Room at the Top

13

"You're quiet, darling," Alice said.

"I was admiring your figure," I said. "My God, you are beautiful. I'd like a picture of you like this. I'd keep it locked away, and look at it whenever I felt depressed ..."

Looking back, I can see exactly how it happened. It need never have happened; those were the key words, spoken idly in Elspeth's flat one Friday evening. If, out of any of the countless million at my disposal, I'd used any other words, then my whole life, and hers, would have taken different courses. But her next words, spoken as idly as mine, started the avalanche.

She laughed. "There is a picture of me in the nude," she said. She named a Homes Counties town. "It's still at the municipal gallery, as far as I know. I was an artist's model once."

It was as if the soft hand gently caressing me had turned hard and big and hit me. I felt sick and betrayed and dirtied. I moved away from her in the bed. "You never told me. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'd almost forgotten about it. It wasn't very important, anyway. I badly needed money, and I met this artist at a party and he wanted a model. I modelled for a photographer too. That was all. I didn't do it again."

"Didn't you?" I asked hoarsely. "Are you sure?"

"I don't tell lies," she said quietly. "You know that." Her eyes were cold. Then she smiled and stretched out her hand. "Darling, what a pother about nothing at all! I'd never have told you if I'd known you'd carry on like that. I didn't sleep with either of them, if that's what you're thinking, so you can set your mind at rest."

"Oh God," I said miserably, "what did you do it for? You didn't have to, there's millions of women have been as poor as you were and they'd rather have died than expose themselves like that for a few lousy shillings. Damn you to hell, I'd like to beat you black and blue."

"Damn you," she shouted, "what's it to do with you? It was years before I met you. Was I supposed to starve because someday I might meet a narrow-minded prude from Dufton who wouldn't like the idea of me showing the body God gave me?"

She got out of bed and began to dress hastily. "Since your beastly little provincial mind doesn't like nudity, I'd better cover myself up, hadn't I?"

I started to dress too. If only either of us had laughed, it would have been different; the sight of us both reversing our usual procedure and hurrying to put our clothes on, modestly averting each other's eyes, was actually very funny, But I was too angry and too sick; the idea of being naked for one moment longer turned my stomach.

She came over to my side of the bed to fasten up her stockings. "That's what you like, isn't it?" she said viciously. "Leg show and lingerie - " She spat out the last word.

I took hold of her by her shoulders. "You stupid bitch, it isn't that at all. Can't you see that it's the idea of other peaple looking at your nakedness that I hate? It's not decent, don't you see?"

"Let me go," she said icily. I dropped my hands.

"My God," I said, "I understand now what makes men kill women like you."

"You're very brave," she said. "Highly moral too. It isn't decent of me to pose for an artist who sees me simply as an arrangement of colour and light, but it's perfectly okay for you to kiss me all over and to lie for an hour just looking at me. I suppose it gave you a thrill, a dirty little thrill, I suppose I'm your own private dirty postcard. You can't conceive that a man could look at a naked woman without wanting to make love to her, can you?"

"It's not that at all," I said wearily. I went across to the cupboard and poured myself a gin. I took it in one gulp and poured out another.

"Elspeth isn't rich, you know," Alice said waspishly. Her face was white and ugly and old. "You needn't take all her gin.

I took a pound note from my wallet and tossed it to her. "Give that to her. Tell her I broke the bottle."

She let it fall to the floor. I was tempted to pick it up; I knew very well that she'd buy Elspeth some more gin. But there are times when a man's dignity is worth more than a pound. I filled my glass again and lit a cigarette. I couldn't trust myself to speak.

"To think that I let you even touch me," she said quietly. "Look at you now. The typical attitude - glass in hand, big red face glowering with outraged respectability. I thought you were different, but you're not. You're typical - the decent chap who likes a little bit of fun but who knows where to draw the line. I'm your little bit of fun, I'm the slice off the cut cake that'll never be missed ... You smug hypocritical swine!"

