'What?'

'Get out.'

Arthur had risen. He was scarlet, trembling, his mouth jerking convulsively about. I got up slowly and took my cap and put on my coat. I stood for a moment staring at Arthur with curiosity. I had never seen him look like that before. His breath was audible as if at any moment he might begin to sob. It appeared, then, that I was not the only one who was living under strain.

I went quietly out of the room and down the stairs. The sour-sweet smell of yeast from the bakery greeted me in a warm wave and I went through it and out into the street. Some bright London-pink clouds were illuminating the sky. I put on my cap and turned up my coat collar. Arthur's uncharacteristic explosion had shaken me thoroughly and I was suffering from shock.

I felt rather drunk. (Arthur had been right about that.) I also felt uncomfortably that I had said a lot of rather shoddy things which I did not really mean. Perhaps there had been something worth explaining, but I had certainly not explained it.

Then as I walked along I began to think about Kitty: not to think anything special about her, but rather perhaps simply to think her, as a mystic thinks God with a thought which goes beyond thinking and becomes being.

WEDNESDAY.

IT WAS Wednesday evening, ten minutes past five, and I was at home at the flat, having left the office early. I had come home for one simple and practical reason, to fetch a pair of gloves. The weather, which had seemed to be as cold as it could be, had suddenly become even colder and the sky had assumed a thick gathered grey congested awfulness which betokened snow. If I was to spend time (how much time?) pacing up and down the road outside Crystal's house, embarrassing Gunnar and curtailing his visit, I would need a pair of gloves, not usually a part of my equipment. I also picked up a thick woollen scarf. I also, for psychological reasons, shaved. I was now ready to set out again, only it was too early. I had spent a long alcoholic lunch-time and decided that it would be wiser not to wait out this particular interim in a pub. I was becoming too dependent on alcohol. Better to stay here for a little, better anyway not to arrive tipsy. Not that I proposed to speak to Gunnar. I would simply let him see me marching to and fro like a sentinel on the other side of the road.

Foraging in the pockets of my overcoat I had discovered there the black stone which I had given to Biscuit and which she had returned to me. Why? After what thoughts? Where had she kept it in the interim? The business was full of mysteries. I also found, in another pocket, Biscuit's little woollen glove which I had drawn off and appropriated on the second occasion when I met her. I put the stone inside the glove and put both these ambiguous trophies away in a drawer. How long the struggle had already lasted, how many phases it had already been through! I felt that, like the Guards War Memorial, I could even now produce quite a respectable list of battles: Leningrad Garden. Office Stairs One. Westminster Bridge. Peter Pan. Office Stairs Two. Cheyne Walk Jetty. Cheyne Walk Drawing Room. Parliament Square ... How many more before the war should be finally over?

I was now lying down on my bed and reflecting about the day. And as I lay back and composed my hands behind my head my heart was beating Kitty tomorrow, Kitty tomorrow. This time tomorrow I would be walking the Chelsea embankment. I tried not to think about it, but it was the heart-beat background to all other thoughts. I turned my attention to Arthur. I had quite forgotten Arthur when walking home last night. I had gone straight to bed and slept well and dreamed of an elephant who turned to pick me up and take me to the dance. The morning had brought a painful recollection. I felt thoroughly shaken by Arthur's attack on me with its emphatic and violent climax, and the more so because I uncomfortably felt that some of what he had to say made sense. I had chosen to act an unsavoury role and Arthur had taken me seriously. It turned out that I cared, a little at any rate, what Arthur thought about me. I had been guilty of cynicism, coarseness, vulgarity. Cynicism is coarseness, is vulgarity. How could I have said that about Crystal, why did not love strike me across the mouth and stop me? I had stupidly, instantly, resented Arthur's words about Kitty and I had deliberately tried to hurt him by sneering at Crystal. Of course it was crazy to meet Kitty in secret. And of course, and this was the hardest thing of all, there was a truth somewhere which denied Kitty, only I loved Kitty more than that truth, and that was a truth too. It was impossible not to see Kitty tomorrow, impossible, impossible, impossible. Doubtless I knew, in some still sober part of my mind, that this could not 'go on', that my time of meeting Kitty was nearing its end. She was not 'frivolous', though she might be 'spoilt'. Crystal and I could have done with some 'spoiling', it could even have helped our characters, it could certainly have helped mine. Kitty was a madcap romantic, but she was not irresponsible, she was not totally daft. She must know that since I would simply go on doing what she told me it was up to her to decide when enough was enough. She would soon see that there was really nothing more to 'discuss' and would terminate our conversation with a gay ruthlessness for which much later I would be grateful. I only knew that, for my own peace of mind at that later time, I could not end this thing myself. That at least was absolutely clear. She must end it, and she could well do so tomorrow. I closed my eyes on that pain. But at least tomorrow was still there with its fruit of her presence and there was still a future.

