Father Bernard was standing at the long window of the Promenade looking at the fascinating play of the tiny snowflakes which, in the very cold windless air, seemed unable to decide whether to go up or down. Some however must be reaching the ground since the edge of the pool was white, blotched and criss-crossed with the dark prints of bare feet. As he watched, Tom McCaffrey, stripped for swimming, passed him close upon the other side of the glass. Tom stood a moment on the edge of the pool, tense, erect, enjoying the cold beneath his feet, the chill touch of the air, the tiny feathery caresses of the snowflakes upon his warm skin. Then lifting his head and tossing back his hair, he breathed in luxuriously air and snow, flexed his body, dived into the plump rounded cloud-cover of the steam and disappeared. Father Bernard, who had been holding his breath, let out a sigh. Dans l’onde toi devenue ta jubilation nue.
The priest, who had had his swim, was feeling exceptionally full of spiritual well-being. After mass that morning he had composed a suitably pompous letter to John Robert to the effect that he had examined Miss Meynell’s capacities and found her, though immature, proficient in modern languages. He especially commended her careful attention to grammar. After that he had put on his longest tape of Scott Joplin and sat down opposite his long-eared Gandhara Buddha, whose austere calm stern visage, with pursed lips and down-cast musing eyes (the creature was thinking) seemed to him so much more spiritual than the tormented face of the crucified one. He sat in an upright chair, his spine straight, his eyelids drooping, his hands relaxed upon his knees. While his paltry mind chatters on he breathes, aware of air moving, gently pulsating airy movement which becomes slower … and slower … Darkness wherein a joy which has no owner quietly evaporates like a disintegrating rocket. Is he changed? No. Is this enlightenment? No. What is it then? A harmless semi-miraculous private diversion costing strictly nothing.
Now on his way from the window to the tea counter he paused at the table where Brian and Gabriel were sitting.
‘Good morning. Why there’s Omega. What a proof of God’s love that little animal brings us, how humble we should feel — ’
‘Why?’ said Brian.
‘What an upspring of spirit in that tiny beast, such good humour, such inexhaustible good temper, what selfless affection burns in those eyes — ’
‘Tosh,’ said Brian. ‘He’s a completely egoistic, self-centred animal.’
‘God is everywhere visible in his creation.’
‘In this tea cup also?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then we don’t have to be sentimental about dogs.’
‘Isn’t the snow delightful?’
‘Bloody awful.’
‘What did you think of Miss Meynell?’ said Gabriel.
‘A childish, simple girl, but — ’
‘Simple, you mean mentally deficient?’
‘Of course he doesn’t, Brian.’
‘Simplicity is a divine attribute.’
‘Yes, just look at the world.’
‘May I ask if you have had any news from Stella?’
‘No,’ said Gabriel, ‘I’m very worried, she hasn’t written, she’s just vanished. It isn’t like her.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said the priest, ‘the Institute is always filled with nonsensical rumours. People love crimes and disasters.’ He moved on to the counter.
‘What are these rumours?’ said Gabriel to Brian. ‘I haven’t heard anything.’
‘Oh fascinating, I even saw Mrs Osmore talking to Mrs Belton about it.’
‘But what?’
‘The latest idea is that George has done away with Stella, the only question being what he’s done with the body.’
Another witness of Tom McCaffrey’s elegant dive was William Eastcote. William, also stripped, was standing on the edge of the pool. He had been swimming and was now experiencing the familiar feeling of his warmed body cooling. (The water temperature was 28° Centigrade, the air temperature 2° Centigrade.) He thought instinctively, scarcely framing the thought but mixing it up with his sensations: I would have enjoyed this warm and cold feeling, the ice-cream-pudding feeling Rose used to call it. I would have enjoyed the snow and seeing Tom stand there and dive. Only now I can’t. And I am envious of Tom, I am envious because he is young and strong and will live, and I am not, and will not. It seemed so paradoxical and so awful to William that today his own lean brown near-naked body stood up as sturdily as ever and looked as solid and felt as strong, while all the time, as he now knew, it carried inside it the inevitable engine of his own imminent death. He thought, shall I tell Rozanov? The disclosure would be embarrassing to them both. John Robert did not like failure; and what greater failure could there ever be than that one?
Something touched William’s hand and he looked down to find Adam McCaffrey looking up at him. ‘Hello, Adam.’
‘Hello.’
‘Isn’t the snow nice?’
‘Yes, I heard the birds singing in the snow.’
‘Even in the snow they know it’s spring.’
‘A wren can sing a hundred and six notes in eight seconds.’
‘Can it really?’
‘Yes. Did you know?’
‘No, but I can imagine.’
‘I was up on the common with Zed. We saw a white horse all by itself.’
‘Perhaps it belongs to the gipsies.’
‘It was rolling on its back. Then when it saw Zed it jumped up. When it saw a dog near it was frightened. It went away then.’
‘A big horse frightened by a little dog!’
‘It was a pony more than a horse. I saw Uncle George coming out of the library, but he didn’t see me. Once I saw Uncle George being in two different places at the same time.’
‘He can’t have been, unless you were too.’
‘I was on top of a bus, you see.’
‘Does that make it different?’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps there’s someone else who looks like him.’
‘Perhaps. I will just rescue that fly.’
William saw a bright-winged fly lying on top of the glossy restless water which was moving quietly about at their feet. Adam slid into the pool easily, noiselessly, like a water rat, not disturbing the glossy surface. He carefully floated the fly on to the back of his hand and reached up to tilt it on to the concrete near to William’s bare feet. The fly shook itself, drew its legs briskly over its wings, and flew away. Adam waved a little polite farewell wave and swam off into the crowding steam. William, who had forgotten about his death during his conversation with Adam, remembered it again. He thought, when that boy is twenty I shall have been dead for twelve years.
Soon after his dive which had aroused such strong but different feelings in the breasts of two observers, Tom McCaffrey ran into Diane Sedleigh. Before this encounter Tom had swum along, exercising his quiet effortless Ennistonian crawl, with a lot of unhappy muddled thoughts buzzing around inside his handsome head about which his wet darkened hair flopped or swirled. It was now two days since his extraordinary interview with John Robert. During this time Tom had done nothing, had, almost, hidden. He had made no plan. He had stayed at home, unable to read Paradise Lost, unable to work on his pop song, unable even to watch Greg’s colour television. He felt physically sick with anxiety and foreboding, alienated from himself as in a bad attack of ‘flu. The curious excitement he had felt just after the interview had faded, or been changed into some lurid less pleasing sense of being captive. He still felt it was impossible to ‘get out of it’; certainly he could not now (though, as Emma pointed out, in a way nothing was easier) simply write a letter to Rozanov saying that he had decided not to proceed. This letter would have to contain (he had not told Emma of John Robert’s terrible proviso) his promise never to attempt to come near Harriet Meynell. Never? At his age? How could he be in such a far-fetched predicament? He had to go on, he had to see the girl, although the prospect held no attraction except that of acting out a dream-like destiny. He felt now no ‘romantic curiosity’, no ardour for some challenging ‘quest’. What he did feel as he swam along so privately, so wretched, inside the steamy roly-poly, was a kind of restless, nasty erotic adventurism. He had been perfectly happy as he was. Now he was being forced to think about girls! All right! He thought to himself, yes, John Robert has changed my value. He has made me worse! At that moment he ran straight into Diane who was swimming equally strongly in the opposite direction. Emerging at close quarters into visibility, their outstretched arms entwined, then they heeled over knocking each other away.