The Beautiful Visit (22 page)

Maria still lay on the bed. When I set the tray on a table, she sat up and stared at me. Her face was quite white, which somehow shocked and astonished me. I expected her to be flushed, with red
eyes, but this strained even pallor alarmed me. She had not been crying then, just lying there for these two silent hours.

‘I’ve brought a meal,’ I said.

She would not eat, although I tried to make her as hard as my diffidence would allow. The coffee was appalling, but she drank it without comment. I tried to talk; she replied with courtesy to my
advances, which soon came to an end, however, when I could think of nothing new to say. The evening dragged on. I do not remember anything about it except the general oppression of complete
anti-climax.

She knocked on my door when I was undressing; wearing the wrapper in which I had first seen her, with her hair down her shoulders. It is how I remember her, standing in a doorway, waiting for me
to speak.

‘Understand me,’ she said. ‘I do not
at all
mind your staying here.
At all
, she emphasized, as though aware that she had not perfectly expressed her meaning.
Then, before I could reply, she had gone; shutting my door with a gentle decision which permitted no further discourse.

I lay awake for a long time that night, thinking about her and Rupert, and the love people were able to have for each other. There were my parents to consider, but whether they had ever felt
deeply about each other at moments like these I could not determine. Perhaps they had not been parted, at least not for a war. Perhaps they had never really had the chance or conditions to be in
love. Perhaps parents had to be too much concerned with houses and children
and
making enough money; so that the initial reason for undertaking all these responsibilities was lost under a
morass of material emergencies. Of course Rupert and Maria were not married. I had to think very hard here, because they were to me an exception, and I felt cautious about them. Nearly everyone
married, and I had always understood that this was because they fell in love; but according to Maria loving someone was a life in itself demanding all the energy and sensibility that she
possessed.

The phrase ‘until they’ve settled down’ came into my mind as being one which was often applied to newly married people. Rupert had said that he and Maria had not had time;
perhaps that was what he had meant. Then I had only the extremes before me; the end of my parents, and the beginning of Rupert and Maria. This settling down then, seemed an unhappy horrible affair,
a disillusionment from which there was no escape or second chance. I did not want to settle down if it was like that, I decided. Perhaps it was merely a matter of selecting one’s love with
tremendous care. I remembered a discussion between my father and another man about what book they would take to a desert island. I remembered privately selecting my choice, and knew that now I
would take no such book because I had changed. One could not manage with any one book on a desert island. Suddenly, like a shooting star in the midst of these depressing conclusions, Mrs Lancing
fell into my mind. She seemed happy enough; serene, and surrounded by her devoted family. I turned over to sleep, and the star went out as suddenly as it had come; because try as I would, I could
not imagine myself a Mrs Lancing.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I went home. Maria accepted my departure indifferently. She seemed sunk in a kind of stupor. I never saw her again.

I only answered one of the advertisements I read, for the simple reason that it seemed the only position I was capable of occupying. Also, it was the only position that my family would allow;
and that I could believe would suit my purpose. I read that a lady living in south-east England, required a young and cheerful companion; light duties, congenial surroundings, etc.; ending with a
box number to which I wrote. I was subsequently interviewed in London by an enigmatic but kindly relative of Mrs Border. I had a long argument with my family, which I won through sheer patience and
determination; and about three weeks after Rupert had left the studio I set out from my home for the third time in my life.

I realized in the train, that having secured permission to take this step was perhaps my most considerable achievement hitherto. My sister had unwittingly turned the scale by assuring my mother
that I should be back in no lime at all, and that then I should settle down. That was the phrase she used, with no idea that it was the one utterance calculated to spur me into persistence.

Two men in the compartment were discussing the probable ambitions and state of mind of the Kaiser; but it was a beautiful afternoon and I did not listen. I watched the tightly packed grey houses
with gigantic sunflowers in their back gardens; die street children (who never looked at the train, I noticed, for they lived too near the railway); the factories, belching smoke and splayed with
advertisement of their products. Then the beginnings of country; or rather the end of London. My thoughts began travelling ahead to the house where I was going, and Mrs Border whose company I was
to be paid to keep. The country gradually arrived, and was beautiful. There were enormous patterns of corn stocks curving in lines over the fields; trees laden with leaves declining to a languid
yellow; steep fields of stubble and clover; and girls picking blackberries into a blue pail. There were neat green ponds spattered with ducks; hedges sharpened with brilliant berries; rich brown
and white cows muddling through a gate; and the sky a pale simple blue, even and cloudless.

What would Mrs Border be like? The relative had said she was lame; had murmured something about rheumatism. I would wheel her in a chair, I thought; she would be certain to possess a chair. I
would take her for walks in the afternoons. In many ways I would make her life nicer for her. I wondered what Rupert would say to this adventure. I had not heard from him, although Maria had had a
postcard just before I left the studio. She had begun to work again and had promised to let me know about them both, although she never wrote letters. Already the studio seemed distant. I did not
mind: setting off to an unknown destination with a salary was an absorbing occupation.

The men were discussing the probable strength of the German navy. They did not agree about anything. They became angrier and more confidential as the stations slipped by. It was a leisurely
train. About half an hour too soon I began looking at my watch, struggling with my case, and tucking away the ends of my hair.

