I
didn't mean to offend you."
"I'm sincerely glad to hear it!" Andrew declared,
feeling somewhat relieved in spite of his determination not to let on. But he was secretly annoyed with himself for
taking quick offence and jumping to conclusions. He oughtn't to have lost his cool like that!
"So what did you think of her poems?" Harding wanted
to know, latching-on to the most credible straw available.
"Not a great deal, actually. They were the sort of second-rate things
young females like her often write, if you know what I mean."
"Yes, I think so," Harding admitted, nodding
vaguely. "Rather maudlin, I expect."
"And tedious," Andrew affirmed. "Why, I was obliged to persevere with
them until gone twelve, before I could get to bed!" Which wasn't entirely true, though he knew
that better than anyone. For the fact
that he had made love to Pauline from half-eleven till nearly
"Well, now that you've heard them, at least you won't have
to persevere with her poems again," Harding was saying, as though to
himself.
"No, I suppose not," Andrew agreed, blushing
slightly. "By the way, what time
are we leaving here today?"
"Some time this afternoon, I should imagine," Harding
replied. "Why, do you have to be
back home by any specific hour?"
"No, not really; though I'd like to be back in good time
for my customary Sunday-evening bath and hair wash, if you don't
mind." It was a flimsy excuse, but
better than nothing.
Harding smiled benignly.
"I think we can arrange that," he stated in a faintly
condescending tone-of-voice.
"Incidentally, you may be interested to learn that I've been
commissioned by our generous host to paint portraits of his family, both
separately and collectively, during the coming weeks. So I'll be seeing a lot more of the
Graces."
"Congratulations!" Andrew exclaimed, extending a
friendly hand to the artist's left arm.
"I wish you every success."
"Thanks," responded Harding, who appeared visibly
flattered by his neighbour's gesture.
"I could certainly do with it.
However, now that I have a chance to speak to you while we're alone
together, I'd be grateful if you avoided the temptation to get yourself
re-involved in the kind of controversial discussion you were having yesterday
with young Edwin Ford in Mr Grace's presence.
He wasn't particularly impressed by it, as I'm sure you're fully aware,
and, frankly, it's altogether doubtful he would take kindly to anything
bordering on a repeat performance today."
Andrew felt momentarily taken-aback by this prohibitive
utterance, which struck him as singularly impertinent. But, to save argument, he agreed to steer
clear of deep water, if only for his neighbour's sake. He realized, of course, that Harding was only
out for his own professional ends and didn't want anyone to upset Henry Grace
and thereby jeopardize his prospects of commercial success. However, since Edwin Ford would have returned
to his parents' house in the meantime, there seemed little chance that a
recrudescence of political and religious theorizing, incompatible with their
host's own rather more conservative beliefs and loyalties, would occur, there
being no-one else in the house likely to incite Andrew to his former polemical
eloquence. Providing Mr Grace didn't
challenge him to defend his views, it looked as though the writer would have to
be content with saying very little - a fact which Harding could hardly fail to
endorse!
"Well, now that I've said my piece," the painter
rejoined, "I feel a lot better towards you than was the case yesterday
evening, when your argumentative outburst caused me so much embarrassment. I know you didn't mean to upset anyone, but
the fact that you have such different views on a variety of issues than me is
something which, at least in the presence of Mr Grace, I'd rather you kept to
yourself, if you don't mind. That way
least harm can be done."
"I'll try my best," Andrew promised, feeling, in
spite of his show of calm, a passionate contempt for this arrogant bastard who
dared tell him how to behave, as if he were a child who needed to be kept in
check! My God, to what craven lengths
some people could stoop to further their vainglorious ambitions! How low they could get! How petty and eaten-up by their own insolent
pride! Indeed, it was as much as Andrew
could do to prevent himself from giving this opportunistic social climber a
vigorous tongue-lashing and thereby reducing him in size to something more
compatible with his fundamental baseness.
But as though in anticipation of the fact he was about to do so, Mrs
Grace suddenly entered the room and announced to the two men facing each other
there that breakfast was ready. He would
just have to postpone the airing of his grievances until a more propitious
opportunity!
