A Severed Head

'Well, it all makes employment for members of my profession,' said Palmer. 'Though I must admit it doesn't usually bring me in such delightful patients!'

Georgie, as was usual in such cases, had been asked to undergo some psychiatric treatment, and Palmer had under-taken to satisfy the requirements by enrolling her as a patient. She was soon to travel to Cambridge for a short stay.

'It's absurd, of course,' said Georgie. 'I'm perfectly sane, in fact – far saner than most psycho-analysts!'

'Thank you, my dear!' said Palmer. 'I'm sure you are. But a little sorting out will do us no harm.'

I thought, soon Georgie will be telling Palmer all about her sex life. I reached out and patted one of Georgie's fidgeting hands. She shuddered.

Antonia said, 'Well, my child, I mustn't spend all day on your bed! I've got a hairdressing appointment. I must dart off.' She pulled herself off the bed without looking at me and smoothed down her smart spring suit. She looked radiant.

Alexander said, 'I'll drive you. I've got to fix up about that exhibition.' He gave Georgie his deep sad look, pressed his two hands over her feet through the bed-clothes, and left the room in the wake of Antonia.

The sun was shining, the bright, cool late-January sun, with misleading hints of springtime, and the white room was gay with it. I wondered if I had better go too and leave Honor and Palmer with Georgie. I ought to have been tasting hock that afternoon. There was still time to get along. Only it seemed to have become extremely difficult to move or speak, as if I were being subjected to some paralysing ray. Palmer was holding Georgie's hand. He too looked exceptionally well, with his hard clean look, the skin brown and unwrinkled, his crop of light grey hair as smooth and dry as an animal's fur. When I saw him too so positively glowing it passed through my mind that he might conceivably have re-established some relation with Antonia. But that was impossible. I looked at Honor Klein over Palmer's head. She was still smiling like an archaic statue.

'Suppose you kids run along,' said Palmer. 'I want to talk seriously to my patient!'

I got up and said, 'Well, good-bye,' and kissed Georgie on the brow. She murmured something and smiled after me, her feverishly brilliant eyes wrinkled up with anxiety. I went out and down the stairs. I could hear footsteps behind me.

Twenty-seven

Honor Klein caught up with me at the door of the hospital and I said without looking at her, 'May I give you a lift?'

She said 'Yes' and I led the way in silence to the car.

I retain little memory of the drive to Pelham Crescent. Oddly, in retrospect that journey is jumbled in my mind with my first journey with Honor from Liverpool Street Station. I recall only a blaze of exhilaration which came with the certainty of what I was about to do. Through the rush-hour traffic the god that protects drunken men protected me.

When we arrived I got out of the car and followed her to the house, which seemed not to surprise her. She opened the door, held it for me, and then went into the drawing-room. The bright sun made the sombre room seem bleak and soulless, taking the warmth out of its rich colours. It looked dusty. I came in and shut the door behind me. We faced each other down the length of the room.

It was now indeed that I felt that I might faint, and I remember grinding my wrists against the panel of the door so that the pain might steady me. She was watching, still with a trace of the archaic smile, and I felt the power in her. I controlled my breathing.

With an evident and relentless attention Honor waited for me to speak.

I said at last, 'I suppose you realize that I am in love with you?'

She considered this, with head slightly on one side as if listening, and said, 'Yes.'

I said, 'I doubt if you realize how much.'

She turned away, giving me her shoulder, and said, 'It doesn't matter.' She spoke quietly but without weariness.

'That I love you, or how much?'

'The latter. I'm touched that you love me. That's all.'

'It's not all,' I said. 'Honor, I want you savagely and I shall fight for you savagely.'

She shook her head and turned back now to meet my eyes. She said, 'There is no place for such a love.' Her 'no place» seemed to search the universe and fold it into a box.

I would not take this. I said, 'When did you know I loved you?' It was a lover's question.