Ten hours of talking: what had we to say? Plain fact mostly, the record of our two lives, so long widely separate, now being knit to one. Through all that storrn-tossed night I rehearsed what she had told me; she was no longer the alternate succubus and starry, vision of the night before; she had given all that was transferable of her past into my keeping. She told me, as I have already retold, of her courtship and marriage; she told me, as though fondly turning the pages of an old nursery-book, of her childhood, and I lived long, sunny days with her in the meadows, with Nanny Hawkins on her camp stool and Cordelia asleep in the pram, slept quiet nights under the dome with the religious pictures fading round the cot as the nightlight burned low and the embers settled in the grate. She told me of her life with Rex and of the secret, vicious, disastrous escapade that had taken her to New York. She, too, had had her dead years. She told me of her long struggle with Rex as to whether she should have a child; at first she wanted one, but learned after a year that an operation was needed to make it possible; by that time Rex and she were out of love, but he still wanted his child, and when at last she consented, it was born dead.
'Rex has never been unkind to me intentionally,' she said. 'It's just that he isn't a real person at all; he's just a few faculties of a man highly developed; the rest simply isn't there. He couldn't imagine why it hurt me to find two months after we came back to London from our honeymoon, that he was still keeping up with Brenda Champion.'
'I was glad when I found Celia was unfaithful,' I said. 'I felt it was all right for me to dislike her.'
'Is she? Do you? I'm glad. I don't like her either. Why did you marry her?'
'Physical attraction. Ambition. Everyone agrees she's the ideal wife for a painter. Loneliness, missing Sebastian.'
'You loved him, didn't you?'
'Oh yes. He was the forerunner.'
Julia understood.
The ship creaked and shuddered, rose and fell. My wife called to me from the next room: 'Charles, are you there?'
'Yes.'
'I've been asleep such a long while. What time is it?'
'Half past three.'
'It's no better, is it?'
'Worse.'
'I feel a little better, though. D'you think they'd bring me some tea or something if I rang the bell?'
I got her some tea and biscuits from the night steward.
'Did you have an amusing evening?'
'Everyone's seasick.'
'Poor Charles. It was going to have been such a lovely trip, too. It may be better tomorrow.'
I turned out the light and shut the door between us.
Waking and dreaming, through the strain and creak and heave of the long night, firm on my back with my arms and legs spread wide to check the roll, and my eyes open to the darkness, I lay thinking of Julia.
'...We thought papa might come back to England after mummy died, or that he might marry again, but he lives just as he did. Rex and I often go to see him now. I've grown fond-of him... Sebastian's disappeared completely...Cordelia's in Spain with an ambulance...Bridey leads his own extraordinary life. He wanted to shut Brideshead after mummy died, but papa wouldn't have it for some reason, so Rex and I live there now, and Bridey has two rooms up in the dome, next to Nanny Hawkins, part of the old nurseries. He's like a character from Chekhov. One meets him sometimes coming out of the library or on the stairs - I never know when he's at home - and now and then he suddenly comes in to dinner like a ghost quite unexpectedly.
'...Rex's parties! Politics and money. They can't do anything except for money; if they walk round the lake they have to make bets about how many swans they see...sitting up till two, amusing Rex's girls, hearing them gossip, rattling away endlessly on the backgammon board while the men play cards and smoke cigars. The cigar smoke. I can smell it in my hair when I wake up in the morning; it's in my clothes when I dress at night. Do I smell of it now? D'you think that woman who rubbed me, felt it in my skin?
