I will not attempt a lengthy description of Roger. He too will appear in the story in due course. I did not like Roger. Roger did not like me. He always referred to himself as a «public-school boy,» which I suppose he had been. He had a little education, and a great deal of «air,» a «plummy» voice and a misleadingly distinguished appearance. As his copious crown of hair became peppery and then grey he began to resemble a soldier. (He had once done some army service, I think in the Pay Corps.) He held himself like a military man and alleged that his friends nicknamed him «the brigadier.» He cultivated the crude joking manners of a junior officers' mess. He worked in fact in a bank, about which he made as much mystery as possible. He drank and laughed too much.
Married to such a man it was not likely that my sister would be very happy, nor was she. With a pathetic and touching loyalty, and even courage, she kept up appearances. She was house-proud: and there was eventually quite a handsome house, or «maisonette,» in the «better part» of Bristol, with fine cutlery and glasses and the things which women prize. There were «dinner parties» and a big car. It was a long way from Croydon. I suspected that they lived beyond their means and that Roger was often in financial difficulties, but Priscilla never actually said so. They both very much wanted children, but were unable to produce any. Once when drunk Roger hinted that Priscilla's «operation» had done some fatal damage. I did not want to know. I could see that Priscilla was unhappy, her life was boring and empty, and Roger was not a rewarding companion. I did not however want to know about this either. I rarely visited them. I occasionally gave Priscilla lunch in London. We talked of trivialities.
She was smartly dressed in a navy-blue «jersey» coat and skirt, looking pale and tense, unsmiling. She had retained her looks into middle age, though she had put on weight and looked a good deal less «glossy,» now resembling a «career woman»: the female counterpart perhaps of Roger's specious «military look.» Her well-cut un– gaudy clothes, deliberately «classic» and quite unlike the lurid plumage of her youth, looked a bit like uniform, the effect being counteracted however by the vulgar «costume jewellery» with which she always loaded herself. She dyed her hair a discreet gold and wore it kempt and wavy. Her face was not a weak one, somewhat resembling mine only without the «cagey» sensitive look. Her eyes were narrowed by short sight, and her thin lips were brightly painted.
She said nothing in reply to my surprised greeting, marched past me into the sitting-room, selected one of the lyre-back chairs, pulled it away from the wall, sat down upon it and dissolved into desperate tears.
«Priscilla, Priscilla, what is it, what's happened? Oh, you are upsetting me so!»
After a while the weeping subsided into a series of long sighing sobs. She sat inspecting the streaks of honey-brown make-up which had come off onto her paper handkerchief. ilT-> –111 –«
Priscilla, what is it?
«I've left Roger.»
I felt blank dismay, instant fear for myself. I did not want to be involved in any mess of Priscilla's. I did not even want to have to be sorry for Priscilla. Then I thought, Of course there is exaggeration, misconception.
«Don't be silly, Priscilla. Now do calm yourself, please. Of course you haven't left Roger. You've had a tiff-«Could I have some whisky?»
«I don't keep whisky. I think there's a little medium-sweet sherry.»
«Well, can I have some?»
I went to the walnut hanging cupboard and poured her a glass of brown sherry. «Here.»
«To bed?»
She got up abruptly, pushed out of the door, banging herself against the lintel, and went into the spare bedroom. She came out again, cannoning into me, when she saw that the bed was not made up. She went into my bedroom, sat on the bed, threw her handbag violently into a corner, kicked off her shoes and dragged off her jacket. Uttering a low moan she began to undo her skirt.
«Priscilla!»
«I'm going to lie down. I've been up all night. Could you bring my glass of sherry please?»
I fetched it.
Priscilla got her skirt off, seemingly tearing it in the process. With a flash of pink petticoat she got herself between the sheets and lay there shuddering, staring in front of her with big blank suffering eyes.
I pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.
«Bradley, my marriage is over. I think my life is probably over. What a poor affair it has been.»
«Priscilla, don't talk so-«Roger has become a devil. Some sort of devil. Or else he's mad.»
«You know I never thought much of Roger-«I've been so unhappy for years, so unhappy-«I don't understand how a human being can be so unhappy all the time and still be alive.»
«But lately it's been sort of pure intense hell, he's been sort of willing my death, oh I can't explain, and he tried to poison me and I woke in the night and he was standing by my bed looking so terrible as if he was just making up his mind to strangle me.»
«How can you say that to me, how can you. This cold hatred and wanting to kill me and poison me-«Priscilla, calm yourself. You can't leave Roger. It doesn't make sense. Of course you're unhappy, all married people are unhappy, but you can't just launch yourself on the world at fifty whatever you are now-«
«Fifty-two. Oh God, oh God-«
«Stop it. Stop that noise, please. Now dry yourself up and I'll take you back to Paddington in a taxi. I'm going to the country. You can't stay here.»
«And I left all my jewels behind and some of them are quite valuable, and now he won't let me have them out of spite. Oh why was I such a fool! I just ran out of the house late last night, we'd been quarrelling for hours and hours and I couldn't stand it any more. I just ran out, I didn't even take my coat, and I went to the station and I thought he'd come after me to the station, but he didn't. Of course he's been trying to drive me to run away and then say it's my fault. And I waited at the station for hours and it was so cold and I felt as if I was going mad through sheer misery. Oh he's been so awful to me, so vile and frightening-Sometimes he'd just go on and on and on saying, 'I hate you, I hate you, I hate you-«All spouses are murmuring that to each other all the time. It's the fundamental litany of marriage.» '
'I hate you, I hate you-' «
«I think you were saying that, Priscilla, not him. I think-«And I left all my jewels behind and my mink stole, and Roger took all the money out of our joint account-«Priscilla, brace up. Look, I'll give you ten minutes. Just rest quietly, and then put your togs on again and we'll leave together.»
«Bradley-oh my God I'm so wretched, I'm choking with it-I made a home for him-I haven't got anything else-I cared so much about that house, I made all the curtains myself-I loved all the little things-I hadn't anything else to love-and now it's all gone-all my life has been taken away from me-I'll destroy myself-I'll tear myself to pieces-«
«I'll destroy myself.»
«Now make an effort. Get control of yourself. I'm not being heartless. It's for your good. I'll leave you now and finish packing my own bags.»