Squire and Teresa were standing awkwardly apart. ‘Grantham always reminds me of Athens,’ he said, but she did not take up the small joke.
Marshall Kaye began to deliver an archaeological lecture, ostensibly to Mrs Davies. Tom and Douglas appeared, licking icecream cones, took the temperature of the terrace, and slipped rapidly away.
‘The great days of Milos ended when the Athenians, who were at war with Sparta, invaded the island in 416 BC. Eventually Milos had to surrender to the Athenians, who took all the women and children into slavery, and slaughtered all the men of military age.’
‘What a terrible way to behave!’ said Mrs Davies severely, as if some of the discredit reflected on Marshall Kaye.
‘Yes, and it still happens. It happened also before the days of Athens. We could learn lessons from the Athens-Milos encounter — except that lessons of history are never learnt. The
Athenians demanded that the Milians surrender, in which case they would not be destroyed. The Milians tried to get out of a difficult situation by offering friendship. That wasn’t good enough for Athens. They made a resounding speech to the Milians, which Thucydides reports, or possibly invents.
‘They said, “You’re weaker than we are, so you’d better give in. We have concluded from experience that it’s a law of nature to rule whatever one can. We didn’t make this law, nor were we the first to act on it. We found it in existence, and we shall leave it in existence for those who come after us. We are merely acting in accordance with it, and we know very well that if you had our power, then you’d act in the same way to us.”
‘And they also said that the standard of justice done depends on the equality of power to compel. “The strong act as they have the power to act, and the weak accept what they have to accept.” It is a lucid exposition of realpolitik, and often applies to situations in the world today. It’s also applicable to individuals.’
He looked round to address this final remark to Squire and Teresa.
‘And to Eurocommunists,’ Squire said. He took Teresa by the hand and led her upstairs to Deirdre and Marshall’s bedroom, where half-unpacked suitcases skirted the walls.
‘Let’s talk,’ he said. ‘Forget Marsh’s lectures. You’re looking summery.’
‘You needn’t flatter me.’ She looked as if she was going to say more, but nothing more emerged. In Squire’s eyes, she appeared smaller than before, perhaps because she was wearing flat seaside shoes. Her shoulders were vulnerable. Her face looked as if it had tanned unevenly, and her wrinkles showed. Her gaze had gone to the carpet under his anxious scrutiny; he saw the dark roots of her dyed hair.
‘At least you came alone,’ she said, almost in a whisper.
‘I’m living in London because I can’t bear to be in the Hall without you and the girls.’
She made a gesture, perhaps thinking he missed her point.
‘Matilda Rowlinson is looking in every day, to see it’s all shipshape… How’s Nellie?’
Teresa smiled. ‘A bit of a nuisance in mother’s flat. The girls love her… Oh, I’m looking after the girls properly and feeding Nellie regularly, don’t worry, while you’re playing the great successful man. I shop at the corner supermarket and talk to mother and play cards with her and her friends and all that — not at all the life you imagine I’m leading, I’m sure, while you’re being feted as Guru Number One all over London.’
‘The English critics have been a bit hard on “Frankenstein Among the Arts”. Didn’t you read the reviews?’
‘You know I don’t read reviews.’
‘Teresa, you can’t be jealous of my limited success. It’ll all be over soon, forgotten. But it is a sort of culmination of my life. I’m uncertain myself of its value but I want to share it with you. I have been able to express and demonstrate elements of popular culture in perspective, in such a way that it gives pleasure and — well, perhaps hope to a lot of people.’
‘Ha! It hasn’t affected us that way, has it?’
‘As a nation we’ve become defeatist. I hope I have somehow made us that bit stronger. Let everyone see how much we have, things precious to our day, how much we have to lose — how we should value the beauty of which technology is capable, the richness of an expendable plastic cup or a match-box, the visual delight of a traffic jam at night…’
She walked over to the door, looked out on the landing, and closed it. ‘Grace is such an eavesdropper. You don’t have to lecture me. You treat me as if I was stupid, do you realize that? Ever since we’ve been married, you’ve been telling me things, things I just don’t want to know, things about your damned family, about art, Pippet Hall…’
He broke in. ‘Tess, dearest, please do not say that. We need a grand reconciliation — talk like that will reduce me to silence, utterly.’
‘I want your silence. I’m sick of your talk.’
He stood and stared at her. ‘If I’ve talked to you…I don’t lecture you. I — of course I talk to you, I’ve always wanted to share everything. Isn’t that the purpose of marriage?’
‘All this talk about your book and your television series… It’s not my thing, any more than your farm is. You address me as if I was one of your viewers. Oh, I can see how you think the series in some way squares you in your father’s eyes, eases that chip on your shoulder, makes you famous, as you discourse so cleverly about things you imagine he would have enjoyed. Really, at your age, it’s pathetic!’
‘Why pathetic? My father remains a strong influence. Why be ashamed of that? He’d understand that there is idealism still today, waiting to be freed — ’
‘I’m sorry, I think that’s all rubbish. You see yourself as some sort of knight of old, a one-man crusader — ’
‘But that’s not true — ’
‘Tilting against nostalgia, or received values, or — I don’t know, and I didn’t want this conversation anyway. They’re always your bloody conversations, not mine. Damn and blast the art of today. God, if your father only knew… Your mother was lucky, she died just in time to escape the mess we’re in.’ She shook her head wildly, so that her hair flew. ‘It’s too late, Tom, it’s too late. I don’t know. You’ve hurt me, I do know that much.’
He moved towards her. She moved away. A box of Silk Cut lay on Deirdre’s side of the bed. Squire slid a cigarette from the packet and lit it. He never smoked.
‘I’m trying to make amends, Tess. Just let me try. You know Laura is out of the picture.’
‘You’ll get cancer, smoking. Where did you catch that habit? I’ve warned Deirdre but she takes no notice of me. No, as a matter of fact it’s not Laura, it’s you. The way you are. Only three years ago, you were having a mad love affair with that dreadful art-historian woman, Sheila Lippard-Milne. I never told anyone about that, not even mother and father. That hurt me bitterly, but you didn’t care. How could I escape what I felt? How could I escape? And what am I supposed to do this time? If it’s not Sheila or Laura, it’ll be someone else. Am I supposed to be sorry for you because you won’t grow up? What’s the matter with you? No, don’t tell me, I know you’ll tell me. All I really want’s your silence from now on…’
‘You know that Sheila — ’
‘Let’s not hear her name.’ Teresa raised a hand in caution. ‘I don’t intend to go into all that again. Your bloody sister downstairs and your uncle think that you’re at the male menopause. Did you ever hear anything so silly? I defy you to find that malady in a medical dictionary! They don’t know about Sheila Lippard-Milne. I never told anyone about you and precious Sheila Lippard-Milne. How long’s this male menopause supposed to go on for, eh, how many years? As long as it suits you? Till we’re all in our graves? My nerves are ruined, do you wonder I sought refuge with the first likely man who came along? I had to build up my dented self-esteem. No, don’t say it — I know he turned out a rascal, but you can laugh, you can laugh, my moral judgement was at zero, I paid in blood for every drop of pleasure I had.’