During breakfast, the occupants of the table remained on fairly
cordial terms with one another, Henry Grace and Robert Harding continuing their
conversation on art from approximately where they had left off the previous night,
whilst everyone else, including Andrew and Pauline, maintained a respectful if
slightly resentful silence - the general feeling being that two or three
separate conversations running simultaneously across the table would not have
been appreciated by Mr Grace who, as master of the house, preferred attention
to be focused on himself, and thus on matters closer to hand. This, at any rate, was the case as far as
Carol, Pauline, and Mrs Grace were concerned; though Andrew felt in no mood to
enter into conversation with anyone at all, particularly with the host and his
chief guest, whom he now felt obliged to regard with unmitigated disdain. Nevertheless, the attractive face of young
Pauline Grace opposite him could hardly be ignored, least of all when she looked
at him with a vaguely conspiratorial expression on it, as she did on more than
one occasion during breakfast, as if to say: 'Don't let them bother you. Let's just remember how much pleasure we got
from each other last night!'
Yes, there was something decidedly charming about the presence
of Mr Grace's daughter at table that morning, a presence which, for Andrew, had
the not unpredictable effect of lifting his spirits a little. At least he had no cause to regard her as an enemy; no more
cause, for that matter, than to regard Philip as one, even though he sat
in-between Harding and himself and occasionally said a word or two, across the
conversation raging between the champions of representational art, on behalf of
Transcendental Meditation and athletics - two seemingly incompatible devotions
to which he somehow managed to reconcile himself. But that was the way of Pauline's brother
who, to the writer's covert disapproval, regarded meditation as a means to
improving his bodily powers, and had not yet learnt to differentiate between
spirit and matter. He was too young, in
short, to be particularly spiritual, and too well-built, moreover, to be
anything but athletic. Whether he would
eventually sort himself out and change for what Andrew would have regarded as
the better, remained to be seen; though it seemed unlikely that he would
abandon his athletic commitments for some time to-come. The man of action in competition with others
was uppermost in his lifestyle, and it was to this somewhat unspiritual man
that he gave most of his attention.
Clearly, Transcendental Meditation was a discipline which young students
often encountered and superficially endorsed, if only for appearance's sake. There was no real depth of commitment in them
though, no real understanding of what it really implied. The urge of youth to action and rebellion
against the social status quo, quite apart from the exigent demands of study
and college obligations generally, was too strong to be eradicated or
underestimated in the vast majority of cases.
It was a phenomenon which had to be lived through before one was in a
position to take a better, more objective look at spiritual values and, if one
so desired, proceed to direct one's life along less physically active and
possibly more passive lines, following in Andrew's own ideal footsteps. In the meantime, competitive sport would
doubtless take the place of honour in the lives of people like Philip, who had
no impending or imperative desire to 'go spiritual' when they were under pressure
to compete on a variety of levels.
Besides, people came in so many different shapes and sizes that what was
good for one type of person could be bad for another. Spirituality was all right for some persons,
but definitely not for everyone!
To be sure, there was undoubtedly an element of truth in that
contention, albeit, Andrew had to admit, rather relatively. For it was of the utmost importance to
mankind's future development that an increasing number of people turned
spiritual and accordingly dedicated the greater part of their lives to
contemplative concerns. It was necessary
that predominantly active types should eventually be superseded by their
predominantly passive counterparts, so that mankind would be morally qualified
to enter the millennial Beyond at the culmination of human evolution, and
thereupon become wholly divine - filled with the bliss and peace of pure
spirit. Otherwise Heaven would remain no
more than a pipe dream, a distant possibility never actually realized, except
perhaps in the grave, and man would forever continue to be torn between the
active and the passive, Hell and Heaven, in a dualistic twilight of Christian
relativity. But that could not be! For man had evolved out of a predominantly
dark state of pre-Christian hellish activity to the Christian compromise
between the dark and the light, sensuality and spirituality, and he was now
evolving beyond that towards a state of being which favoured the light, a state
commensurate with greater physical passivity.
History could not be refuted, since the trend of human evolution towards
the enhanced spirituality of the Holy Ghost was made manifest through it and
could be discerned more clearly in recent decades, in spite of all the existing
horrors of modern life, including the threat of nuclear or biological
obliteration. Even the tendency of
modern architects to endow their buildings with more window space, to fashion
office blocks or high-rise flats in such a way that glass or plastic predominated
over concrete and steel, was a clear indication, so far as Andrew was
concerned, of our growing allegiance to the spirit - as, of course, was the
widespread and regular use of artificial lighting. Like it or not, the spread of urbanization was
a blessing unprecedented in the entire history of Western man, speeding-up his
evolution from a being torn, in the ego, between the sensual subconscious and
the spiritual superconscious during virtually the whole of the Christian era,
to one who, within the space of a mere century, had become biased on the side
of the latter, freed, as never before, from the sensuous influence of nature,
and enabled to direct his spiritual development along lines which, eventually,
could only bring him to the consummation of his evolution in heavenly bliss!
