The Secret History

'You know that thingjulian used to say,' said Francis.

'Which thing?'

'About a Hindu saint being able to slay a thousand on the battlefield and it not being a sin unless he felt remorse.'

I had heard Julian say this, but had never understood what he meant. 'We're not Hindus,' I said.

'Richard,' Julian said, in a tone which simultaneously welcomed me and let me know that I had come at a bad time.

'Is Henry here? I need to talk to him about something.'

He looked surprised. 'Of course,' he said, and opened the door.

Henry was sitting at the table where we did our Greek. Julian's empty chair, on the side by the window, was pulled close to his.

There were other papers on the table but the letter was in front of them. He glanced up. He did not look pleased to see me.

'Henry, may I speak to you?'

'Certainly,' he said coldly.

I turned, to step into the hall, but he didn't make a move to follow. He was avoiding my eye. Damn him, I thought. He thought I was trying to continue our earlier conversation in the garden.

'Could you come out here for a minute?' I said.

'What is it?'

'I need to tell you something.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'You mean, it's something you want to tell me in private? he said.

1 could have killed him. Julian, politely, had been pretending not to follow this exchange, but his curiosity was aroused by this.

He was standing, waiting, behind his chair. 'Oh, dear,' he said. 'I hope nothing's wrong. Shall I leave?'

'Oh, no, Julian,' said Henry, looking not at Julian but at me.

'Don't bother.'

'Is everything all right?' Julian asked me.

'Yes, yes,' I said. 'I just need to see Henry for a second. It's kind of important.'

'Can't it wait?' said Henry.

The letter was spread out on the table. With horror, I saw that he was turning through it slowly, like a book, pretending to examine the pages one by one. He hadn't seen the letterhead.

He didn't know it was there.

'Henry,' I said. 'It's an emergency. I have to talk to you right now.'

He was struck by the urgency in my voice. He stopped, and pivoted in his chair to look at me – they were both staring now – and as he did, as part of the motion of turning, he turned over the page in his hand. My heart did a somersault. There was the letterhead, face-up on the table. White palace drawn in blue curlicues.

'All right,' said Henry. Then, to Julian: 'I'm sorry. We'll be back in a moment.'

'Certainly,' said Julian. He looked grave and concerned. 'I hope nothing's the matter.'

I wanted to cry. I had Henry's attention; I had it, now, but I didn't want it. The letterhead lay exposed on the table.

'What's wrong?' said Henry, his eyes locked on mine.

He was attentive, poised as a cat. Julian was looking at me too. The letter lay on the table, between them, directly in Julian's line of vision. He had only to glance down.

I darted my eyes at the letter, then at Henry. He understood in an instant, turned smooth but fast; but he wasn't fast enough, and in that split-second, Julian looked down – casually, just an afterthought, but a second too soon.

I do not like to think about the silence that followed. Julian leaned over and looked at the letterhead for a long time. Then he picked up the page and examined it. Excekior. Via Veneto. Blue-inked battlements. I felt curiously light and empty-headed.

Julian put on his glasses and sat down. He looked through the whole thing, very carefully, front and back. I heard kids laughing, faintly, somewhere outside. At last he folded the letter and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

'Well,' he said at last. 'Well, well, well.'

As is true of most incipient bad things in life, I had not really prepared myself for this possibility. And what I felt, standing there, was not fear or remorse but only terrible, crushing humiliation, a dreadful, red-faced shame I hadn't felt since childhood.

And what was even worse was to see Henry, and to realize that he was feeling the same thing, and if anything, more acutely than myself. I hated him – was so angry I wanted to kill him – but somehow I was not prepared to see him like that.

Nobody said anything. Dust motes floated in a sunbeam. I thought of Camilla at the Albemarle, Charles in the hospital, Francis waiting trustfully in the car.

'Julian,' said Henry, 'I can explain this.'

'Please do,' said Julian.

His voice chilled me to the bone. Though he and Henry had in common a distinct coldness of ma

Henry started to talk. It was so painful to hear him – Henry!

– stumble over his words that I am afraid I blocked out much of what he said. He began, in typical fashion, by attempting to justify himself but that soon faltered in the white glare of Julian's silence. Then – I still shudder to remember it – a desperate, pleading note crept into his voice. 'I disliked having to lie, of course' – disliked! as if he were talking about an ugly necktie, a dull di

And then, with Bu

He went on and on. Julian's silence was vast, arctic. A black buzzing noise echoed in my head.,' can't stand this, I thought, I've got to leave, but still Henry talked, and still I stood there, and the sicker and blacker I felt to hear Henry's voice and to see the look on Julian's face.

Unable to stand it, I finally turned to go. Julian saw me do it.

Abruptly, he cut Henry off. 'That's enough,' he said.

There was an awful pause. I stared at him. This is it, I thought, with a kind of fascinated horror. He won't listen anymore. He doesn't want to be left alone with him.

Julian reached into his pocket. The expression on his face was impossible to read. He took the letter out and handed it to Henry.

'I think you'd better keep this,' he said.

He didn't get up from the table. The two of us left his office without a word. Fu

Henry and I didn't speak in the hallway. Slowly, we drifted out, eyes averted, like strangers. As I went down the stairs he was standing by the windowsill on the landing, looking out, blind and unseeing.

Francis was panic-stricken when he saw the look on my face.

'Oh, no,' he said. 'Oh, my God. What's happened?'

It was a long time before I could say anything. 'Julian saw it,'

I said.

'What?'

'He saw the letterhead. Henry's got it now.'

'How'd he get it?'

'Julian gave it to him.'

Francis was jubilant. 'He gave it to him? He gave Henry the letter?'

'Yes.'

'And he's not going to tell anyone?'

'No, I don't think so.'

He was startled by the gloom in my voice.

'But what's the matter?' he said shrilly. 'You got it, didn't you?

It's okay. Everything's all right now. Isn't it?'

I was staring out the car window, at the window of Julian's office.

'No,' I said, 'no, I don't really think that it is.'