'I knew you'd be good about it,' she said in a moment. 'I'm so relieved to have told you. I've hated lying about it. And you know, you need never do without me.' And she repeated, 'Thank you, thank you,' as if I had already set her free.
I said, 'Well, I haven't broken your neck, have I?'
She said, 'My child, my dear child.'
'So you don't hate me, do you, Martin?' said Palmer.
I was lying down on the divan in Palmer's study where his patients usually reclined. Indeed I was to all intents and purposes his patient. I was being coaxed along to accept an unpleasant truth in a civilized and rational way.
'No, I don't hate you,' I said.
'We are civilized people,' said Palmer. 'We must try to be very lucid and very honest. We are civilized and intelligent people.'
'Yes,' I said. I lay still and sipped the large cut-glass tumbler of whisky and water which Palmer had just replenished for me. He himself was not drinking. As he talked, he paced to and fro, tall and lean, with his hands behind his back, the purple dressing-gown which he wore loosely over his shirt and trousers making a gentle silky swish. He paced to and fro in front of the line of Japanese prints which decorated the far wall, and bandit faces leered from behind him. His small cropped head moved against the blurred soft blues and charcoal blacks of the prints. The air was warm and dry, agitated by a mysterious breeze from some invisible fan. I was sweating.
'Antonia and I have been very happy,' I said. 'I hope she has not misled you here. I still cannot take this in or accept it. Our marriage is an extremely solid structure.'
'Antonia could not mislead me if she tried,' said Palmer. 'Happiness, my dear Martin, is neither here nor there. Some people, and Antonia is one, conceive of their lives as a progress. Hers has been standing still for too long. She is due to move on.' He glanced at me occasionally as he paced, his slightly American voice soft and slow.
'Marriage is an adventure in development,' I said.'Exactly.''And it is time for Antonia to take a more advanced course.'Palmer smiled. 'You are charming to put it so!' he said.'So the thing has a sort of inevitability.''I admire your capacity for facing the facts,' he said. 'Yes, perhaps it has a sort of inevitability. I do not imply this in order to avoid my own responsibility or to help Antonia to shirk hers. There is little point in talking of guilt, and it was not to talk of that that I saw you this evening. You know as well as I do that any such talk would be insincere, whether in your accusations or my confessions. But we are causing hurt and damage. For instance to Antonia's mother, who is fond of you. And there are others. Never mind. We do not close our eyes to this or to anything.''What about me?' I said. 'Damn Antonia's mother!''You will not be damaged,' said Palmer. He paused in front of me, looking down with a tender concentration. 'This is a big thing, Martin, something bigger than ourselves. If it were not so, Antonia and I might have played things differently. It would then have been possible to deceive you, though whether we would have done so I don't know. But this is too important and it is something that holds all three of us. You will see. I would not say this unless I were pretty sure. I know Antonia very well, Martin. Better in some ways than you do. That's not your fault but my profession. I know you better in some ways than you do.''I doubt that,' I said. 'I've never subscribed to your religion. So according to you we're all going to be better off.''Yes,' said Palmer. 'I don't say happier, though that might be so too. But we shall grow. You have been a child to Antonia and she a mother to you, and that has kept you both spiritually speaking at a standstill. But you will grow up, you will change, more than may now seem to you possible. Haven't you sometimes realized the extent to which you now regard yourself both as a child and as an old man?'This was very acute. 'Nonsense,' I said. 'I reject your explanations. Things were very well between me and Antonia before you turned up.''Hardly, my dear Martin,' said Palmer. 'There was your failure to give her a child.''Her failure to give me a child.''There you are, Martin,' said Palmer. 'Each naturally thinks of it as the fault of the other. And the biological evidence is indecisive, as you know.'The warmth and Palmer's almost noiseless movements and his repetition of my name had produced in me a sort of stupor, so that I hardly knew what to say to him. I said, 'You aren't hypnotizing me, are you?''Of course not,' said Palmer. 