I found myself crumpling up my freshly lit cigarette. I threw it away and lit another with a shaking hand. She kept on talking, her voice low and controlled. "Get this clear. I own my body. I'm not ashamed of it. I'm not ashamed of anything I've ever done. If you'd ever mix with intelligent people, you'd not be looking at me now as if I'd committed a crime." She laughed. It was an ugly harsh laugh which made my hair prickle. "I can just see you in Dufton now, looking at the nudes in a magazine, drooling over them. Saying you wouldn't mind having a quick bash. But blackguarding the girls, calling them shameless - " The word came from her lips like a gobbet of phlegm. "Yes, look shocked. You've used the word often enough with your boozy friends, though, haven't you? I was damn near starvation when I transgressed your peculiar morality. You wouldn't understand that, would you? You make a great to-do about your humble beginnings, but you've never gone hungry." Her eyes narrowed. "I wonder. I wonder. Probably someone else went short for our darling Joe, the fair-haired charmer."

I took another drink. It had a musty taste. "What do you think a POW gets to eat?" I asked bitterly.

She laughed again. "You didn't starve even then. You got extra because you looked so clean and Nordic, you told me so. Oh yes, you always fall on your feet. Why didn't you escape like Jack Wales?"

That was more than I could stand. "Don't mention that swine's name to me," I said furiously. "It was all right for him to escape. He had a rich daddy to look after him and to buy him an education. He could afford to waste his time. I couldn't. Those three years were the only chance I'd get to be qualified. Let those rich bastards who have all the fun be heroes. Let them pay for their privileges. If you want it straight from the shoulder, I'll tell you: I was bloody well pleased when I was captured. I wasn't going to be killed trying to escape and I wasn't going to be killed flying again. I didn't like being a prisoner but it was a damned sight better than being dead. Come to that, what did you do in the Great War?"

"All right," she said in a tired voice. "You can stop defending yourself. I needn't have brought that up. It's useless trying to explain that what I did isn't important and that there's nothing wrong in it. We're different kinds of people, and there's nothing more to be said."

"Isn't there? It doesn't seem any use trying to explain to you either. I'm not a hypocrite and I'm not a moralist; I don't care if you did sleep with the artist. It's just the thing itself that hurts me - God, I never thought of it till now, why should I? I feel just as if I'd been kicked between the legs."

"I can't help that. You're making your own misery." The tears began to roll down her cheeks. "Oh, damn you, damn you, damn you!"

"You'd better have a drink." I gave her a glassful; she drank it, coughing a little. I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her that it didn't matter and that I was wrong and I was sorry; I couldn't bear to see her tears. She looked thin and bedraggled; not unlike the thin women one sees in pictures of mine disasters, disconsolate and old and ugly against the pithead wheel. But, remembering the way she'd repulsed me when I'd touched her, I didn't attempt it.

"I'd better make some tea," she said. She turned at the doorway. "It's all over," she said. I could scarcely hear the words. "It's all over, Joe."

I went into the lounge and sat in the armchair by the fire, feeling sick and cold. I'd never been in a quarrel like that before. When Father and Mother had differences, they were no more than tiffs; he was too easygoing and she recovered from her anger too quickly. I couldn't even remember being shouted at. It was all over; Alice was quite right. I felt as if I had lost all my strength; there was no way of being comfortable, my body was a shameful encumbrance, there was no sleep ahead of me. I thought of Susan, but it didn't help; she was on the same side of the fence as Alice. Perhaps, I thought, one was earmarked from birth, and only the scoundrels and the geniuses ever rose out of the class into which they were born.

Alice came in with the tea. "You don't want anything to eat?"

"I couldn't. For once I'm not Iron Guts." I achieved a weak smile.

She poured out the tea. "We might as well be sensible. We did agree, didn't we, that there'd be nothing permanent about it?"

I heard my own voice uttering words which I wasn't aware of having chosen. "We'll call it a day."

"Yes, we'll call it a day." She put her hand on mine; it was dry and hot. "I won't be possessed, Joe. I won't be dominated. I won't be owned by anyone. Don't think badly of me."

"I won't. I'm very grateful to you." I was retreating, I wasn't fighting; but from where was I retreating, and who was I fighting? "It's been wonderful, Alice. I'm sorry about all this."

"Forget it," she said. She lifted the teacup to her mouth but her hand was shaking so much that she spilt half of it. I looked at the pound note on the floor and suddenly discovered that I didn't give a damn about it.