'...At first I used to stay away with Rex in his friends' houses. He doesn't make me any more. He was ashamed of me when he found I didn't cut the kind of figure he wanted, ashamed of himself for having been taken in. I wasn't at all the article he'd bargained for. He can't see the point of me, but whenever he's made up his mind there isn't a point and he's begun to feel comfortable, he gets a surprise - some man, or even woman, he respects, takes a fancy to me and he suddenly sees that there is i whole world of things we understand and he doesn't ... he was upset when I went away. He'll be delighted to have me back. I was faithful to' him until this last thing came along. There's nothing like a good upbringing. Do you know last year, when I thought I was going to have a child, I'd decided to have it brought up a Catholic? I hadn't thought about religion before; I haven't since; but just at that time, when I was waiting for the birth, I thought, "That's one thing I can give her. It doesn't seem to have done me much good, but my child shall have it." It was odd, wanting to give something one had - lost oneself. Then, in the end, I couldn't even give that: I couldn't even give her life. I never saw her; I was too ill to know what was going on, and afterwards, for a long time, until now, I didn't want to speak about her - she was a daughter, so Rex didn't so much mind her being dead.
'I've been punished a little for marrying Rex. You see, I can't get all that sort of thing out of my mind, quite - Death, Judgement, Heaven, Hell, Nanny Hawkins, and the catechism. It becomes part of oneself, if they give it one early enough. And yet I wanted my child to have it...now I suppose I shall be punished for what I've just done. Perhaps that is why you and I are here together like this...part of a plan.'
That was almost the last thing she said to me -'part of a plan' - before we went below and I left her at the cabin door.
Next day the wind had again dropped, and again we were wallowing in the swell. The talk was less of seasickness now than of broken bones; people had been thrown about in the night, and there had been many nasty accidents on bathroom floors.
That day, because we had talked so much the day before and because what we had to say needed few words, we spoke little. We had books; Julia found a game she liked. When after long silences we spoke, our thoughts, we found, had kept pace together side by side.
Once I said, 'You are standing guard over your sadness.'
'It's all I have earned. You said yesterday. My wages.'
'An I.O.U. from life. A promise to pay on demand.'
Rain ceased at midday; at evening the clouds dispersed and the sun, astern of us, suddenly broke into the lounge where we sat, putting all the lights to shame.
'Sunset, ' said Julia, 'the end of our day.'
She rose And, though the roll and pitch of the ship seemed unabated, led me up to the boat-deck. She put her arm through mine and her hand into mine, in my great-coat pocket. The deck was dry and empty, swept only by the wind of the ship's speed. As we made our halting, laborious way forward, away from the flying smuts of the smokestack, we were alternately jostled together, then strained, nearly sundered, arms and fingers interlocked as I held the rail and Julia clung to me, thrust together again, drawn apart; then, in a plunge deeper than the rest, I found myself flung across her, pressing her against the rail, warding myself off her with the arms that held her prisoner on either side, and as the ship paused at the end of its drop as though gathering strength for the ascent, we stood thus embraced, in the open, cheek against cheek, her hair blowing across my eyes; the dark horizon of tumbling water, flashing now with gold, stood still above us, then came sweeping down till I was staring through Julia's dark hair into a wide and golden sky, and she was thrown forward on my heart, held up by my hands on the rail, her face still pressed to mine.
In that minute, with her lips to my ear and her breath warm in the salt wind, Julia said, though. I had not spoken, 'Yes, now,' and as the ship righted herself and for the moment ran into calmer waters, Julia led me below.
It was no time for the sweets of luxury; they would come, in their season, with the swallow and the lime flowers. Now on the rough water there was a formality to be observed, no more. It was as though a deed of conveyance of her narrow loins had been drawn and sealed. I was making my first entry as the freeholder of a property I would enjoy and develop at leisure.
We dined that night high up in the ship, in the restaurant, and saw through the bow windows the stars come out and sweep across the sky as once, I remembered, I had seen them sweep across the sky as once, I remembered, I had seen them sweep above the towers and gables of Oxford. The stewards promised that tomorrow night the band would play again and the place be full. We had better book now, they said, if we wanted a good table'.
'Oh dear,' said Julia, 'where can we hide in fair weather, we orphans of the storm?'
I could not leave her that night, but early next morning, as once again I made my way back along the corridor, I found I could walk without difficulty; the ship rode easily on a smooth sea, and I knew that our solitude was broken.
