The Wheel of Fortune (118 page)

But then I saw him draw the line to shut it out. He looked away as if he knew his eyes were betraying him, and as I saw him pull down the shutters over the dark side of his personality I saw just how strong he was, disciplining the violent emotions, clamping down on the unacceptable thoughts, harnessing the power which in a lesser man could so easily have harnessed him. Then I saw he
was
heroic, not because he was a born hero but because he wasn’t; he was heroic because although he was human enough to hate me he was still determined to do what he believed to be right. So the myth survived—but what a myth! I thought it would crush me utterly. I didn’t see how I could survive his hatred and stay sane.

But as he stood there, tall, gray-haired, effortlessly distinguished, I remembered all his many kindnesses to me, all the gestures of affection, all the times he had proved how much he did care, and then I saw that he loved me as well as hated me—I saw that he felt towards me exactly as I felt towards him, and I recognized that love loaded with ambivalence, that genuine devotion laced with resentment, that true affection riddled with antipathy. Why does no one ever admit that hatred and love can exist side by side, each emotion genuine but only one ever acknowledged as real? Uncle John and I were locked up in a padded cell hating each other, but there was no escape because our love bound us together. There was only one retreat and that was into misery, guilt and despair.

“Uncle John—”

He held up his hand to cut me off. “Spare me the craven apologies,” he said brutally. “Simply start at the beginning and go all the way through to the end. No lies, no omissions. I want the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and by God I intend to have it.”

Sick with humiliation, my throat tight with grief, my whole body feeling as if it were being lacerated with shame I somehow managed to conquer my tears and start talking in a calm level dignified voice.

II

“You were
writing?
Writs were being served on you, your servants’ wages were unpaid, your tenants were being subjected to the grossest extortion and you were
writing
?”

“Well, when I’m writing … nothing else seems to matter—”

“Then I suggest you either give up writing or give up Oxmoon! Oxmoon can’t afford a master who lives in a pathetic fantasy world!”

“I’ll never give up Oxmoon!” I shouted. “Never!”

There was a silence. Then Uncle John turned his back on me and poured himself some more whisky.

I blundered forward impulsively, “If you could only understand what I’ve done—”

“I see exactly what you’ve done! You’ve damned near ruined yourself all within the space of a year! How could you have behaved with such criminal irresponsibility? Give me one simple sentence of explanation!”

I could not talk of visions of perfection or glimpses of eternity. Nor could I talk of the secret fears which signing checks annulled. I groped in my mind for a concept he could understand. “I wanted to pay my debt to Oxmoon. Oxmoon made me. Before I had Oxmoon I was nothing—people despised me, thought I was stupid and pathetic—”

“Well, God knows what they’ll think of you now,” said Uncle John.

Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I put up my hands to hide them.

“Stop that! Pull yourself together! My God, are you really so incapable of behaving like a man?”

Black violent emotions erupted in my consciousness, annihilating my self-control. “Damn you, I
am
a man!” I shouted. “I’ve got this wonderful wife who loves me and I’ve created this great—this magnificent—this
mighty vision
of a house, and I’ve got guts, I’ve got courage, I’ve got more guts and courage than you’ll ever know. You think I’m weak because I’m a writer, but how the bloody hell do you think it feels when a manuscript comes back from the publishers? I feel suicidal, I feel murderous, I feel absolutely crushed and wrecked, but do I give up? No, I bloody well don’t! I’ve been rejected over and over again, but I don’t stop sending out my manuscripts, I keep on trying, I live all the time with the most shattering sense of failure, but I won’t give in, I’m a fanatic, I’ve got a will of iron, and if you think I’m weak all I can say is you don’t know, you can’t know and you’ll never know just how bloody strong I really am!”

“Rubbish. You’re deceiving yourself. The truth is you’ve been too weak to face reality—you scribbled fairy tales while Oxmoon went to the wall, and that’s not behaving like a man! That’s behaving like an immature child!” I tried to interrupt him but he outshouted me. “Be quiet! The tragedy’s all the more intolerable to me because I really thought before Ginevra died that you were developing into a young man of considerable promise. But now! Consorting with queers, dressing up Oxmoon like some vulgar Hollywood film set, abandoning your responsibilities to that insolent young devil Mowbray, palming off your tenants on an inexperienced agent who was often so drunk he could hardly ride—”

“Sasha’s qualified—Adam Mowbray recommended—”

“Adam Mowbray! That gambler! That crook! My God, I’ll see he’s struck off the rolls for what he’s done to you!”

