V
It was like the day he had come back from the Titanic Concert. It was the vision he had had then. He called it vision for it seemed more that than sound. Seeing and hearing were oneтБатАФcurves and spirals of soundтБатАФascending, descending, returning.
And now he knewтБатАФhe had the technical knowledge.
He snatched at paper, jotted down brief, scrawled hieroglyphics, a kind of frantic shorthand. There were years of work in front of him, but he knew that he should never again recapture this first freshness and clearness of vision.
It must be soтБатАФand so: a whole weight of metalтБатАФbrassтБатАФall the brass in the world.
And those new glass soundsтБатАКтБатАж ringing, clear.
He was happy.
An hour passedтБатАКтБатАж two hours.
For a moment he came out of his frenzyтБатАФrememberedтБатАКтБатАж Jane!
He felt sickтБатАФashamed. CouldnтАЩt he even mourn her for one evening? There was something baseтБатАФcruelтБатАФin the way he was using his sorrow, his desireтБатАФtransmuting it into terms of sound.
That was what it meant being a creatorтБатАФruthlessness, using everything.
And people like Jane were the victims.
JaneтБатАКтБатАж
He felt torn in twoтБатАФagony and wild exultation.
He thought: тАЬPerhaps women feel like this when they have a child.тАЭ
Presently he bent again over his sheets of paper, writing frenziedly, flinging them on the floor as he finished them.
When the door opened he did not hear it. He was deaf to the rustle of a womanтАЩs dress. Only when a small frightened voice said, тАЬVernon,тАЭ did he look up.
With an effort he forced the abstracted look from his face.
тАЬHullo,тАЭ he said. тАЬNell.тАЭ
She stood there, twisting her hands togetherтБатАФher face white and ravaged. She spoke in breathless gasps.
тАЬVernonтБатАКтБатАж I found out. They told meтБатАКтБатАж where you wereтБатАКтБатАж and I came.тАЭ
He nodded.
тАЬYes,тАЭ he said. тАЬYou came?тАЭ
OboesтБатАФno, cut out oboes. Too soft a note. It must be stridentтБатАФbrazen. But harpsтБатАФyes, he wanted the liquidness of harpsтБатАФlike water. You wanted water as a source of power.
Bother! Nell was speaking. HeтАЩd have to listen.
тАЬVernon, after that awful escape from deathтБатАФI knew.тБатАКтБатАж ThereтАЩs only one thing that mattersтБатАФlove. IтАЩve always loved you. IтАЩve come back to youтБатАФfor always.тАЭ
тАЬOh!тАЭ he said stupidly.
She had come nearer, was holding out her hands to him.
He looked at her as if from a great distance. Really, Nell was extraordinarily pretty. He could well see why he had fallen in love with her. Queer, that he wasnтАЩt the least bit in love with her now. How awkward it all was. He did wish she would go away and let him get on with what he was doing. What about trombones? One could improve on a tromboneтБатАКтБатАж
тАЬVernon!тАЭ Her voice was sharpтБатАФfrightened. тАЬDonтАЩt you love me any more?тАЭ
It was really best to be truthful. He said with an odd formal politeness:
тАЬIтАЩm awfully sorry. IтБатАФIтАЩm afraid I donтАЩt. You see, I love Jane.тАЭ
тАЬYouтАЩre angry with meтБатАФbecause of that lie about theтБатАФthe child.тАЭ
тАЬWhat lie? About what child?тАЭ
тАЬDonтАЩt you even remember? I said I was going to have a child and it wasnтАЩt true.тБатАКтБатАж Oh! Vernon, forgive meтБатАКтБатАж forgive me.тАЭ
тАЬThatтАЩs quite all right, Nell. DonтАЩt you worry. IтАЩm sure everythingтАЩs for the best. George is an awfully good chap and youтАЩre really happiest with him. And now, for GodтАЩs sake, do go away. I donтАЩt want to be rude, but IтАЩm most awfully busy. The whole thing will go if I donтАЩt pin it down.тАЭ
She stared at him.
Then slowly she moved towards the door. She stopped, turned, flung out her hands towards him.
тАЬVernonтБатАКтБатАжтАЭ
It was a last cry of despairing appeal.
He did not even look up, only shook his head impatiently.
She went out, shutting the door behind her.
Vernon gave a sigh of relief.
There was nothing now to come between him and his workтБатАКтБатАж
He bent over the table.