'What would that profit me? Relax, Martin. Take your jacket off. You're streaming with perspiration.'I pulled it off and undid my waistcoat and rolled up my shirt sleeves. I had trouble with the cuff links. I tried to sit up a little, but the divan was not made for sitting up, so I lay back again. I stared up at Palmer, who had paused once more in front of me, his smooth clever American face all gentleness and concern, his fur of silver hair shining in the lamplight. There was something abstract in his face. It was impossible to pin wickedness or corruption on to such an image.'It is an important fact,' said Palmer, 'that you and I began it. We began it, did we not, by becoming exceptionally attached to one another. Attachments of that degree are rare in my life. You are certain you are not angry with me?''Cher maitre!' I said. I contemplated Palmer's clear open face with its uncanny youthfulness. 'I seem not to know how to be angry with you,' I said slowly, 'although in a way I want to be. I've drunk too much already this evening and I'm not yet sure what has happened to me. I feel very desolate and hurt and confused, but not angry.' It occurred to me then as significant that I had come to see Palmer this evening instead of summoning him to see me. It had not even come into my mind to summon him. It was I who had come running.'You see, Martin, I am wrapping nothing up,' said Palmer.'Yes, you are,' I said, 'but very cleverly. It's all wrapping. You're too clever for me. No wonder Antonia wants you. She's probably too clever for me too, only I never realized it.'Palmer stood looking at me for a while, serene and detached and tender with only a very little anxiety in his look. He pulled at the top of his dressing-gown where a snowy white shirt emerged, and bared a little more of his long neck. Then he resumed his pacing. He said, as if confidently testing something out, 'I knew you'd take it well, I knew you'd take it splendidly.''I'm not aware that I've yet revealed how I'm taking it!' I said. But as I said this I realized with a bitter clarity that I had already fallen into my role, my role of 'taking it well', which had been prepared for me by Palmer and Antonia. I had put my head straight into the halter which with care and concern and even affection was being held out. It was important to them that I should let them off morally, that I should spare them the necessity of being ruthless. But if I had power, I was already surrendering it. It was already too late for violence. I was indeed facing something big and formidably well organized.Palmer seemed to ignore my remark. 'You see,' he said, 'it is not all our idea that you should leave us. In a strange and rather wonderful way we can't do without you. We shall hold on to you, we shall look after you. You'll see.''I thought I was supposed to grow up.'Palmer laughed. 'Oh, don't imagine it will be easy! Nothing here will be easy. It will be a dangerous adventure. But as I say, your liking me so much is the important thing.''How do you know I'll keep on liking you, Palmer?' I said. I felt my faculties slipping.'You will,' said Palmer.'Loving one's successful rival?''The psyche is a strange thing,' he said, 'and it has its own mysterious methods of restoring a balance. It automatically seeks its advantage, its consolation. It is almost entirely a matter of mechanics, and mechanical models are the best to understand it with.''You don't see me then as an angel of compassion?'Palmer laughed gaily. 'Bless you, Martin,' he said. 'Your irony will be the saving of all three of us.'
I always think of Rembers as my mother's house, though my grandfather bought it originally and Alexander has had it altered considerably since father died. But somehow the house retains indelibly the mark of my mother's gentle fey rather vague personality, and it is in my thought of it perpetually clouded over with a romantic, almost a medieval, haze. It ought most probably to be surrounded by a thick forest of twining roses, like the castle of the sleeping beauty. Yet it is not an old house. It was built about 1880 and is half-timbered with its stucco washed a rich Irish pink. It is a solitary place, built on high ground above the river Stour, on the outskirts of a Cotswold hamlet not far from Oxford, and commanding a view of empty hillsides visited only by hares. The yews and the box which my mother planted have grown well, and the garden might look older than the house were it not for the ageless charm of the place, infinitely decayed at the same time, like something issued from the imagination of Sir John Millais or Dante Gabriel Rossetti.