I had in fact been amazed at Arthur's nerve, at his sheer courage, in throwing me out. He was evidently amazed at it too. He was in the office before me, waiting for me, waiting to approach me with anxious humility. He begged my pardon. I begged his. He accused himself of having been drunk. I accused myself of having been drunk. With Arthur the reconciliation scene ran on wheels. After that I asked him if he would mind doing my work, and he agreed with alacrity and took away the contents of my in-tray. I played battleships with Reggie. He and Edith now treated me with studied gentleness like someone who has been bereaved.

I was just looking at my watch and thinking it was not yet quite time to set on for the North End Road and wondering ' I should perhaps have a cup of tea, when there was a ring on the door bell. I got up like a jack-in-the-box and ran out. Biscuit with a letter cancelling tomorrow?

It was Laura Impiatt. She was wild-haired, having pulled off her cap, and wearing a military-style ankle-length belted overcoat and boots. I was not glad to see her. An atmosphere of silly pretence and affectation, more powerful than Kitty's perfume, came through the door with her. I suppose she was a nice harmless person, but I felt that just then I had no time for her. She pounced on me.

'Hilary, is it really true you've resigned from the office? Whatever are you thinking of?'

'I just need a change, that's all. It's nothing personal, Laura. With me things rarely are.'

'With me things always are. Everything's personal. Anyway I don't believe you. Christopher, did you know that Hilary's chucking his job?'

'Why, well done, Hilary!' said Christopher, who had emerged from his room dressed in a long purple robe and wearing a necklace of brown beads and a matching bracelet. 'I didn't think you had it in you.'

'Christopher thinks you've become a drop-out.'

'I have.' I went into the kitchen and put on the kettle. Laura followed me pulling off her coat. Through the open door of Christopher's room I could see Jimbo Davis lying flat upon the floor.

'But seriously, Hilary, whatever will you do?'

'Teach grammar to little children.'

'You are well known never to tell the truth. Well, we shall see, won't we, Christopher? It will be perfectly fascinating. Don't you think that Christopher ought to grow a moustache and beard and look exactly like Jesus Christ?'

'No.'

'What on earth are you doing with that kettle?'

'Making tea.'

'Tea? Hilary must have gone mad.'

'Have some cake,' said Christopher. Jimbo had risen and was now in the kitchen too, gazing at me with his sympathetic mournful eyes. Christopher put a Fuller's walnut cake, already cut into slices, upon the table. I took a slice and munched it while the kettle boiled. Then I made the tea and began to eat a second slice, ignoring the others. I was feeling hungry after a lunch of potato crisps and whisky. Laura was chattering to the boys. A little time passed. Laura was eating some of the cake. Christopher and Jimbo were giggling.

I was looking at the kettle. I had never really noticed it properly before. It is odd how one lives among things and fails to notice them. Yet each thing is an individual with a deep and wonderful being of its own. The kettle was shiny and blue, glittering like a star in the bright electric light. It was a strange blue, injected somehow with black, reminding me of something. I had never noticed before how black a blue could be and yet remain blue, it was a wonderful achievement of nature. In fact the kettle was both black and blue all over at the same time which I had been told was impossible. Only of course it was possible since the colour was not really in the kettle. Whoever thought colours were in things? Colours surge out of things and stray about in clouds, in waves, yes in waves, is not everything supposed to be made up of waves. I could see the waves. The kettle was glowing and vibrating rhythmically and I was glowing and vibrating with it.