Yes, a remarkable fact, but there it was! Our isolation from nature was a means to our
spiritual salvation, and this salvation could and would be brought about,
provided we survived the catastrophic consequences of future wars and continued
to develop, according to the dictates of our urban environments, in an
increasingly artificial direction. All
credit to the tall buildings which were mostly fabricated from synthetics! Well did they reflect our ongoing allegiance
to the superconscious and consequent break with a balanced dualism. The sooner those buildings which had more
concrete than glass in them were superseded by buildings of a more spiritual
order, the better! Away with all the old
dualities as soon as it was convenient and proper to do away with them!
Let us have more spirit, in accordance with our yearning for
eternity. Let us remember that life
continues to evolve and that the world is slowly but surely becoming a better
place. Let us not be deceived by the
short-term horrors it besets us with into assuming the contrary. Our short-sightedness, in this respect, will
not detract from the facts of evolution!
Socialism and transcendentalism, suitably modified in a sort of Social
Transcendental synthesis, will carry the world before them, no matter how much
some people may persist in presuming otherwise!
The only serious cause for regret, concerning this transitional stage of
man's evolution, is the fact that these developments should still have such a
deplorably long way to go before we arrived at our ultimate destination in
heavenly peace, and thus entirely transcended the human condition!
To bring the average man up to a higher moral level, a level
where he can share in the fruits of the spiritual life - what an immense task,
and how long it will take to affect a genuine equalitarianism of the
spirit! One shudders at the thought of
how far evolution still has to go before inequalities cease to exist, and the
vast majority of people share in a common aspiration towards spiritual
fulfilment! Yes, one positively shudders
at the immensity of the task ahead, the task of affecting an overall higher
standard of life. Yet it is one which
has got to be knuckled down to, no matter how difficult things may now seem. There is no alternative to going forwards,
upwards, and inwards - absolutely none!
We have no option but to persist in the equalitarian and co-operative
policies which progress is demanding of us, for there is no other way to the
post-human millennium. As the decades
pass, we shall doubtless succeed in improving the quality of the race, so that
an ever-growing number of people will become spiritually earnest, and thus
given to devotions like Transcendental Meditation. But the difficulty of the task before us
cannot be underestimated, if we are not to seriously delude ourselves regarding
the entire process of human evolution.
It is our duty to progress, and progress we shall, even if only by small
steps, one after the other. As yet, we
are still too close to the ego, that old dualistic balance, for comfort, and
cannot afford to become complacent over the extent of evolution to-date. We may indeed have come a long way from the
caveman, grovelling in the moral darkness of subservience to the subconscious,
but we are by no means at our journey's end in unequivocal identification with
the superconscious. On the contrary, we
are only just beginning to recognize it for what it is - namely, the essence of
salvation.
As usual, however, there are 'the quick' and 'the slow', the
former spearheading transcendentalism's advance, the latter not having
disentangled themselves from the old dualities to an extent which makes it
possible for them to regard such dualities as phenomena out of which we are
slowly evolving. No, 'the slow' are
still at home with these dualities, still given to political confrontation,
religious anthropomorphism, competitive/cooperative economics, sexual
discrimination, noble and plebeian class divisions, distinctions of rich and
poor, and so on, as though such dualities constituted the very essence of
reality against which it was senseless to rebel. Well, 'the slow' might think so, but 'the
quick' don't agree! They find such a
viewpoint totally unacceptable, having gone well beyond it in their knowledge
of and commitment to evolutionary progress.
'The quick', now as before, are in the vanguard of mankind's advance
towards the post-human millennium, and while they may not be completely beyond
dualism themselves, they are sufficiently biased on the side of the spirit to
see through the illusion of regarding dualism as an end-in-itself, instead of
merely a stage on the road to a higher end.
Yes, they are sufficiently advanced along the road to salvation to see
through this, the greatest of all contemporary illusions, and are consequently
that much closer to ultimate truth!
But, unfortunately, 'the quick' still aren't in the majority -
at least not everywhere. It is to be
hoped, however, that one day they will be.
