Jenkin said, `I've just been to look at my old rooms. There was an undergraduate there writing an essay. He called me "sir".'
`I'm glad he had such good manners,' said Rose, 'they don't all.'
`What's it like out there?'
`A forest in Ancient Egypt,' said Gerard. 'I hope the champers is holding out?'
`Bags of it. Piles of sandwiches too.'
Jenkin, who was sweating and flushed with drink, brought forward a plate of cucumber sandwiches and began to mop up with a napkin some of the champagne which was swimming about on the table. He was stout, not tall, and looked fidgety and bulgy in his evening dress which was old and made for a considerably slimmer Jenkin. He had however retained his boyish look and clear soft complexion and could be better described as chubby. His faded strawy blond hair hung down about his head, still concealing a small bald patch. He had streaky blue-grey eyes, a pursed-up thoughtful often-smiling mouth and longish teeth. His face was saved from being cherubic by a rather long substantial nose which gave him an animal look, sometimes touching, sometimes shrewd.
`I'm sorry Pat couldn't come,' said Gerard, pouring some champagne for Rose. Jenkin was to have been, in Gideon's absence, Patricia's partner.
`Oh I'm OK,' said Jenkin, 'loving it. Damn! Sandwiches should bloody stay together.' His cucumber had leapt out onto the floor.
`Did Violet say why she couldn't come?' said Rose.
`No, but one knows why. She doesn't want to see a lot of happy laughing young people. She doesn't want to see a lot of happy laughing us.'
`Who is to blame her?' murmured Jenkin.
`She was probably glad to be asked,' said Rose. 'She may not have wanted to see Tamar being so happy. Parents can love their children and envy them too.' She added, 'We must do something about Violet.' This was often said.
`I didn't spot Tamar and Conrad, did you?' said Gerard. 'I forgot to tell them to come up here for drinks.'
`They won't want to be with us!' said Rose.
`They look so young, the young, don't they,' said Gerard. 'Ali, la jeunesse, la jeunesse! All those clear smooth transparent unspoilt unworked faces!'
`Not like ours,' said jenkin, 'scrawled over with passion and resentment and drink!'
'You two look like children,'said Rose, 'at least Jenkin does. Gerard looks like -' Wanting to avoid some ridiculous comparison she left the sentence unfinished.
'We were children then,' said Gerard.
'You mean we were Marxists,' said Jenkin. 'Or we imagined we were Platonists or something. You still do.'
'We thought that we could live some really civilised alternative society,' said Gerard, 'we had faith, we believed.'
'Jenkin still believes,' said Rose. 'What do you believe in, Jenkin?’
‘The New Theology!' said Jenkin promptly.
'Don’t be silly!' said Rose.
‘Don’t you mean the New Marxism,' said Gerard, 'isn't it much the same thing?'
'Well, if it's new enough-'
‘New enough to be unrecognisable!'
‘I never go to church,' said Jenkin,' 'but I want religion to go on somehow. There's a battle front there, where religion and Marxism touch.’
`Not yours,' said Gerard, 'I mean not your battle. You don't want to fight for Marx! That mix-up is totally incoherent anyway.'
`Well, where is my battle? I'd like to be somewhere out at the edge of things. But where is the edge?'
`You've been saying this sort of thing for years,' said Gerard, 'and here you are still.'
‘Jenkin is a romantic,' said Rose, 'so am I. I'd like to be a priest. Maybe it will be possible in my lifetime.'
`Rose would make a marvellous priest!'
`I'm against it,' said Gerard. 'Don't eat all the sandwiches.' `You agree to being called a sort of Platonist?' said Rose to Gerard.
`Oh yes!'
`That's what you're going to write about, now you've retired?'
`You'll write about Plotinus, like you said?' said Jenkin. `Possibly.' Gerard evidently did not want to talk about this, so the other two dropped the subject.
Rose put down her glass and went to the window. She could see the floodlit tower, the moon risen and now small, a concise circle of'silver, lights in the trees by the river. Her heart heaved within her as if. it were some huge thing which she had swallowed and wished to regurgitate. She suddenly wanted to sob with joy and fear. The slim pinnacled tower, in the fierce light against the dark blue sky, resembled a picture in a Book of Hours. It also reminded Rose of something, some kind of theatre, some time, perhaps many times, when she had seen illumined buildings at night and heard superhuman voices, such as the one which she now instinctively expected to hear, telling her in slow ringing tones some picturesque piece of' history or legend. Son et lumiere in France, England, Italy, Spain. A memory came of something in French, some unplaced piece of poetry, perhaps not even heard correctly. Les esprits aiment la nuit, qua sail plus quunefemme dormer une ame a toutes chows. That can't be right, she thought, what a ridiculous idea anyway. Of course she did, herself, in a way, do just that, endow all sorts of silly senseless things with 'souls', certainly not with any exalted gesture worthy of being announced to the world by a godlike voice beside a magic tower. In her, it was more like superstition, or some sad overflow of wasted love. Breathing deeply she turned round, leaning back against the sill and smiling her faint smile.
The two men looked at her with affection, then at each other. Perhaps Gerard at any rate knew something of what she was feeling, he knew and did not know. Rose understood how little he wanted her, ever, to fail to be her calm self
Jenkin said, 'What about some more champagne? There's a shocking number of bottles stashed away.'
`Where are Jean and Duncan, I thought they might be here,' said Rose, as the champagne cork hit the ceiling.
`They were earlier,' said Jenkin, 'Jean hauled him off, she couldn’t bear not to be dancing.'
‘Jean's such an athlete,' said Rose. 'She can still stand on her head. Do you remember how she stood on her head in a punt one day?'
'Duncan wanted to stay and drink, but Jean wouldn't let him.’
‘Duncan's drinking too much,' said Rose. 'Jean's wearing that red dress with the black lace that I like so. She has her gipsy look.'
'You look stunning, Rose,' said Jenkin.
' I love you in that dress,' said Gerard, 'it's so intensely ,imple. I like that wonderful dark green, like laurel, like myrtle, like ivy.'
Rose thought, it's time for Jenkin to ask me to dance, he doesn’t want to, he doesn't like dancing, but he'll have to. And Gerardwill dance with Jean. Then I shall dance with Duncan.That’s all right. I feel better. Perhaps I'm a little drunk.
‘It’s time I went to see Levquist,' said Gerard. 'Would you like to come, Jenkin?'
‘I’ve already been.'
‘You’ve already been?' Gerard's indignant tone was activated from the remote past.
An old pang of indestructible timeless jealousy seared his heart with the speed of fire. It burned with an old pain. How they had all coveted that man's praise, far away in that short golden piece of the past. They had coveted his praise and his love. Gerard had carried off the famous prize. But what he really wanted was to be praised and loved the most. It was hard to believe now that Jenkin had been his nearest rival.
Jenkin, who knew exactly what Gerard was thinking, began to laugh. He sat down abruptly spilling his drink.
'Did he ask you to translate something?' said Gerard.
'Yes, the brute. He planted me in front of a piece of Thucydides.'
'How did you manage?'
'I said I couldn't make head or tail of it.'
'What did he say?'
'He laughed and patted my arm.'