The Bell by Iris Murdoch Page B

You may find he’s a bit gloomy at times. He’s had a difficult life. It’ll cheer him up to have a little company, draw him into things a bit.’
    â€˜Nick Fawley?’ said Toby, surprised.
    â€˜Yes, he’s Catherine Fawley’s brother, her twin brother, in fact. Didn’t James tell you? I’m so sorry, we’re being very inefficient. You must think we’re a proper collection of otherworldly crack-pots! ’
    Toby felt disconcerted, he didn’t quite know why, to learn that the man at the Lodge was Catherine’s brother. He stole a glance sideways at Michael Meade, but could not see his face. Michael seemed uneasy and embarrassed. Probably he was always rather an awkward man and not easy to get on with like James. Toby felt perplexed. The sense of adventure was gone now and only anxiety remained. He stumbled from the grass on the stony surface of the drive.
    â€˜Here we are on the drive,’ said Michael. ‘You probably remember all this from this afternoon. The avenue of trees from the entrance ends here - it frames the view of the house from the road - but the drive turns away round the end of the lake. It’s quite a long walk that way to the house, more than a mile.’
    They walked on in silence towards the Lodge. Toby saw that a light was shining from one of the windows. A dog began to bark.
    â€˜That’s Nick’s dog, Murphy,’ said Michael Meade. ‘Murphy is quite a character.’ Michael seemed to be nervous.
    â€˜I adore dogs,’ said Toby inanely, feeling nervous too.
    â€˜Nick used to work in aero-dynamics,’ said Michael Meade. ‘He knows a lot about engines. In fact, he’s by way of being our Transport Officer here. You shall be his understudy. I do hope you’ll like it here, Toby,’ he added, turning to look at the boy as they neared the Lodge. ‘We’re all so pleased you were able to come.’
    They arrived at the porch. There was no knocker, but Michael knocked briskly with his fist on the wood of the door with an imperious echoing sound. From within the dog’s barking was redoubled. Michael slowly pushed the door open and entered. Toby followed.
    He shaded his eyes. All the electric lights were so bright at Imber. The door opened straight into what must be the living-room. In a quick dazzled glance Toby saw a large stove in the wall, two sagging wickerwork armchairs, an immense deal table, a wireless set, and a great many newspapers strewn on the floor. There was an unpleasant smell of stale food. The dog was barking and jumping about. A man who had been sitting behind the table had risen and was looking at Michael.
    â€˜The great man himself!’ said Nick Fawley. ‘I didn’t expect you. One is not often visited. One is gratified.’
    â€˜I brought young Toby along,’ said Michael, amid the continued din of barking.
    â€˜Shut up, Murphy!’ said Nick. ‘Shut up!’
    Murphy was a rusty brown dog, of indefinite terrier breed, with a white beard and an intelligent monkey-like face. He had a long sleek mud-coloured tail which hung limply from his rump as if stuck on as an afterthought. Becoming silent, he stood near Toby, legs stiff and fur slightly rising, looking up at him with inscrutable hostility. A long gleaming fang carelessly wrinkled the soft dark skin of his lower jaw. Toby eyed him uneasily.
    â€˜You brought young Toby along,’ said Nick. ‘That was nice of you.’
    Toby stole a glance at Nick. He was immediately startled by Nick’s close resemblance to Catherine. Here was the same long slightly heavy face, the leaden slumbrous eyelids, the curling fringe of dark hair over the high forehead, the large eyes and secretive expression. Only Nick was wrinkled about the eyes, which were red-rimmed and watery, as if from much laughing, and this, together with a sagging of the cheeks, gave him something of the look of a bloodhound. His nose