For that is true progress, that is the task! In the meantime, we can only persevere with
our efforts, not to mention enemies - as, indeed, Andrew was obliged to do
during breakfast, while Mr Grace and Harding continued with a conversation
centred around representational art, to the detriment of the transcendent. Oh, how he would have liked to interpose
himself between them by pointing out the fallacies in their view of taking
traditional representational art for the only legitimate art-form and of
considering it in the interests of Western man's well-being that a return to
such art should officially be made as soon as possible! How he would have liked to impress upon them
the fact that such a reversion to form and substance in art would have
constituted a regression on a par with reverting to gas lamps or candle light;
that, contrary to their reactionary assumptions, it would have been
diametrically opposed to his well-being;
that, instead of constituting a moral example to society, such art would have
set a thoroughly bad example, leading people to attach more importance to the
concrete, the representational, the apparent, than was desirable, and so on - a
whole host of valid objections to their crackbrained and thoroughly obsolete
values! Yes, he most certainly would!
But partly out of consideration for Pauline, whom he genuinely
liked, and partly in response to Harding's request for reserve, earlier that
morning, Andrew refrained from interposing, restrained the impulse to speak out
on behalf of the very tendencies in art, as in life, which these two reactionary
bastards were attacking, whether directly, as in their opposition to
abstraction, or indirectly, through their advocacy of more traditional
approaches to art. Besides, had he done
so, and thus given vent to the very genuine temptation to air his views in front
of them, nothing more would have come of it than another nasty scene, like the
one he had been obliged to endure in the lounge, when Henry Grace had lost what
little precarious cool he ordinarily possessed.
Needless to say, there wasn't much sense in that - not, anyway, if one
had transcendental rather than dualistic or humanistic sympathies at
stake! Better to keep one's views to
oneself, under the circumstances. For
there was scant hope of changing those of the opposition! Quite the contrary, one would simply be
banging one's head against a dense wall of adamant imperviousness - the
imperviousness germane to a different species of man.
Breakfast passed, then, without any recrudescence of the
ideological tension which had sprung-up, the day before, between Mr Grace and
Harding on the one side, and Andrew and Carol on the other; though, thanks in
some measure to Philip's ingenuousness, a few comments were voiced which caused
a certain disquiet to flourish in the minds of the opponents of artistic progress,
and at no time more evidently so than when he referred to something Andrew had
said about Christian transcendentalism on the day in question. But the writer judiciously refrained from
expanding on it, and so enabled the traditionalists to continue their
conversation on aesthetics with a modicum of equanimity.
As, however, for Pauline, no allusions were made to her sexual
experiences of the night before ... other than in the way she occasionally
regarded Andrew, as he sat seemingly engrossed in his breakfast, with a certain
coy admiration born, no doubt, of her gratitude to him for having extended his
appreciation of her poems beyond the purely theoretical level! Now she was no longer a virgin, it struck him
that she might even refrain from writing poetry in future, and so give herself
exclusively to literature instead. If
so, he hoped, anyway, that he wouldn't be obliged to read it. For he had little taste for illusion, his
only real ambition being to kill it off to the extent he could, and thereby
encourage his readers away from the old dualistic respect for fictions, which
had characterized the era of egocentric culture, towards a preoccupation with
truth, more characteristic of the coming era of superconscious
transcendentalism. Anything else would
have been unthinkable! But until a
majority of people had been raised-up, through the combined efforts of a
modified socialism and transcendentalism, to a higher level of consciousness,
the popular novel, in all its heathen permutations, vicious as well as inane,
would doubtless continue to find a willing audience, mainly composed of people
who could only stomach knowledge and truth in small doses or in a diluted
guise, and whose respect for strength or beauty was still the overriding
determinant in the composition of their tastes.
Clearly, evolution still had a long way to go - particularly with regard
to consumers of the popular novel. The
post-human millennium couldn't be brought about overnight!
Having taken his leave of the table, Andrew contrived to avoid
further contact with Pauline by electing to take a stroll round the spacious
back garden, which particularly appealed to him at this juncture on account of
the early-morning sunshine which lit it up in a dazzle of assorted colours -
reds, greens, yellows, pinks, purples, blues, browns, and golds, each colour
seemingly vying with the others to claim his attention and win his
approval. At the far end of the garden,
just a yard or two short of the wooden fence which divided Mr Grace's land from
that of the nearest farmer, a large goldfish pond sparkled in the mid-morning
sunlight, and it was towards this brilliant cynosure of optical allure that
Andrew now directed his steps, crossing the closely-cropped lawn between the
various flowerbeds and pressing on down the gently sloping incline towards the
enticing sparkle of light beyond. What a
relief it was to be free of the oppressive proximity of his ideological
enemies! How he delighted in the
sanctuary afforded him by this pond, isolated at a safe distance from the house
and partly obscured, on one side, by a few small shrubs and trees, their
overhanging branches sharply reflected in the clear water. And there, in the pond itself, how refreshing
to behold the many goldfish swimming about after their individual fashions -
some quickly, some slowly, others scarcely moving at all, but each one of them,
no matter what their direction, completely isolated from human concerns and
struggles, shut off from the conflicting realities of modern life in a world of
aquatic seclusion.