I swayed a little and put out my hand and caught something. It was Christopher's shoulder. I turned and looked at Christopher's face and it had become the face of a beautiful young girl. I lifted my hand and touched the shining blond hair and swayed again. Then I was in Christopher's room, I had moved thither with a curious ease, and it was as if my feet did not touch the ground. It was quite easy after all to walk upon the air, only no one had ever told me. I was sitting on the ground now with my back to the wall and Laura was sitting nearby and Jimbo was lying on the floor and Christopher was playing his tabla and there was a fragrant ineffable sense of togetherness as if all our minds were lightly glued together, hanging together like a clutch of angels beating their wings in the air just a little above our heads in the centre of the room, only somehow all this was sound, wonderful sound, the huge rhythmic beat of the drum which had become a Tibetan gong, an immense cavern of sound like a great mouth opening and shutting. It was cosmic and beautiful and yet also very funny. The universe was funny, fundamentally funny, and this was fundamentally important, that nothing was deeper than the funniness, nothing. Not evil, not good, not chance, the funny was deepest of all, oh what joy! Now I was turning over and over like something gently unravelling or unrolling. I was a wall of light gently unrolling itself through immense empty areas of space and time. And then I saw Mr Osmand. Somehow Mr Osmand was there too in the cavern which was also the mouth which was also the unrolling light which was also me, and Mr Osmand was like the universe, fundamentally funny. I tried to tell him so but little sugar cakes kept coming out of my mouth instead of words. I wanted to offer him some of the cakes but they danced lightly about and then floated away. Mr Osmand was crawling about on the floor like a beetle, he was a beetle with a huge head and the head came towards me and the huge beetle eyes looked into mine and the eyes had a thousand facets and each facet had a thousand facets. Mr Osmand was very beautiful and very funny and I loved him. Amo amas amat amamus amatis amant amavi amavisti amavit amavimus amavistis amaverunt amavero amaveris amaverit ... Everything was love. Everything will be love. Everything has been love. Everything would be love. Everything would have been love. Ah, that was it, the truth at last. Everything would have been love. The huge eye, which had become an immense sphere, was gently breathing, only it was not an eye nor a sphere but a great wonderful animal covered in little waving legs like hairs, waving oh so gently as if they were under water. All shall be well and all shall be well said the ocean. So the place of reconciliation existed after all, not like a little knot hole in a cupboard but flowing everywhere and being everything. I had only to will it and it would be, for spirit is omnipotent only I never knew it, like being able to walk on the air. I could forgive. I could be forgiven. I could forgive. Perhaps that was the whole of it after all. Perhaps being forgiven was just forgiving only no one had ever told me. There was nothing else needful. Just to forgive. Forgiving equals being forgiven, the secret of the universe, do not whatever you do forget it. The past was folded up and in the twinkling of an eye everything had been changed and made beautiful and good.

THURSDAY.

I SEEMED to have been asleep, only this was not like waking from sleep. Of course I knew what had happened. I knew it quite early on when I was looking at the kettle, only it had already not seemed important, just rather sweet and funny. I looked laboriously at my watch. It said twelve. But what did twelve mean? I looked about me, breathing regularly and deeply and feeling how pleasant simply breathing was. Gradually the world assembled itself into accustomed shapes. I was in Christopher's room, lying flat with my head on a cushion. Christopher, dressed only in his underpants, was lying on the pile of cushions which he used for a bed. Jimbo Davis was stretched out on the floor face down, one hand flung out above his head. Laura was lying at right angles to Christopher with her head resting upon his bare stomach. Her dress was undone to the waist and she had pulled her arm out of one sleeve revealing a plump shoulder and a straining brassiere. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling. I looked at my watch and it said one. Was it day or night?

The door bell rang. I listened to it thoughtfully. It went on ringing. I began to get up. It was difficult. I got to my knees, to my feet, and stepped over Jimbo. I felt all right, rather well really, only a little odd spatially. My jacket had disappeared and my shirt was open and hanging out of my trousers. My mind functioned. The bell was ringing again. I opened the door. It was Freddie Impiatt.

By this time I was fairly in control of myself. I stood there looking at Freddie and pushing my shirt in. Freddie was red-faced and hatless. He said in a tense choking voice, 'Is Laura here?'

I reflected. She had better not be. I said, 'No. Sorry.'

'I've been here before, I kept ringing the bell only no one answered. I could see the light was on. I don't know where she is.'

'Sorry.'

'I believe she's here. I'm coming in.' He put a foot through the door.

'Sorry, Freddie, not now. The boys have freaked out. I can't. Anyway it's the middle of the night. It is the middle of the night, isn't it, it's not the day? I mean it's not one o'clock in the afternoon, is it?' I began to push Freddie's foot with my foot. My foot pushed harder. 'I'm sorry,' I said. I managed to shut the door.

I started to look round for the telephone so as to ring the speaking clock to find out if it was day or night, only the telephone seemed to have disappeared. Somebody loomed up. It was Jimbo. I held onto him.

'Are you all right, Hilary?'

'Yes, are you?'

'I didn't take anything, I was just asleep. Don't be cross.'

'That was Freddie looking for Laura. I told him she wasn't here. I didn't want him to come in and see this.'

Christopher was still lying on his back with his mouth open. Laura had shifted, turning on her side, her head now resting on a cushion up against his shoulder, her bare arm extended across his chest. They were both slumbering reposefully, deeply.

'We'd better try to wake her up,' said Jimbo. 'Come on now, wake up, time to go home.'

We pulled her into a sitting position and pushed her arm back into her sleeve and buttoned up her dress. She was heavy and floppy and warm. She opened her eyes, still smiling, and rose quite steadily, holding onto Jimbo's hand.

I said to her, 'It's late, Laura, off you go. Freddie was here looking for you. I said you weren't here, but you were. Take her home in a taxi, will you, Jimbo?'

