A touch of the wheel and the car sped deeper into the river so that the water was not far from brimming over, but another movement brought her out again while the steam hissed like a thousand cats.
‘Some knit them pearl,’ roared Muzzlehatch,
‘
As Muzzlehatch’s voice wandered off the sun began to rise out of the river.
‘Have you finished?’ said Juno. Her eyes were half closed.
‘I have given my
‘Then listen please!’ – her eyes were a little wider but their expression was still faraway.
‘What is it, Juno love?’
‘I am thinking of that boy. What will they do to him?’
‘They’ll find him difficult,’ said Muzzlehatch, ‘very difficult. Rather like a form of me. It is more a case of what will he do to
But there was no reply, for at that moment he drew up at the front door of Juno’s house, with a great cry of metal. It was a tall building, dusty pink in colour, and was backed by a small hill or knoll surmounted by a marble man. Immediately behind the knoll was a loop of the river. On either side of Juno’s house were two somewhat similar houses but these were forsaken. The windows were smashed. The doors were gone and the rooms let in the rain.
But Juno’s house was in perfect repair and when the door was opened by a servant in a yellow gown it was possible to see how daringly yet carefully the hall was furnished. Lit up in the darkness, it presented a colour scheme of ivory, ash, and coral red.
‘Are you coming in?’ said Juno. ‘Do mushrooms tempt you – or plovers’ eggs? Or coffee?’
‘No my love!’
‘As you wish.’
They sat without moving for a little while.
‘Where do you think the boy is?’ she said at last.
‘I have no idea,’ said Muzzlehatch.
Juno climbed out of the car. It was like a faultless disembarkation. Whatever she did had style.
‘Good night, then,’ she said, ‘and sweet dreams.’
Muzzlehatch gazed at her as she made her way through the dark garden to the lighted hall. Her shadow cast by the light reached out behind her, almost to the car, and as she moved away step by long smooth step, Muzzlehatch felt a twitch of the heart, for it seemed that he saw in the slow leisure of her stride something, at the moment, that he was loth to forgo.
It was as if those faraway days when they were lovers came flooding back, image upon image, shade upon shade, unsolicited, unbidden, each one challenging the strength of the dykes which they had built against one another. For they knew that beyond the dykes heaved the great seas of sentiment on whose bosom they had lost their way.
How often had he stared at her in anger or in boisterous love! How often had he admired her. How often had he seen her leave him, but never quite like this. The light from the hall where the servant stood came flooding across the garden and Juno was a silhouette against the lighted entrance. From the full, rounded, and bell-shaped hips which swayed imperceptibly as she moved, arose the column of her almost military back; and from her shoulders sprang her neck, perfectly cylindrical, surmounted by her classic head.
As Muzzlehatch gazed at her he seemed to see, in some strange way, himself. He saw her as his failure – and he knew himself to be hers. For they had each received all that the other could provide. What had gone wrong? Was it that they need no longer try because they could see through one another? What was the trouble? A hundred things. His unfaithfulness; his egotism; his eternal playacting; his gigantic pride; his lack of tenderness; his deafening exuberance; his selfishness.
But she had run out of love; or it had been battered out of her. Only a friendship remained: ambient and unbreakable.
So it was strange, this twitch of the heart, strange that he should follow her with his eyes; strange that he should turn the car about so slowly, and it was strange also (when he arrived in the courtyard of his home) to see how ruminative was the look upon his face as he tied his car to the mulberry tree.
THIRTY-FOUR
In the late afternoon of the next day they took Titus and they put him in a cell. It was a small place with a barred window to the south-west.