Yes, it was almost possible to envy these tiny creatures their
watery isolation, their complete indifference to politics, religion, economics,
science - everything, in short, that mattered to man. There were indeed times when, had
circumstances permitted, one would gladly have changed places with any of the
more complacent-looking inhabitants of such a pond, and thus abandoned the
human world altogether. Times, indeed,
when to swim about like that, free from the arduous responsibilities of earning
a living or the tedious necessity of defending a radical viewpoint from
hidebound opponents, would have struck one as constituting a charmed existence,
a privilege of the elect, a kind of luxurious abandon. But, of course, goldfish remained fish and
human beings human, even if sometimes rather unwillingly so! Their worlds could never be exchanged. Willy-nilly, the burden of religion,
politics, science, art, etc., would have to be borne for as long as one lived -
borne in the face of every adversity or, for that matter, adversary.
It wasn't long, however, before Andrew was startled out of
these sombre reflections by the sight of a woman's face reflected in the still
water beside him and, turning round to behold it in the flesh, he recognized
Carol Jackson staring down at him with a gentle smile on her lips. He almost lost his grip on the small rocks
against which he was leaning and toppled backwards into the pond, so completely
did her presence take him by surprise!
"I do hope I haven't disturbed you," she murmured,
somewhat gratuitously in the circumstances.
"No, not at all!" he automatically responded, as one
usually does in such a delicate situation.
"I was simply admiring the goldfish."
She smiled her acknowledgement of this obvious confession and,
with a "May I?", to which Andrew offered a prompt and affirmative
response, sat down beside him on one of the larger and cleaner-looking rocks by
the edge of the pond. After a brief
inspection of its aquatic contents, she smiled anew and cast him a penetrative
look from her dark-brown eyes - one specifically designed to cut through any
pretence or reserve which might have come between them at this juncture. "I take it you had a pleasant time with
Pauline Grace yesterday evening?" she at length commented.
A sudden uprush of embarrassment overpowered Andrew with these
words. For the tone of Carol's voice,
coupled to the knowing look in her lively eyes, suggested, all too clearly,
that more was known of his nocturnal activities on the evening in question than
he would have been prepared to admit.
"Yes," he blushingly confessed. "Quite pleasant."
"Only 'quite'?" queried Carol with the air of a tease
about her. "Were you worried that
someone like her father would overhear you, then?"
Andrew's embarrassment took a sharp turn for the worse. He didn't know how to reply, not knowing
exactly where he stood with her. But
Carol came to his rescue.
"Or perhaps you were disappointed because she wasn't more responsive
and didn't have much experience behind her?" Carol shamelessly
conjectured.
Now it was completely out in the open. There could be no question of pretence
here. "No, not really," he
confessed, his blood seeming hotter than usual.
And then, all of a sudden, as though the lid of his shame had just been
removed and the pressure released from his embarrassing predicament, he burst
into an impulsive giggle, which was followed, much to Carol's satisfaction, by
a lengthy smile of cathartic relief.
"How did you know?" he asked, as soon as it had run its
pleasurable course.
"Simply by listening outside her bedroom door for a few
minutes before retiring to my room," Carol revealed. "Not that either of you were making much
noise about it! On the contrary, I had
to strain my ears, since you seemed rather reserved in your pleasures."
"We had to be," Andrew admitted, automatically
deferring to Carol's partial impression.
"Otherwise the game would have been given away."
"As it was in any case - at least as far as I was
concerned."
Andrew experienced a slight qualm at this point. "What about Robert?" he asked.
"Not to my knowledge," Carol replied. "I didn't mention it to him and he
hasn't mentioned anything to me. So I
can only presume he doesn't know."
She smiled reassuringly and then added: "We slept in separate
rooms, by the way."
"Is that so?" Andrew responded, not a little
surprised at this turn of events.
"Well, I sincerely hope I can trust you to keep a secret,
Carol. I don't think Mr Grace would
particularly approve of what I've been up to with his daughter, would he?"
"Most probably not; though I don't think you would
particularly approve of what he's up to with Robert," the model averred.
