‘I want to ask you, then, these questions, which I believe you will answer truthfully.’
‘Yes - yes — ’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty.’
‘And in good health? Well, obviously you are.’
‘Yes.’ Tom thought, he wants me to go on an expedition to find something, buried treasure in California, for instance.
‘You are at the university in London?’
‘Yes.’
‘What are you studying?’
‘English.’
‘Do you enjoy your work?’
‘Yes, on the whole.’
‘What sort of degree will you get?’
‘Second-class.’
‘How will you earn your living?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘What would you like to do?’
‘I’d like to be a writer.’
‘A writer?’
Tom thought, he wants me to write his biography! What perfect fun, trips to America —
‘What have you written so far?’
‘Oh, just poems and one or two stories —’
‘Have you published anything?’
‘Just one poem in the Ennistone Gazette. But of course, I think I could write anything - I’m interested in biography — ’
‘You don’t want to be a philosopher, do you?’
‘No-no, I don’t.’
‘Good. Would you say that you were a cheerful person?’
‘Oh yes. I think I’d be a good travelling companion.’
‘A good travelling companion.’ John Robert was interested in this point.
‘Oh yes, I’m awfully good-tempered and practical— ’ John Robert and Tom, his biographer, secretary, his privileged aide, travelling about America, but the world, together … George would be furious. Oh God, George. But could it all be somehow about George after all? Perhaps he wants me to be George’s keeper? Tom gazed fascinated at John Robert’s huge face and fierce yellow-brown eyes and red lips pouting with will.
‘Your family are Quakers. Do you practise your religion?’
‘I go to Meeting - to the Quaker Meeting - sometimes. It means something to me.’
‘Did you go last Sunday?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Are you engaged to be married?’
‘No. Certainly not.’
‘Are you - please excuse these questions - but - well - are you living with a young lady?’
‘No.’
Tom’s mind switched back to buried treasure. An adventure, a quest. Good. A dangerous one? Not so good. Suddenly he thought, he wants to recruit me for the Secret Service! That’s what all this ‘confidential’ business is about! I’ll say no. I couldn’t stand that. But it’s exciting all the same, and jolly flattering really!
‘But you have done - I mean - you have had - sexual experience?’
‘Yes, but not much, and not now.’ Unless what happened last Sunday night counted?
‘Are you heterosexual?’
‘Yes.’ Tom thought, that settles it, it must be the Secret Service. It’s true I’m heterosexual. But suppose he asks if I’m homosexual too?
This question did not occur to John Robert. He pondered. Tom had begun to feel, staring at the philosopher and distinguishing his face from the light behind, slightly giddy. The dazzling white clouds were driving the narrow tilting ship-room swiftly along. John Robert’s face, huge with command and troubled concentration, was difficult to keep in focus. Tom thought, he is coming to the point, whatever in heaven and earth the point may be. He could hear his own fast breathing and Rozanov’s.
‘I imagine you know that I have a grand-daughter, Harriet Meynell.’
This took Tom completely by surprise. He had not heard the local gossip. He was vaguely aware that such a person existed, but he had never seen her or thought about her and felt extremely vague about her age. He thought, does he want me to take her on visits to the Natural History Museum? Jesus, how can I get out of this?
‘Yes.’
‘She is seventeen.’
This put a slightly different complexion on the matter. Was he to show her round London, take her to Hamlet? Where was she anyway? He said, ‘Is she in America?’
‘No, she is in Ennistone, at the Slipper House. Didn’t you know that I have rented the Slipper House from your mother?’
‘No.’ Tom did not feel bound to go into his relationship, incomprehensible to himself, with Alex.
‘She is there with her maid,’ said John Robert with a ridiculous solemnity.
‘Oh - good — ’
‘She has never been in Ennistone before.’
‘I could show her the town, if that’s what you want — ’ Or was the weird old codger merely chatting?
‘I want you to meet her, to get to know her.’
‘And introduce her to some young people? I could do that. I could give a party for her.’ Already Tom was planning whom he would invite.
‘I don’t want her to meet anybody else. Only you.’
‘But why - why only me?’
‘Only you.’ John Robert was breathing audibly through his mouth which he had opened wide, and was gazing at Tom with a look which seemed like hatred but was no doubt only the result of concentration. Being so concentrated upon was beginning to give Tom a panicky feeling of being trapped. He wanted to get up and lean on the mantelpiece, or open the door into the hall. But he could not move. He was fixed by John Robert’s glare and John Robert’s purpose.
‘Perhaps you could explain,’ said Tom, trying to sound forceful but sounding timid.
‘She needs a protector.’
‘Oh, I’ll protect her - I mean when I’m here - I’m usually not here. I can protect her for a fortnight.’
‘I shall require more than that.’
Tom thought, he is mad, he is totally unhinged. He is mad, and yet he is not mad. As he underwent the philosopher’s gaze Tom felt rather mad himself as if he might suddenly have to get up and go to John Robert and touch him.
‘I’ve got to go back to London and - and work — ’ said Tom. ‘I can’t sort of - do you mean a sort of chaperone? I’m not the person you want.’ As he said this he felt a sudden pain, as if to be separated from John Robert forever, after this conversation, would be terrible anguish! Is he hypnotizing me? Tom wondered.
‘You are the person I want.’
‘But what to do, what for — ’
‘I don’t want a lot of people, a lot of men — ’
‘A lot of men?’
‘Vying - for my grand-daughter.’
The word ‘vying’ sounded so odd and foreign to Tom as John Robert said it that Tom could hardly for a moment understand it.
Tom said, ‘She’s only seventeen! And anyway, why not? Am I supposed to keep them off?’
‘She is nearly eighteen.’
‘Then can’t she look after herself? Girls can these days. If you want a chaperone, can’t her maid do it?’
‘You ask if you are supposed to keep them off. Yes. I want that to be - clear.’
‘But how can it be! I can’t devote the rest of my life to her!’
John Robert was silent, leaning back now and staring.
What is this that I’m being turned into, this task that is being forced on me, Tom thought. Shall I go, shall I run? Shall I suddenly be bloody rude? He could not. He said, leaning forward and speaking gently as to a child, ‘Do you want me to sleep in front of her door?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want me to be her brother?’
‘No. I do not want you to sleep in front of her door, I do not want you to be her brother.’
Tom took in the emphasis. ‘Whatever do you want then?’
‘I want you to marry her.’