The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(313)

It didn’t do, it seemed, to judge by appearances! Beneath the surface passions remained what they had been, and in the draughty corridors and spaces there was the old hot stillness when they woke and breathed.…

That fellow was taking the Kingston road! Soon they would be passing Robin Hill. How all this part had changed since the day he went down with Bosinney to choose the site. Forty years – not more – but what a change ! ‘Plus ça change’ Annette would say – ‘plus c’est la même chose!’ Love and hate – no end to that, anyway! The beat of life went on beneath the wheels and whirr of traffic and the jazzy music of the band. Fate on its drum, or just the human heart? God knew! God? Convenient word. What did one mean by it? He didn’t know, and never would! In the cathedral that morning he had thought – and then – that verger! There were the poplars, and the stable clock-tower, just visible, of the house he had built and never inhabited. If he could have foreseen a stream of cars like this passing day after day, not a quarter of a mile off, he would not have built it, and all that tragedy might never… And yet – did it matter what you did? – some way, somehow life took you up and put you where it would. He leaned forward and touched his chauffeur’s back.

‘Which way are you going?’

‘Through Esher, sir, and off to the left.’

‘Well,’ said Soames, ‘it’s all the same to me.’

It was past lunch-time, but he wasn’t hungry. He wouldn’t be hungry till he knew the worst. But that chap would be, he supposed.

‘Better stop somewhere,’ he said, ‘and have a snack and a cigarette.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He wasn’t long in stopping. Soames sat on in the car, gazing idly at the sign – ‘Red Lion’. Red Lions, Angels and White Horses – nothing killed them off. One of these days they’d try and bring in Prohibition, he shouldn’t wonder; but that cock wouldn’t fight in England – too extravagant! Treating people like children wasn’t the way to make them grow up; as if they weren’t childish enough as it was. Look at this coal strike, that went on and on – perfectly childish, hurting everybody and doing good to none! Weak-minded! To reflect on the weak-mindedness of his fellow-citizens was restful to Soames, faced with a future that might prove disastrous. For, in view of her infatuation, what could taking that young man about in her car mean – except disaster? What a time Riggs was! He got out and walked up and down. Not that there was anything he could do – he supposed – when he did get there. No matter how much you loved a person, how anxious you were about her, you had no power – perhaps less power in proportion to your love. But he must speak his mind at last, if he had the chance. Couldn’t let her go over the edge without putting out a hand! The sun struck on his face, and he lifted it a little blindly, as if grateful for the warmth. All humbug about the world coming to an end, of course, but he’d be glad enough for it to come before he was brought down in sorrow to the grave. He saw with hideous clearness how complete disaster must be. If Fleur ran off, there’d be nothing left to him that he really cared about, for the Monts would take Kit. He’d be stranded among his pictures and his cows, without heart for either, till he died. ‘I won’t have it,’ he thought. ‘If it hasn’t happened!’ I won’t have it.’ Yes! But how prevent it? And with the futility of his own resolution staring him in the face, he went back to the car. There was the fellow, at last, smoking his cigarette.

‘Let’s start!’ he said. ‘Push along!’

He arrived at three o’clock to hear that Fleur had gone out with the car at ten. It was an immense relief to learn that at least she had been there overnight. And at once he began to make trunk calls. They renewed his anxiety. She was not at home; nor at June’s. Where, then, if not with that young man? But at least she had taken no things with her – this he ascertained, and it gave him strength to drink some tea and wait He had gone out into the road for the fourth time to peer up and down when at last he saw her coming towards him.

The expression on her face – hungry and hard and feverish – had the most peculiar effect on Soames; his heart ached, and leaped with relief at the same time. That was not the face of victorious passion! It was tragically unhappy, arid, wrenched. Every feature seemed to have sharpened since he saw her last. And, instinctively, he remained silent, poking his face forward for a kiss. She gave it – hard and parched.

‘So you’re back,’ she said.