Andrew felt somewhat puzzled and looked it. "How d'you mean?" he asked,
surprised to find himself becoming slightly concerned on Harding's behalf.
Carol smiled vaguely and proceeded to cast a few tiny pebbles
into the pond, momentarily disturbing the apparent equanimity of its tiny
inhabitants. "Well, as yet, I've
nothing definite to go on; though, from what I've learnt from an acquaintance
of mine, it's somewhat doubtful that Henry Grace's motives for inviting Robert
here are exclusively professional," she remarked. "In point of fact, I incline to believe
such motives don't really enter into it at all."
The writer became even more puzzled. "I don't think I quite follow you,"
he not unreasonably confessed.
"You wouldn't happen to know a photographer by name of
Donald Prescott, by any chance?"
He shook his head.
"Well, as you do know, I'm a model, and my profession
often takes me to Prescott's house in Hampstead, where I pose for his
camera," Carol resumed. "Now
from what I gleaned from him, the last time I was there, Henry Grace is by no
means as influential in the world of art or art criticism as Robert seems to
imagine, since he's at least two decades out-of-date."
"I could have told you that!" Andrew retorted. "In fact, he's almost a century
out-of-date, so far as I'm concerned."
Carol had to smile, in spite of the seriousness of the
matter. "I'm glad you think
so," she said. "However
Prescott, who used to know Mr Grace personally, assured me that the critic
wasn't the type of man to put himself out for anybody, to use what little
influence he has specifically on anybody's professional behalf."
"You mean, Robert's being deceived by him?" Andrew
conjectured.
"That seems the most logical inference," Carol
agreed.
"But why? Why would
he go to all the trouble to invite Robert here and play the charming host, if
he wasn't intending to befriend him?"
Andrew objected. "After all,
they've talked of little else but art ever since we arrived!"
"As I well know," Carol admitted over a faint but
earnest sigh. "Yet that strikes me
as no more than a cover for his real motives, a trap to lure Robert into
danger. If you want to know my honest
opinion, I believe Henry Grace has taken a fancy to my boyfriend and hopes to
seduce him."
Andrew could scarcely believe his ears. "You're kidding!" he ejaculated.
"Not a bit," Carol assured him, her face deadly
serious. "I gleaned as much from
what Prescott told me the other week, both from what was said and by the way he
responded to some of my comments. He was
harbouring a little secret, and I bet you anything it had to do with Mr Grace's
sexuality - namely, the fact of his being bisexual."
"Bisexual?" Andrew repeated, still distinctly
sceptical about the revelation Carol had opted to inflict upon him. "Maybe that explains the strange silence
and withdrawn disposition of his wife over the weekend, her disinclination to
enter into conversation with him in Robert's presence, much as though she knew
full-well what was going on and what was expected of her in consequence. Maybe even a private grudge against him and
jealousy that he should prefer someone else to her? After all, she didn't come with us on that
cross-country stroll yesterday afternoon, did she?"
"Probably more because she wasn't invited to than from any
overt grievance against her husband," Carol opined. "We were led to believe that she had to
stay behind to look after the house and attend to any new guests who might
arrive during our absence. But were
there any?"
Andrew pondered, a moment, what was evidently a rhetorical
question, and then said: "Not if you discount Philip's friend,
Edwin."
"Quite! And one can
hardly consider him a guest, much less a personal friend of Henry Grace!"
declared Carol sternly. "No, as far
as I'm concerned, that was just a ruse to keep her out of the way while her
husband chatted-up my boyfriend to the extent he could. Besides, you were on the walk and he didn't
talk very much to you, did he?"
"Perhaps that's just as well!" the writer ironically
averred, showing signs of amusement.
"It would also have detracted from my conversation with Pauline or
even prevented it from taking place.
Curious, now I come to think about it, how my preoccupation with her
didn't appear to arouse any interest or concern on his part, much as though he
had better things to think about than the safety of his daughter in the dubious
company of a handsome male stranger."
"Evidently he had," Carol affirmed. "And primarily in terms of the success
of his strategy to seduce Robert."
"But is he bisexual, too?"
"Not to my knowledge.
At least, he has never made mention of a penchant for men to me, nor
have I ever seen him in anything approximating to sexual contact with them
during the six months of our intimacy.
Of course, prior to then I'm not able to say. But from what he told me about his previous
relationships, all of them with women, it would seem highly improbable that he
has ever gone out of his way to establish bisexual relations with anyone. Quite the contrary, he strikes me as a born
heterosexual."
