It happened that Ronny had been left all alone on the afternoon before the party, while Grace had gone off with Mary and Jeremy to get last minute supplies in Star Harbour. The child had stood for a long time at the foot of the stairs, listening to the emptiness of the house, to the sounds of disintegration which were like groans in its bosom, to the constant sighing of the water beneath. Then he had gone out into the sun. Ronny had formed one of those resolves, perverse and sometimes criminal, which have led men to the gallows; one of those decisions made even more terrible because they are acted upon calmly and in an ordinary way. It is as though the subject’s own soul were hypnotizing his body and his brain, putting him in a trance. Something, at any rate, inside him whispers: ‘Enough! Suffer as you will for it, flesh and sentiment, this must end.’

Now, without hesitating, Ronny led Gambol from his stall. The animal was munching a mouthful of hay and continued in this exercise as Ronny led him through the reeds and towards the water. The tide was ebbing and it was shallow all the way around to the water door, never more than waist deep. Gambol followed his master trustfully. He liked being in the water where the flies did not bite.

Ronny drove Gambol into the boat garage, but did not go in himself. Standing waist high in the water, he strained at the rusty chain which held the door. After a while the door, slimy to the touch, came down a little way. Then it broke from its groove and became wedged across the opening. Inside, Gambol waited patiently. Ronny meant the horse to drown when the tide came in, but if Gambol knew this he made no sign.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

To the big room overlooking the bay Mary had brought many long candles. She was obeying Grace Villars although it seemed a silly waste of money. On a table at one end were laid out sandwiches, salty delicacies, and liquor. Jeremy and the sailor who had landed Walsh were acting as barmen. Out on the water the “High Kick” gleamed in the twilight. Her white paint turned her into a swan and she was only disgraced by the dingy “Arabella” anchored alongside. Both ships moved a little with the incoming tide as though resentful of their chains.

Eddie, Flo and Ruby had arrived at dusk, rowing themselves ashore, or rather, Flo rowing the other two. In landing they had seen Jim’s speed-boat lying high on the beach and half hidden by the reeds.

“This stuff’s spooky,” complained Ruby. For a minute they were hidden from each other by the hundreds of stalks rustling and dried of sap by the bitter salt sand in which they were rooted.

Ruby went on: “The guy’s supposed to be rich, living in a dump like this?”

“Oh it’s changed,” said Eddie. “Before it was like a castle and you landed right inside it.”

Ronny, who was sitting on a chair eating chicken sandwiches and watching the preparations, leapt up when Eddie arrived. But Eddie and Walsh were greeting each other.

“Son of a gun, Eddie! Still out of jail?” Jim clapped him on the shoulder. Eddie brought back poignantly those days when the fruits of wealth had still tasted sweet.

“It’s good to see you’re still a free man too, Mr. Walsh,” said Eddie in his soft, tender voice, his head tipped sideways as though in mockery.

“Yes, I guess we’re both a couple of rascals,” said Jim. He look enquiringly at Flo and at the heavy girl in pants.

“We came to the party, Mr. Walsh,” explained Eddie, reading Jim’s mind. “Ronny invited us.”

Jim was delighted. For some reason the fact that Ronny knew Eddie, had picked him out of the whole of Star Harbour, filled him with pride. And now Ronny himself was plucking at Eddie’s sleeve.

“Did you bring it?” he asked.

“Hello youngster, bring what?” As comprehension dawned, Eddie started to laugh. Then seeing the tenseness of the boy’s expression, he stopped and said seriously: “No Ronny, those things have to be done scientific. Don’t they, Mr. Walsh?”

“What are you talking about?” asked Jim, who had been examining Ronny closely and almost furtively.

“Well, Mr. Walsh, Flo here is a famous man with the needles. I guess he couldn’t resist practicing on the boy. Come on, Ronny, show Mr. Walsh what you got.”

Ronny made no sign that he had heard. His expression was one of deep thought, as though his mind were a prism and he was trying to wrest the secret surfaces around for inspection.

Then Flo, who had been standing behind Eddie as usual, darted forward and pulled up the short sleeved cotton sweater from Ronny’s waist. “Ain’t it fine?” he demanded proudly, pointing at the tattooed heart.

Ronny, startled out of his thoughts, flushed. “They said something would take it away,” he cried angrily. “I told them to bring it. That’s why I asked them to your party.”

“You’re all crazy, I guess,” said Ruby, and went off to the table to see what there was to eat.

“Who’s June?” asked Walsh.

“Oh, nobody in particular,” said Ronny in a hopeless voice. With a gesture of his hand he drifted off and sat down near the window.

“Well, I suppose it wasn’t quite right to do it,” said Walsh. “Those things don’t come out easily.” Then, feeling that perhaps he was showing a too paternal interest, he asked: “What did Mrs. Villars say?”

“About what, darling?” Grace came up and slipped her arm around Jim’s waist, throwing at the same time her baby-bright gaze at Eddie.

“Well, I hear the kid got tattooed,” said Jim. He felt self-conscious talking to Grace about her son in public.

“You do worry about that silly child,” said Grace wickedly. “He got a tiresome crush on a girl called June, but he’s getting over it now. I just threw them together.”