“But Uncle John, I’m sure he’s done nothing wrong—”

“He set you up with the moneylenders, didn’t he? And of course he’s arranged with them to take a percentage on the deal! And what sort of bills has he been sending in while you’ve been too busy writing to care?”

“I—”

“If Lloyd-Thomas hadn’t pursued the interest on the bank loans so vigorously this mess could have gone on for much longer, but fortunately Lloyd-Thomas decided to allow you no latitude—oh, he’s had trouble before with an incompetent master of Oxmoon, and he resolved he wasn’t going to turn the same blind eye to you as he turned to my father! Thank God my rough treatment of him back in ’28 taught him a lesson which has now proved to be your salvation, but Christ, how I wish I hadn’t been foolish enough to humor you when you told me to keep out of your affairs! However there’s no point in further recriminations. Now just you listen to me. I’ll stand by you. I’ll pay your debts. I swore to my brother that so long as I lived I’d see you were master of Oxmoon, but if you want me to save you now you’ll damned well have to consent to being master on whatever terms I see fit to lay down.”

This was it. Not death but emasculation. I hung my head, clenched my fists behind my back and tried not to shudder with pain.

“You must surrender control of the estate to trustees. You may continue to live in the house but you’re not to have a bank account. I’ll bring down my own lawyers and accountants to sort out the mess once I’ve taken a look at it myself, and I’ll supervise the reconstruction, but unfortunately it’s quite impossible for me to spend more than the minimum amount of time here. I’m a busy man. I could only take over Oxmoon,” said Uncle John, pouring himself another whisky, “if you wished to abandon it altogether but since that’s not going to happen we must adopt some other arrangement. The first thing I intend to do is to reinstate Fairfax as the Oxmoon solicitor. He can be a trustee with me—and perhaps Edmund can be a trustee too because I think the more members of the family we involve here the better. It’s obvious you need the support and stability which only a loyal family can provide.”

“Uncle John—”

“And that brings me to Thomas. He must, of course, be the estate manager again.”

“No,” I whispered. “Not Thomas. No.”

“I’m sorry, but I insist. He’s not only a Godwin who’ll help you out of family loyalty, but he’s the best manager I know.”

“But he hates me! It would be unbearable!”

“Nonsense! As you won’t be running your affairs you’ll barely see him—he’ll report directly to Fairfax. And if for some reason he fails to behave as he should, your remedy’s simple—pick up the phone and let me know.” He abandoned his glass of whisky and headed for the door. “I’m very tired—I must get some sleep. Which room have you put me in?”

“The blue room—at least, it’s not blue anymore—”

“Lion’s old room. Yes. Very well.” He walked out into the glory of the hall.

“Uncle John—” I stumbled after him.

“No more, Kester. Both my strength and my patience are exhausted. Good night.” And picking up the bag which his chauffeur had deposited by the front door, he ascended the stairs without a backward glance.

I waited till I was sure he was in his room before I tiptoed after him to the floor above.

Anna was lying awake in the dark and later to comfort us both, I tried to make love to her.

But I was impotent.

III

The barbarians were at the gates, poised to rape the city and defile everything they touched.

“Christ,” said Thomas, “I told you you’d get yourself in a bloody mess, didn’t I? Of course I’m not one bit surprised.” He swaggered over the threshold and boggled at the hall. “My God, look at this! Look at it!”

Cousin Harry, sleek in a dark suit, reached the porch.

“Sorry about all the trouble, old chap,” he said charmingly, shooting me a glance of utter contempt, “but of course when Father suggested I might lend a temporary hand in the emergency, I dropped everything straightaway. Got to stick together, haven’t we? Family solidarity and all that—”

“Here—Harry! Look at these bloody awful changes he’s made!”

Cousin Harry looked into the hall and stopped dead.

“Did you ever see anything like it?” shouted Thomas. “He’s tarted it up like a bloody gin palace!”

But Cousin Harry never heard him. Cousin Harry was gazing at the Italian marble. Cousin Harry was gazing at Toby’s celestial chandelier. And Cousin Harry, my mirror image, was reflecting me, my other self.

Our glances met and in a split second of inexplicable horror we each saw a macabre enigma which had no name.