"Well, if that's how it is - and I can well believe it in
view of his overly realistic approach to painting - then we needn't fear for
his safety or, rather, morals, need we?" Andrew deduced. "Henry Grace is simply wasting his
time."
Carol firmly shook her head.
"I rather doubt it," she retorted. "For Robert has so much confidence in Mr
Grace's ability to influence his career for the better ... that he might well
succumb to his sexual demands on the spur of the moment, if only to further his
aims."
"You mean he'd allow Grace to sexually violate him on the
assumption that such a procedure would be to his professional advantage?"
Andrew blurted out, quite beside himself with astonishment.
"Shush, keep your voice down!" Carol hissed, pressing
the proverbial forefinger against her lips.
They cast an apprehensive glance around the garden, but there
was nobody to be seen. The house stood
bathed in sunlight some eighty-odd yards away, its windows blank. Only the harmless sounds of sparrows and
thrushes could be heard.
"But that's preposterous!" Andrew exclaimed with
renewed confidence. "Who-on-earth
would allow another man to violate him for the sake of his career?"
"Particularly when, unbeknownst to himself, he wouldn't
stand to gain anything much by it," Carol confirmed. "But you don't know Robert Harding. At least you wouldn't know the extent of his
ambitions to become universally recognized as a great painter."
"I've an inkling of it!" Andrew admitted, simultaneously
recalling the experience of Harding's concern over his freedom of speech
earlier that morning. If that was part
of the painter's ambition to gain universal recognition, then he was certainly
doing everything he could to stay in Henry Grace's good books. No doubt, he could be induced to do a bit
more, if circumstances required! But how
absurd that his ambitions should be so important to him that he could be
depended upon to lean over backwards to achieve them - and evidently in more
than a merely metaphorical sense.
"An inkling is all very well," Carol sharply
rejoined, succumbing to a degree of self-pity.
"But I have to live with a great deal more than that, including the
fact of his desire to become the leading English portrait-painter of his
day."
Andrew felt obliged to laugh, and did so with a sarcastic
relish quite untypical of him. Really,
it was too funny for words! How could
Harding become the foremost anything?
Wasn't it simply his intention to become the most reactionary painter of
his day, to make war on all forms of modernity, not excepting the contemporary
treatment of portraiture? But Carol
wasn't particularly amused by Andrew's flippant response. It was all right for him to laugh, he didn't
have to live with the guy. She did, though
not legally. Indeed, she could have
broken with Harding that very day, had she really wanted to. But, deep down, she was still rather fond of
him, unwilling, at present, to be the source of a break-up. Besides, if the truth were known, she would
have to admit that he was the best lover she had ever had - far more
adventurous, vigorous, and responsive than any of the previous men in her
life. And one who took longer with his
pleasures, moreover. It wouldn't have
been to her sexual advantage to risk having to settle for anything less, least
of all over such a relatively trifling issue as his professional ambitions!
"By the way, I ought to tell you that I happened to
overhear part of a conversation between Robert and Mr Grace whilst he was
working on the latter's portrait one day," Andrew revealed, once he had
cooled down again. "You weren't
there, but I could see that your boyfriend was doing his level best to make as
good an impression on his sitter as possible, straining every damn nerve and
muscle on his face to make it appear as though he were deeply engrossed in
concentration, and agreeing with just about everything the latter said. It didn't take long before my suspicions were
confirmed concerning his reactionary attitude towards modern art, his dislike
of everything abstract."
"Yes, that must have been on one of the days I was at
Prescott's," Carol commented.
"But the irony of it all is that, if what I assume about Mr Grace
is true, Robert needn't have gone to such trouble to make a good impression,
since that old faggot only commissioned his portrait because he'd already taken
a fancy to him and thereby hoped to seduce him.
Robert's concern with being on his best behaviour was accordingly quite
superfluous."
"And probably still is," Andrew conjectured, smiling.
"Yes, I incline to think so," Carol agreed. "Especially when I recall the ease with
which Mr Grace dismissed Robert's concern over your differences of opinion,
earlier in the day, while the three of us were sitting outside on those old
back-garden seats yesterday evening."
Andrew automatically cast a suspicious glance in the direction
of the seats in question, as though to assure himself that they were now
empty. "Oh, was Robert somewhat
upset then?" he asked.
"You bet he was!" Carol exclaimed. "And quite apologetic, to boot. But he needn't have been, since Henry Grace
didn't harbour any grievances against him as a result of your philosophical outspokenness. On the contrary, he was only too keen to
reassure us - and Robert in particular - that he could still be a charming
host."
