Brideshead Revisited(60)
‘Don’t be irreverent, Julia.’
‘Well, isn’t it mortal sin to sleep with Brenda Champion?’
‘Or indecent.’
‘He’s promised never to see her again. I couldn’t ask him to do that unless I admitted I was in love with him could I?’
‘Mrs Champion’s morals, thank God, are not my business. Your happiness is. If you must know, I think Mr Mottram a kind and useful friend, but I wouldn’t trust him an inch, and I’m sure he’ll have very unpleasant children. They always revert. I’ve no doubt you’ll regret the whole thing in a few days. Meanwhile nothing is to be done. No one must be told anything or allowed to suspect. You must stop lunching with him. You may see him here, of course, but nowhere in public. You had better send him to me and I will have a little talk to him about it.’
Thus began a year’s secret engagement for Julia; a time of great stress, for Rex made love to her that afternoon for the first time; not, as had happened to her once or twice before with sentimental and uncertain boys, but with a passion that disclosed the corner of something like it in her. Their passion frightened her, and she came back from the confessional one day determined to put an end to it.
‘Otherwise I must stop seeing you,’ she said.
Rex was humble at once, just as he had been in the winter, day after day, when he used to wait for her in the cold in his big car.
‘If only we could be married immediately,’ she said.
For six weeks they remained at arm’s length, kissing when they met and parted, sitting meantime at a distance, talking of what they would do and where they would live and of Rex’s chances of an under-secretaryship. Julia was content, deep in love, living in the future. Then, just before the end of the session, she learned that Rex had been staying the week-end with a stockbroker at Sunningdale, when he said he was at his constituency, and that Mrs Champion had been there, too.
On the evening she heard of this, when Rex came as usual to Marchmain House, they re-enacted the scene of two months before.
‘What do you expect?’ he said. ‘What right have you to ask so much, when you give so little?’
She took her problem to Farm Street and propounded it in general terms, not in the confessional, but in a dark little parlour kept for such interviews.
‘Surely, Father, it can’t be wrong to commit a small sin myself in order to keep him from a much worse one?’
But the gentle old Jesuit was unyielding. She barely listened to him; he was refusing her what she wanted, that was all she needed to know.
When he had finished he said, ‘Now you had better make your confession.’
‘No, thank you,’ she said, as though refusing the offer of something in a shop. ‘I don’t think I want to today,’ and walked angrily home.
From that moment she shut her mind against her religion.
And Lady Marchmain saw this and added it to her new grief for Sebastian and her old grief for her husband and to the deadly sickness in her body, and took all these sorrows with her daily to church; it seemed her heart was transfixed with the swords of her dolours, a living heart to match the plaster and paint; what comfort she took home with her, God knows.
So the year wore on and the secret of the engagement spread from Julia’s confidantes to their confidantes, until, like ripples at last breaking on the mud-verge, there were hints of it in the Press, and Lady Rosscommon as Lady-in-Waiting was closely questioned about it, and something had to be done. Then, after Julia had refused to make her Christmas communion and Lady Marchmain had found herself betrayed first by me, then by Mr Samgrass, then by Cordelia, in the first grey days of 1925, she decided to act. She forbade all talk of an engagement; she forbade Julia and Rex ever to meet; she made plans for shutting Marchmain House for six months and taking Julia on a tour of visits to their foreign kinsmen. It was characteristic of an old, atavistic callousness that went with her delicacy that, even at this crisis, she did not think it unreasonable to put Sebastian in Rex’s charge on the journey to Dr Borethus, and Rex, having failed her in that matter, went on to Monte Carlo, where he completed her rout. Lord Marchmain did not concern himself with the finer points of Rex’s character; those, he believed, were his daughter’s business. Rex seemed a rough, healthy, prosperous fellow whose name was already familiar to him from reading the political reports; he gambled in an open-handed but sensible manner; he seemed to keep reasonably good company; he had a future; Lady Marchmain disliked him. Lord Marchmain was, on the whole, relieved that Julia should have chosen so well, and gave his consent to an immediate marriage.
Rex gave himself to the preparations with gusto. He bought her a ring, not, as she expected, from a tray at Cartier’s, but in a back room in Hatton Garden from a man who brought stones out of a safe in little bags and displayed them for her on a writing-desk; then another man in another back room made designs for the setting, with a stub of pencil on a sheet, of note-paper, and the result excited the admiration of all her friends.
‘How’d you know about these things, Rex?’ she asked.
She was daily surprised by the things he knew and the things he did not know; both, at the time, added to his attraction.
His present house in Hertford Street was large enough for them both, and had lately been furnished and decorated by the most expensive firm. Julia said she did not want a house in the country yet; they could always take places furnished when they wanted to go away.