My wife called joyously from her cabin: 'Charles, Charles, I feel so well. What do you think I am having for breakfast?'
I went to see. She was eating a beef-steak.
'I've fixed up for a visit to the hairdresser - do you know they couldn't take me till four o'clock this afternoon, they're so busy suddenly? So I shan't appear till the evening, but lots of people are coming in to see us this morning, and I've asked Miles and Janet to lunch with us in our sitting-room. I'm afraid I've been a worthless wife to you the last two days. What have you been up to?'
'One gay evening,' I said, 'we played roulette till two o'clock, next door in the sitting-room, and our host passed out.'
'Goodness. It sounds very disreputable. Have you been behaving, Charles? You haven't been picking up sirens?'
'There was scarcely a woman about. I spent most of the time with Julia.'
'Oh, good. I always wanted to bring you together. She's one of my friends I knew you'd like. I expect you were a godsend to her. She's had rather a gloomy time lately. I don't expect she mentioned it, but...' my wife proceeded to relate a current version of Julia's journey to New York. 'I'll ask her to cocktails this morning,' she concluded.
Julia came among the others, and it was happiness enough, now merely to be near her.
'I hear you've been looking after my husband for me,' my wife said.
'Yes, we've become very matey. He and I and a man whose name we don't know.'
'Mr Kramm, what have you done to your arm?'
'It was the bathroom floor, ' said Mr Kramm, and explained at length how he had fallen.
That night the captain dined at his table and the circle was complete, for claimants came to the chairs on the Bishop's right, two Japanese who expressed deep interest in his projects for world-brotherhood. The captain was full of chaff at Julia's endurance in the storm, offering to engage her as a seaman; years of sea-going had given him jokes for every occasion. My wife, fresh from the beauty parlour, was unmarked by her three days of distress, and in the eyes of many seemed to outshine Julia, whose sadness had gone and been replaced by an incommunicable content and tranquillity; incommunicable save to me; she and I, separated by the crowd, sat alone together close enwrapped, as we had lain in each other's arms the night before.
'There was a gala spirit in the ship that night. Though it meant rising at dawn to pack, everyone was determined that for this one night he would enjoy the luxury the storm had denied him. There was no solitude. Every corner of the ship was thronged; dance music and high, excited chatter, stewards darting everywhere with trays of glasses, the voice of the officer in charge of tombola - 'Kelly's eye - number one; legs, eleven; and we'll Shake the Bag' - Mrs Stuyvesant Oglander in a paper cap, Mr Kramm and his bandages, the two Japanese decorously throwing paper streamers and hissing like geese.
I did not speak to Julia, alone, all that evening.
We met for a minute next day on the starboard side of the ship while everyone else crowded to port to see the officials come aboard and to gaze at the green coastline of Devon.
'What are your plans?'
'London for a bit, ' she said.
'Celia's going straight home. She wants to see the children.'
'You too?'
'No.'
'In London then.'
'Charles, the little red-haired man Foulenough. Did you see? Two plain clothes police have taken him off.'
'I missed it. There was such a crowd on that side of the ship.'
'I found out the trains and sent a telegram. We shall be home by dinner. The children will be asleep. Perhaps we might wake Johnjohn up, just for once.'
'You go down,' I said. 'I shall have to stay in London.'
'Oh, but Charles, you must come. You haven't seen Caroline.'
'Will she change much in a week or two?'
'Darling, she changes every day.'
'Then what's the point of seeing her now? I'm sorry, my dear, but I must get the pictures unpacked and see how they've travelled. I must fix up for the exhibition right away.'
'Must you?' she said, but I knew that her resistance ended when I appealed to the mysteries of my trade. 'It's very disappointing. Besides, I don't know if Andrew and Cynthia will be out of the flat. They took it till the end of the month.'
'I can go to an hotel.'
'But that's so grim. I can't bear you to be alone your first night home. I'll stay and go down tomorrow.'
