Read Online The Bell by Iris Murdoch - Free Book Online Page A

prevented it from being dazzling. Her smile was warm yet somewhat secretive. Her large eyes, of a cold sea-grey colour, did not sustain Dora’s stare. Dora still found her, in some undefined way, a little menacing.
    â€˜Would you like a boiled egg or something?’ said Mrs Mark. ‘We usually have high tea at six and just milk and biscuits after Compline.’ She indicated a side table with mugs and a large biscuit tin in which Peter Topglass was now rummaging.
    The group around Dora had broken up. Michael Meade could be seen, in converse with Mark Strafford, flashing a nervous smile of irregular teeth, his long hands darting about in Egyptian gestures. ‘No more Petit Beurre,’ Peter Topglass was saying meditatively to himself in the background.
    â€˜No egg, thank you,’ said Dora. ‘I ate something on the train.’
    â€˜A little milk then?’
    â€˜No, thank you, nothing,’ said Dora. She thought of the whisky bottles. They would be in South Wales by now.
    James Tayper Pace came bursting back through the doors, crying ‘Eureka! Toby was the lucky one!’
    Toby Gashe followed holding Dora’s shoes by the heels, one in each hand. He lowered his eyes as he approached Dora and his dusky red cheeks burned a little redder. He presented to her the top of his round dark head as he gave her the shoes with an embarrassed little obeisance.
    â€˜Oh, Toby, thank you so much!’ said Dora.
    Paul came in, his face wrinkled up with irritation.
    â€˜Well sought, dear James and Toby,’ said Father Bob Joyce. ‘There is more rejoicing over what is lost and found than over what has never gone astray.’
    â€˜And now,’ said James, ‘since Mrs Greenfield’s shoes have been discovered, we can all go to bed.’

CHAPTER 3
    PAUL AND DORA WERE ALONE.
    â€˜That notebook is irreplaceable,’ said Paul. ‘It represents years of work. I was a fool to ask you to bring it.’
    â€˜I’m terribly sorry,’ said Dora. ‘I’m sure we’ll get it back. I’ll go to the station tomorrow.’
    â€˜I ought to have telephoned at once,’ said Paul, ‘only your antics put it out of my head. Why did you want to take your shoes off anyway?’
    â€˜My feet hurt,’ said Dora. ‘I told you that.’
    They looked at each other in the austere light of a strong unshaded electric light bulb. Paul’s room was on the first floor, with two large windows looking towards the Abbey side. It had been a grand bedroom in its time, with green panelling and a great mirror set in the wall. It was furnished now with two iron beds, two upright chairs, a large trestle table on which Paul had spread his books and papers, and a small pretty mahogany table which looked like a relic of former days. Paul’s suitcase, open and half unpacked, stood in the corner. Two new but cheap mats were on the floor which otherwise was bare. The room echoed as they spoke.
    Paul stood with one hand on his hip and stared at Dora. He could scan her in this way for a long time, frowning slightly, and this always frightened her. Yet at the same moment she knew that this was a manifestation of love, of that untiring and relentless love that Paul went on feeling for her, and which held her resentful, fascinated, ultimately grateful. She looked back at him, uneasy, yet admiring the solidity of him, full to the brim with his love and his work and all his certainty about life. She felt flimsy and ephemeral by comparison, as if she were merely a thought in his mind.
    To end the stare she went up to him and shook him gently by the shoulders. ‘Paul, don’t be cross.’
    Paul moved away, not responding to her touch. ‘Only you’, he said, ‘would be simple-minded enough, after betraying me in the way you have done, to paw me and say “Don’t be cross”!’ He imitated her, and then went to dig in his suitcase and pull out his