Harry spoke and at once the horror vanished, but I never forgot that sinister moment in the hall at Oxmoon when Harry and I formed a single personality and he saw my vision as his own.

“Rather amusing, old chap,” said my double, slipping back behind the mask that made him my opposite. “Nice to see the old shack get a face lift. Makes a change.”

He drifted idly past me. I saw his feet pause on the marble floor as he gazed upwards at the chandelier. He was obviously spellbound again, but the next moment Uncle John was descending the stairs and the spell was broken. He called a greeting; Harry jumped; I moved forward just as Thomas emerged from the drawing room.

“God, John, you look awful! What’s he done upstairs? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. Did you ever see such a load of pansyish rubbish in all your life?”

“This is a business meeting, Thomas, not a discussion of aesthetics. Kindly bear that in mind, would you, please?” said Uncle John, effortlessly exerting his power, and as he crossed the hall to the library Harry turned automatically to follow him and Thomas, the savage aging puppy, trotted in obedience at his master’s heels.

Following them into the library I closed the door. It was nine o’clock in the morning and Uncle John had arranged that we should all meet for a preliminary discussion before Fairfax and Lloyd-Thomas arrived at ten.

As we sat down, Uncle John ignored the changes in the room; Thomas never noticed them; but Cousin Harry caressed the retooled leather of the writing table with his long, slim musician’s fingers, Cousin Harry stole a quick glance at the rows of new books bound in calf, Cousin Harry had seen the dreaming Welsh landscape over the fireplace and the Persian carpet which glorified the floor.

“Now,” said Uncle John, “we’ll wait for Fairfax and Lloyd-Thomas before we begin a general discussion of the disaster, but there are certain urgent problems which must be discussed without delay. One: the unpaid servants. We must get the cash to them at once. Lloyd-Thomas will, of course, honor my check but we still have the problem of collecting the money from the bank and it must be done today. Two: the tenants. We must reassure them immediately that the past extortions will be put right and that there’s a new regime beginning. Someone will have to ride out to Daxworth for a meeting with that rabid socialist Emlyn Vaughan before he starts advocating the mass extermination of the landed gentry. Three: Kester’s associates. We must decide who—if, anyone—should be retained.”

“Sack the lot of them,” said Thomas. “You tackle Adam Mowbray, John, and then at least we’ll have the satisfaction of knowing he’ll be shitting with fright, even if in the end he does manage to get off scot-free—I hate to say it, but there’s no one so clever at escaping justice as a crooked lawyer who knows the law. But I’ll make mincemeat of that bloody nephew of his—Christ, why Celia let Erika marry that bugger I’ll never know, but Celia probably thinks sodomy’s just a place in Palestine. Bloody queers! I’d like to castrate the lot of them! In fact if I had my way—”

“Yes, we all know what you think of sodomy, Thomas. Stick to the point.”

“This
is
the point, John! Kester’s mixed up with this bloody queer—Christ, Kester’s even paying his mortgage for him!”

“Yes, that, of course, must be stopped.”

“The whole friendship must be stopped! I think Kester should give us an undertaking he’ll never see Ricky again!”

“That could be awkward. Because of Erika.”

“Oh, that’s no problem!” said Thomas in contempt. “That’s one marriage that won’t last! I doubt if he’s even fucked her—Christ, that sort of queer’s a bloody menace and I’m only surprised Anna put up with him continually running after her husband. Why, if I’d been Anna—”

“—you’d have castrated him. Quite. Now come along, Thomas, pull yourself together. I agree with you that young Mowbray should be sacked and I certainly agree that Kester should give an undertaking not to give the boy financial assistance again, but I think we should leave the friendship to resolve itself—as I’m sure it now will—”

“I think you should smash the friendship. Honestly, John, aren’t you being a bit soft about this? After all, there’s that bloody pansy, egging Kester on, leading him astray left, right and center …”

I was back in London suddenly, back in that soulless house on Eaton Walk when Uncle John had talked of venereal disease and I had my first untrammeled glimpse of the absolute foulness of the world. I felt now as if I were drowning in that same foulness. I tried to speak to defend my poor pathetic friend who had tried so hard to suppress his love for me to a level I could accept, but speech was beyond me. No man in that room could have understood my friendship with Ricky, and if I made the attempt to defend him I would only damn myself further in their eyes.