So the legacy, the very substantial legacy from a distant relation which came to him at the age of thirty-nine, found him totally unprepared, socially, emotionally and mentally. Morally he was not so unprepared; his strong sense of obligation found immediate outlets: all sorts of people, and causes, could be benefited. The material aspect of his new position took him longer to realize: in fact he had to be told that with the money at his disposal he could buy himself a partnership in the firm—a proposal which, when it came, the firm welcomed with enthusiasm, for not only were they glad to have the money, they were glad to have him too, a modest, loyal, trust-worthy, hard-working man who had given them good service and no trouble. It could be truly said that no one grudged him his good fortune or the privileges that went with it—one of which was much more leisure, and another a widening range of social contacts.
It was not surprising that he found himself accepted in circles hitherto unknown to him. He was well-mannered, passably good-looking and undeniably eligible; and if he could not always tune in to the wavelength of the people he was with, didn’t quite speak their language or understand its nuances, these social shortcomings were readily forgiven him; indeed they were rather welcome than otherwise, for they made him into a kind of pet, a well-meaning animal that has not quite been trained. Several women, one of whom had incidentally been his pin-up girl, undertook to train him and were tireless in trying to raise him in his own esteem. In this they were not altogether disinterested; for they realized that unless a man had a fairly good opinion of himself, he could not be what they would have him be. But the harder they tried, the more deeply they involved him in their silken webs, the more they increased his sense of obligation and apartness. What could he do in return for all this enveloping kindness? Little presents he gave them, flowers and trinkets, presents which were sometimes misunderstood; but rapturously as these tokens were received, they left him with a haunting sense of falling short. They were not enough! They were not enough! Mrs. de Sole, for instance, ‘Délice’ to her friends; after an evening in her drawing-room, with all its amenities of relaxation, conversation, and near-love, he felt he ought to carry her heavy luggage for her, for miles and miles and miles.
Actually he didn’t find it easy to spend money; the penurious habits of his early life clung to him; he didn’t think he ought to live beyond his income, the idea of spending capital appalled him. Gradually he reached a more realistic view of his financial position, and moved from his small house in the suburbs to a comfortable flat in South Kensington; but it was weeks before he felt he could afford it and months before he dared to give a party.
The party, however, was a success, for all those present were determined that it should be; and when the last guest left, George was left feeling that at last he had done something for somebody.
His men friends did not take the same view of George’s potentialities that his women friends took. Their attitude might be described as coarser. They did not, of course, take the same trouble with him, but none the less they had their eye on him—the dark horse, the unknown quantity. Needless to say they didn’t want to get him tied up in married life, but women came into their calculations. They thought of love in terms of money, not money in terms of love. At least, some of them did. Most of George’s new friends were men who talked of money, and with whom money talked; they had chosen him, not he them; he didn’t know his way about in this new world, and was both surprised and flattered when anybody showed an interest in him. The women he gravitated towards were of a gentler and more sensitive type than their husbands, they found George a pleasant change. But the men, being more objective and detached, summed up his position in some ways more accurately than they did.
‘What you want, George, is a dog,’ said one well-wisher, more discerning than the others.
‘A dog?’
‘Yes, something that would wag its tail when you come in, and lick your face.’
George thought about this.
‘But I should have to take it out for walks.’
‘Not all the time. You are such a glutton for responsibility. Sometimes it would look at you with huge pleading eyes, and then you could rub its ears and fondle it. A dog will absorb far more affection than a human being.’
‘Do you think I’m affectionate?’ asked George.
‘In a frustrated way, yes, very. These women you go about with aren’t much good to you, you’re half-afraid of them. I’m not saying anything against them, mind, in their way they’re tops, but not for you. They are too complex, you need something simpler, and more natural. A dog——’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, it would fawn on you and you could beat it.’
‘What a horrible idea.’
‘Or you could fawn on it and it would bite you.’
‘Isn’t there anything between the two?’
‘Not for you, there isn’t. No, you need a dog, with a strong emotional current uniting you. Not the sort of friendship you have with Mrs. Hake, or Halibut, or whatever her name is. She must freeze the pants off you.’
‘I don’t know who you mean.’
‘That middle-aged harpy who gets you on a sofa and twangs your heart-strings with her varnished nails.’
‘Oh, Délice de Sole! She’s an angel.’
‘That’s what I mean. You need someone more fleshly, who would let her hair down, and help you to let down yours. We must arrange a party for you.’
That was how George met Deirdre. At the party were two other girls rather like her, and decidedly unlike the women that George was in the habit of consorting with. An atmosphere of good-fellowship prevailed. Champagne loosened tongues and George’s feelings. As well as talking to him they talked at him and about him—the industrious apprentice who had made good and come into a fortune, the man who had the ball at his feet, the lucky chap whose name had got into the papers. Much of what they said was quite untrue but all of it was flattering, and even more intoxicating than the wine: under the admiring glances flashed at him, George began to feel the hell of a fellow.
Presently one of the other couples rose and the man, apologizing, said they had a date. ‘We don’t want to break up the party,’ he added, ‘That’s all right,’ their host said; ‘Annette and I have a date too, at that new place, the Late Session; and it will be pretty late before we’re back. But there’s plenty more to drink; why don’t you and Deirdre, George, stay on, and make an evening of it? It’s only eleven o’clock. That is, if neither of you has a date?’
George and Deirdre exchanged glances. ‘What do you think, Deirdre?’ he asked. He didn’t know her other name.
‘I’m all for staying here,’ she said.
‘Well,’ said their host, rising and taking Annette’s hand, ‘we couldn’t be more sorry—it’s too bad that it’s turned out like this. But you will make yourselves at home, won’t you? You know the geography of the house’—he waved his hand to indicate it—‘at any rate Deirdre does. Good-bye, my children, don’t get into mischief,’ and he was gone, with his companion, almost before they had time to thank him for their lovely evening.
It was the first of several such evenings, some organized by George, to whom spending money was now becoming easy, even exhilarating. But he grudged sharing Deirdre’s company; after the party he could have her to himself. Himself—his very self, only attainable in Deirdre’s arms.
But no, it was attainable in other ways. Everything he did for her, every present, every treat he gave her, every wish of hers, expressed by her or anticipated by him, that he fulfilled, gave him, in a lesser degree, the same sense of wholeness and integration. He felt, and even looked, proud of being a man, and walked down Piccadilly with his hands in his pockets, looking as if he owned it. Even thinking of her, he was twice the man he had been. Only she could give him this freedom; with other women, the women he had known, he was still shy and diffident, anxious to please and sometimes succeeding, but always being acted on, not acting. Gradually he frequented them less and less; the silken threads by which they held him were a frail tie compared to the hawser which fastened him to Deirdre.