“Good-looking girl.” Eddie’s voice was like a malicious caress. ‘You’re a pretty little kitten, aren’t you?’ it seemed to say by inflection, ‘and I’ll just stroke your fur the wrong way a bit.’ Then, looking straight at Walsh, Eddie continued: “And that’s a fine boy, Mr. Walsh.”

“A manly little fellow!” mocked Grace with her pearly laugh. “Really, you two do seem to be growing maudlin. I better separate you. Mr. Eddie, be a gent and give me a drink.”

As they moved off, Eddie said softly: “But I’m not a gent.”

Either by accident or in answer to his words, Grace’s shoulder brushed against the muscles of his upper arm and she fancied she could feel through his sleeve the great, twisting, swollen veins that bound them.

Jim was left behind. Eddie’s remark flashed like a light before his inner eye and its shape repeated itself again and again in various colours on the retina of his mind. Eddie had looked directly at him. Was there, could there be, a resemblance? After all, Eddie had known him, Jim, ten years ago, when he was a younger man. And once, much farther back than that, Jim’s hair too had been black and rough, his eyes shining and full of dreams. He looked at Ronny across the room, but the boy’s face was set towards the window and towards the incoming tide. Walsh was surprised on turning back to see Flo’s ratlike little face below his own.

“A man’s got to practice,” said Flo plaintively. “It didn’t seem like I was doing anything wrong.”

To Jim, who had forgotten all about the tattooing, these words were incomprehensible. Without replying he went off to find Grace. He would talk to her now without further delay.

Stevens arrived a little later. He stood with Lucy in the door of the room and looked around. Stevens was astounded to see Eddie and Flo, yet on an instant’s reflection he realized that this was a master touch. Only Grace could be so sure of herself and of her social standing. Once in her power, no one was out of place, or rather, they were in the exact place she wanted them to be in. This was her empire: prince, slave, and fool. For some reason Stevens found himself thinking about the abalone shell and he resolved to bring it out of the closet and put it in its old place of honour.

Lucy, standing at his side, was utterly bewildered. Would no one greet them? It was already minutes that they had stood framed in the doorway. She put her hand nervously to her hair. Perhaps having it set was a mistake. It felt precise and flat. Anyone could see that she had just come out of the beauty parlour. The word ‘local’ came into her mind.

Then Grace ran up, dragging Jim by the hand. “Darlings! Or rather, darling, because I don’t know your—friend, James, although I’m longing to. Jim, this is James Stevens, who’s been so good to Ronny, and this is—?”

“Miss Philmore,” said Stevens very correctly and bowing to Walsh. He would have liked to kiss Grace’s hand, but was afraid of the older man’s deep eyes.

“Miss Philmore. What a charming village name,” said Grace, and just as Lucy was angrily thinking ‘Bitch!’ she added with an appealing simplicity: “I come from a village just like this one. Star Harbour takes me back to my childhood. James wants to get away but I tell him he is lucky.” She tucked her arm into Lucy’s and drew her towards the table. “I tell him he should marry a nice Star Harbour girl and settle down,” she said.

The warm, childish voice, so open and sincere, flooded Lucy’s heart with pain. It seemed to hold out such happiness, as though these words could make a dream come true.

From the back, where Jim and Stevens were following, the difference between the two women was grotesque. The doll-like silhouette of Grace with its twirling skirts was pointed up by Lucy’s stooping back and her long, pear-shaped hips.

June arrived the last of all. She had walked slowly and carefully through meadow and wood so as not to catch her new dress on the bushes. A candelabra had been set in the boathouse entrance beneath a mildewed mirror. June coming in alone was startled by her reflection. Her sleeveless dress was open at the neck. In the flickering light the joints of her shoulders were polished and the rich supple cords of her throat. She was like a stern, honey-coloured angel.

“So I am beautiful after all!” she murmured, clenching her fists. “The main thing is not to forget it.”

But no one appeared to notice her coming. They were all gathered around the window to watch the fireworks from Jim’s yacht. Mary blew out the candles and the last of the twilight showed through the big window. Now the tide was quite high. Its voice surrounded the house. June felt as she walked across the room that her body was swayed by its rhythm, and it seemed to her as she stood beside him that Ronny too was captured by it, for his body trembled.

A bulb of light shot upwards from the “High Kick” and unfolded from its center a chalice which poured blue poison into the sky. In that ghastly light which illuminated the room, everyone stood rigid, as though to move were fatal. Then a great rosy wheel started to turn out there on the bay and, revolving ever faster, printed the watching eye. No one could tell at what exact point it went out because it kept on turning for each of them privately, and for several moments longer showered green sparks into their optic nerves.

June blinked as the fiery sparks pierced her brain, yet the feeling was not unpleasant. It was as though they were torches hurled into a cave. If only they would light the way, she thought, into those dark, twisting mind passages of which she was ignorant, discover in that maze the direction of her spirit. Once or twice she almost believed they did, but of course it was impossible. They went out too quickly, stifled in that airless cavern.

June wondered if Ronny felt the same way, or even if he were enjoying the fireworks at all. Certainly he was looking out towards the bay, but he had been doing so since June’s arrival, sitting there quietly with, as she fancied, the tide vibrating through his body.

Suddenly the fireworks were over, leaving night in their wake. The candles glowed again and made the windows black in contrast, save for the penetrating, far-off glitter of the stars.