‘No.’
‘You are beautiful.’ He wanted to say that her naked beauty took his breath away, was almost hurtful.
What he had wanted so much that it had become frightening she made easy, but it was almost impossible to believe that he now rested in the still centre of what had long been a dream. After long deprivation the plain pleasures of bed and table grow sadly mystical.
‘Have you slept with anyone before?’ he asked.
‘Yes, with one person.’
‘Were you in love with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you still in love with him?’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘I never have.’
‘I know.’
They came again into one another’s arms. There was such peace afterwards that the harsh shrieking of the gulls outside, the even swish of the traffic along the quays, was more part of that peace.
Is this all? Common greed and restlessness rose easily to despise what was so hard come by as soon as it was gained, so luckily, so openly given. Before it had any time to grow there was the grace of dressing, of going out to eat together in the surety that they were coming back to this closed room. He felt like a young husband as he waited for her to finish dressing.
The light drizzle of the early evening had turned into a downpour by the time they came down, the hotel lobby crowded with people in raincoats, many carrying umbrellas.
‘We’re guaranteed a drowning if we head out in that.’
‘We don’t need to. We can eat here. The grill is open.’
It was a large, very pleasant room with light wood panelling and an open fire at its end. She picked the lamb cutlets, he the charcoaled steak, and they each had a glass of red wine.
‘This has to be split evenly as well,’ she said.
‘I don’t see why. I’d like to take you.’
‘That was the bargain. It must be kept.’ She smiled. ‘How long have you been teaching?’
‘Less than a year. I was in Maynooth for a long time.’
‘Were you studying for the priesthood?’
‘That’s what people mostly do there,’ he said drily. ‘I left with only a couple of months to go. It must sound quite bad.’
‘It’s better than leaving afterwards. Why did you leave?’ she asked with formidable seriousness. It could not be turned aside with sarcasm or irony.
‘Because I no longer believed. I could hardly lead others to a life that I didn’t believe in myself. When I entered Maynooth at eighteen I thought the whole course of my life was settled. It wasn’t.’
‘There must be something,’ she insisted.
‘There may well be, but I don’t know what it is.’
‘Was it because you needed … to be married?’
‘No, not sex,’ he said. ‘Though that’s what many people think. If anything, the giving up of sex — renunciation was the word we used — gave the vocation far more force. We weren’t doing anything easy. That has its own pride. We were giving up an idea of pleasure for a far greater good. That is … until belief started to go … and then all went.’
‘You don’t believe in anything at all, then?’ she said with a gravity that both charmed and nettled.
‘I have no talent for profundity.’ He had spoken more than he had intended and was beginning to be irritated by the turn of the conversation.
‘You must believe in something?’ she insisted.
‘’Tis most certain. Have not the schoolmen said it?’ he quoted to tease gently, but saw she disliked the tone. ‘I believe in honour, decency, affection, in pleasure. This, for instance, is a very good steak.’
‘You don’t seem bitter.’ This faint praise was harder to take than blame.
‘That would be stupid. That would be worst of all. How is the lamb?’
‘It’s good, but I don’t like to be fobbed off like that.’
‘I wouldn’t do that. I still find it painful, that’s all. I’m far too grateful to you. I think you were very brave to come here.’ He started to fumble again, gently, diffidently.
‘I wasn’t brave. It was what I wanted.’
‘Not many women would have the courage to propose an hotel.’
‘They might be the wise ones.’
It was her turn to want to change the direction of the conversation. A silence fell that wasn’t silence. They were unsure, their minds working furiously behind the silence to find some safe way to turn.
‘That man you were in love with,’ he suggested.
‘He was married. He had a son. He travelled in pharmaceuticals.’
‘That doesn’t sound too good for you.’
‘It wasn’t. It was a mess.’
They had taken another wrong turning.
It was still raining heavily when they came from the grill. They had one very slow drink in the hotel bar, watching the people drink and come and go before the room and night drew them.
In the morning he asked, ‘What are you doing today?’
‘I’ll go back to the hospital, probably try to get some sleep. I’m on night duty at eight.’
‘We didn’t get much sleep last night.’
‘No, we didn’t,’ she answered gently enough, but making it plain that she had no interest in the reference. ‘What are you doing?’ she changed the subject.
‘There are three buses back. I’ll have to get one of them.’
‘Which one?’
‘Probably the twelve o’clock, since you’re going back to the hospital. When will we meet again?’ he asked in a tone that already took the meeting for granted.
She was half dressed. The vague shape of her thighs shone through the pale slip as she turned towards him. ‘We can’t meet again.’
‘Why not?’ The casualness changed. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all. The very opposite.’
‘What’s the matter, then? Why can’t we meet?’
‘I was going to tell you last night and didn’t. I thought it might spoil everything. After all, you were in Maynooth once. I’m joining an Order.’
‘You must be joking.’
‘I was never more serious in my life. I’m joining next Thursday … the Medical Missionaries.’ She had about her that presence that had attracted him in the dancehall; she stood free of everything around her, secure in her own light.
‘I can’t believe you.’
‘It’s true,’ she said.
‘But the whole thing is a lie, a waste, a fabrication.’
‘It’s not for me and it wasn’t once for you.’
‘But I believed then.’
‘Don’t you think I do?’ she said sharply.
‘To mouth Hail Marys and Our Fathers all of your life.’
‘You know that’s cheap. It’ll be mostly work. I’ll nurse as I nurse now. In two years’ time I’ll probably be sent to medical school. The Order has a great need of its own doctors.’
‘Wasn’t last night a strange preparation for your new life?’
‘I don’t see much wrong with it.’
‘From your point of view, wasn’t it a sin?’ He was angry now.
‘Not much of a one, if it was. I’ve known women who spent the night before their marriage with another man. It was an end to their free or single life.’
‘And I was the goodbye, the shake-hands?’
‘I didn’t plan it. I was attracted to you. We were free. That’s the way it fell. If I did it after joining, it would be different. It would be a very great sin.’
‘Perhaps we could be married?’ he pressed blindly.
‘No. You wouldn’t ask so lightly if we could.’
‘We wouldn’t have much at first but we would have one another and we could work,’ he pursued.
‘No. I’m sorry. I like you very much, but it cannot be. My mind has been made up for a long time.’