"I bet the old sod was!" Andrew cried, unable, once
again, to prevent a gasp of amusement escaping from between his parted
lips. "But I doubt if he really
felt as charming as he made himself out to be, especially where I was
concerned."
"Indeed not!" Carol confirmed, smiling
ironically. "Although I did my best
to stand-up for you, in spite of opposition from my boyfriend. Unlike him, however, I saw no reason why not
to, since I agree with your theories concerning the difference between
Christians and transcendentalists. It
stands to reason that a dualist is less spiritually evolved. But Mr Grace didn't see it like that, being
too set in his bourgeois ways and too vain, moreover, to concede one the truth
of the matter. For all we know, he might
have had a guilty conscience about his intention to seduce Robert and couldn't
restrain the impulse to defend him against you, when you spoke of the moral
superiority of
transcendentalists yesterday afternoon. But, whatever the case, he was certainly not
put off Robert by my subsequent defence of your views. Quite the contrary, he began to speak of
their temperamental compatibility and reaffirmed his liking for him - a liking
which seemed to corroborate all my suspicions regarding his real motives for
having invited Robert all the way up here in the first place. Yet when he went on to speak of their being
'two of a kind', brothers in the cause of 'liberal decency and tradition', I
nearly burst out laughing, so ironic did it sound to me! Doubtless the word 'kind' possessed more
significance for Henry Grace than ever it did for his naive dupe!"
"So it would seem," Andrew murmured through an
accompanying snigger. "Yet brothers
in the cause of liberal, or representational, tradition in the arts they most
certainly are, as I was made more than adequately aware by my eavesdropping on
the other side of Robert's fence that day.
Naturally, I had suspected he was in revolt against all forms of
abstraction in art, shortly after we first became acquainted. But it wasn't until I heard the pair of them
together that my suspicions were confirmed.
Instead of moving with the times and furthering the admirable cause of
transcendental abstraction, these two bastards are determined to reverse things
by reaffirming the primacy, as they see it, of form and substance, thereby
returning art to an outmoded sensual/spiritual dualism compatible with
bourgeois ethics. I don't know exactly
how you feel about this, Carol, but I can tell you I'm very much against
it! If they think that by advocating a
more representational approach to art they'll be affecting its salvation, then
they're sadly mistaken! They would
simply be resurrecting the past, and that isn't much good to the present, still
less the future. For figurative art has
had its day, and nothing they could do now would really alter matters to any
appreciable extent. At worst, I expect
they'd merely succeed in causing a certain amount of mental confusion among the
less-integrated devotees of modern art, affecting a vague nostalgia for
dualistic criteria among the bourgeoisie, and slightly undermining the progress
of transcendentalism in art, including various types of light art, in the
process. But nothing significant, nothing
guaranteed to cause a major regression in our tastes. Fortunately for all true lovers of cultural
progress, theirs is a lost cause, so we needn't become unduly concerned about
it. However, the fact they do think in
terms of a return to outmoded values in art makes them extremely disagreeable
to me - enemies, if you like, whom it's my duty to denigrate. It isn't for me to encourage them in their
anachronistic intentions."
Carol appeared momentarily grieved, primarily because her lover
was being attacked by Andrew and made to appear a fool, but also because, deep
down, she sympathized with the cause of modern art, at least in its more
progressive manifestations, and was rather ashamed of the fact that Robert
didn't. And then what Prescott had said
to her about the consequences of his associating with Mr Grace more or less
corresponded, in essence if not exactly in detail, to the sentiments expressed
by Andrew, and presented her with additional reasons for believing that
Harding's was a lost cause. Yes, however
much she remained loyal to her lover as a person, she couldn't pretend that his
professional ambitions were worthy of respect.
Accordingly, she had no option but to side with the writer. "It would serve him right," she
remarked eventually, "if Mr Grace manages to seduce him on the pretext of
furthering his career, without actually doing so! It might teach him a valuable lesson."
"True, though I doubt if it would prevent him from
continuing with his reactionary creative policies," Andrew solemnly
opined. "He seems to be perfectly
at one with them."
"Yes, that has to be admitted," Carol agreed. "A born reactionary."
However, the sight of Mrs Grace emerging from the house to put
some washing out decided Carol against continuing their conversation and, with
a parting smile, she left the writer to his reflections, both private and
public. He was in no hurry to return to
the others himself, not even for Pauline's sake.