I went into my bedroom. The light was still turned on. I lay down on the bed. I heard Jimbo talking to Laura, helping her on with her coat, leading her out of the front door. Of course it was night as everything was dark outside. I did not feel at all sleepy, just rather relaxed, and I lay back on my pillow and meditated. I had not been very intelligent with Freddie. Laura would presumably tell him the truth, which was not after all in any way discreditable, and all I had done was make something which was innocent look like something which was not. I had also prolonged poor Freddie's anxiety about his wife. Yet surely it was also right to keep him out of that room. What a difficult situation and how naughty of the boys to drug us! I hoped that Freddie would understand.

Then suddenly I remembered, first that there was something I ought to have done, and then what it was. I was to have gone to Crystal's this evening to supervise Gunnar's visit, and to go in to her immediately after it was over. This evening. But it was now nearly two o'clock in the morning. I sat up abruptly and put my feet on the floor. Crystal would have expected me, waited anxiously for me. Gunnar had been with her, and there had been no one to protect her. I stood up and held my head. I wanted to telephone, to run to her at once, but after a moment this seemed absurd. She would be asleep by now. I would go to her in the morning at breakfast time. I sat down again, filled with anxiety and pain. The sense of a 'good dream,' which had been with me, was fading and my ordinary consciousness, my ordinary misery, were reasserting their rights. I had failed to be there to look after Crystal, to watch over her. What could she have imagined, what feared, when I so shamefully failed to turn up? I had slept, I had dreamed, when I should have been standing sentinel against the enemy.

I heard the quiet sound of Jimbo returning. He came and tapped on my door.

'You took her home?'

'Yes, he was waiting up. He was very glad to see her.'

'Well, I hope that was all right.'

As I spoke I was staring at a little rectangle of white upon my bedside table. I wondered what it was. It appeared to be a printed card. I picked it up, and read Neville Osmond, Educational Consultant. I stared at it uncomprehendingly.

'Where on earth did this come from?' I said to Jimbo.

'He left it.'

'He?'

'Yes, the chap who came last night, he said he'd taught you at school.'

Then it came back to me, a strange strange image of Mr Osmand as some kind of beast, peering closely into my face. Yet it seemed like a dream.

'He came, he really came? But I saw him in a dream. He can't have been here.'

'You were under the influence. He tried to talk to you, he went down on his knees and looked at you. I said you were on a trip.'

'What did I do? Did I talk?'

'You giggled a lot and you recited some sort of gibberish.'

'Oh Christ. Oh Christ -'

'Sorry, Hilary - Look, it wasn't my idea - '

'Did he leave an address, did he say he'd come back?'

'No, he just left the card with his name on.'

'Oh God. Go away, will you. Go away and turn the light out.'

I lay there staring into the darkness. So, after all these years, Mr Osmand had managed to track down his prize pupil, his creation, his great achievement, Hilary Burde. What a proud moment.

IT WAS Thursday morning. I was with Crystal before eight o'clock. She seemed quite surprised to see me.

'Why, darling, hello, I didn't expect you now.'

'Why didn't you expect me now? You expected me last night I suppose?'

'Yes, but when you didn't come I thought you'd been detained.'

'Detained?'

'We looked out every now and then - '

'We?'

'Gunnar and I.'

'You mean you told Gunnar - ?'

'Yes, I told him you were going to walk up and down outside, only we looked out several times and you weren't there and then I'm afraid we forgot.'

'You forgot?'

'Well, yes. Then when he went away - '

'What time did he go away?'

'It must have been nearly midnight.'

'You mean he was here from seven till midnight?'

'Yes. I gave him supper. I didn't expect him to stay so long. I had the supper here for you. But he ate it.'

'He did, did he. What did you give him for supper?'

'Fish fingers and peas and apricot tart. He liked it. He said he'd never had fish fingers before.'

'God! Don't you want to know why I didn't turn up? I thought you'd be worried stiff.'

'What happened?'

'The boys drugged me. They gave me a cake with some foul stuff in it.'

'Are you all right?'

'Yes, but I had a jolly weird evening. I didn't come to till after midnight.' I did not tell Crystal about Mr Osmand, it was too painful. It had certainly been a weird evening. What I remembered of it was not really like a dream, it was more like an experience, as if I had actually been taken somewhere and shown things, which I could not now recall quite clearly. I could see Mr Osmand as a beetle walking. I could remember the gentle good beast who was everything. But there had been something else which was important, a sort of mathematical equation or something, but what had it been?

'Make some tea, will you, darling? What on earth was it like, what did Gunnar have to say, he didn't sort of make advances to you, did he?'

'No, of course not! We talked.'

'What about?'

'Oh, about everything. About the past, about you, about his job, about what it was like living in New York, about a dog he'd had in New York, it was called Rosie, and this dog - '