A fly met me at the station. At this point I began to feel vaguely frightened. It was not the fly, or the journey, both of which I enjoyed; it was the curious feeling that in a matter of minutes
I should be snatched away from myself, be questioned, watched, appraised, be alone with someone I did not know, and utterly subject to her approval. I began to feel sick. Just as the sickness was
becoming unbearable we turned into a lane and then a short drive overhung with evergreen trees. It was like diving into a cave.

The drive ended in a small sweep before the house, which had pointed gables and was covered with creeper. The man jumped down and rang the bell, which was immediately answered by a tall elderly
parlour maid. She led the way straight upstairs to a bedroom, followed by me, and the driver with my luggage. I was requested to ring when I was ready to be taken downstairs to tea, as Mrs Border
was waiting for it, whereupon they withdrew on my presenting the man with a shilling for his services. I hurriedly washed my hands, and laid my jacket on the bed, but even in my nervous haste had
time to be struck by one feature of the room. Its walls were covered, literally covered, with water colours, all in precisely the same kind of golden frame, six deep on the walls, with barely two
inches between them. They gave the room a curiously crowded appearance, as with the sun from the window, they were reflected in each others’ glass, which multiplied their already impressive
numbers, and confused their colour to distraction. I rang.

Mrs Border sat in a large chair, very close to a blazing fire. The curtains were half drawn across the narrow Gothic windows and I did not immediately see her face.

‘Come in, come in,’ she said. ‘Come and sit by the fire after your terrible journey. We’ll have tea at once, Spalding.’ There was only one other chair within polite
conversational reach, and that was equally near the fire. However I sat on it.

‘Well,’ said Mrs Border. ‘Let’s have a good look at each other. This is the first time you’ve ever done anything of this nature, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ I said. I was looking at her hair which was quite black and most elaborately curled with a waving fringe arranged across her forehead.

‘And why are you doing it now? Quarrelled with your family or crossed in love?’

This seemed to me impertinent.

‘Neither,’ I said firmly. ‘I wanted a job.’

‘Good. How old are your?’

‘Nineteen,’ I lied.

‘You don’t look it. Well, you can take it from me that men are very queer creatures.’

Spalding brought the tea on a large Japanese tray which she set on a low table between us. It was the most magnificent tea.

‘You pour out,’ said Mrs Border. ‘I should like a quince jelly sandwich, with brown bread.’ I poured the tea, and made the sandwich.

The walls of this room also were covered with water colours. I was beginning to realize that they were the work of one artist when I caught Mrs Border looking at me with small grey eyes.

‘You were looking at my pictures.’

‘Are they yours?’

‘I own them and I painted them. I never sell them. I like them round me. After tea you must examine them more closely. Now I should like asparagus with brown bread rolled round
it.’

She ate exceedingly fast.

‘Help yourself to food,’ she said. ‘I don’t like to know what other people eat; it confuses me.’

She occupied the rest of tea, which continued for a long time, by asking me about my family, and background as she called it. I must have sounded incredibly dull, because after that day she
never asked me any more about myself. It was terribly hot in the room. Tea was cleared away, and we continued to sit there until she told me to look at her pictures.

‘Start there,’ she said, pointing to the door. I assured her that I knew nothing about painting, but she brushed this aside.

‘I don’t care what you know. I want to hear what you
feel
,’ she said.

So round the room I went, admiring what I afterwards counted to be seventy-five water colours.

Sunsets, flowers, churches, buildings, the sea and bits of the room I was in. Many subjects were repeated again and again, particularly the sunsets. The pictures were bad. But apart from
avoiding this elementary and final criticism, I could think of nothing to say. There was something almost lovable in her assurance of their quality. Finally, hot and embarrassed, I was allowed back
to my seat.

Mrs Border then proceeded to tell me a little about herself, and the life she now led. She lived very quietly, she said; because of her lameness and her unfortunate life she had few friends. I
gathered that her uncle had left her the house, or lived in it before her, or bought it for her, and that except for one or two relations to stay, she saw nobody. Very different from what it once
had been. Her narration was larded with obscure hints about her past; occasionally, I had the impression that she invited questions, but I was so conscious of my new position that I dismissed this
as absurd. Except for going to church three times a year – she would go more often, she assured me, but for the present vicar, of whom she disapproved – she went abroad very little,
except to London every two or three years to shop. But her lameness made these visits increasingly exhausting, and also rendered a companion necessary. She was, she said, quite content with her
painting and other ploys. She waved her hand vaguely when she said this, and for the first time I noticed an utterly silent and motionless parrot on a perch. I could not think why I had not seen
him before. His stillness was as noticeable as the shuffling and squawking I should have expected from such a bird.

‘Was he asleep?’ I asked interrupting her.

‘No. But he only talks at night. He’s a night bird, aren’t you, Iago?’ The bird rolled its curious double eyelids at her but did not move.

We sat there until seven o’clock, when Mrs Border retired to prepare for dinner. I offered, rather timidly, to assist her, but she answered that she did not wish me to begin my duties that
evening, leaving me in considerable apprehension as to what my duties would be when they did begin.

Alone, I walked to the windows. They were narrow and upright; fashioned to admit as little light as possible. The light was dying already. Colour had almost left the garden into which I looked.
I could, however, faintly discern a brick wall edged with flower beds, a gravel path and a lawn. The size and shape of the garden could not be seen.

I was startled by the maid, Spalding, who made up the fire, and then drew the curtains, with a purposeful gesture which depressed me. She did not speak, and I could think of nothing to say,
although then I should have been grateful for the utmost banality.

I was standing uncertainly in the middle of the room when a shrill little gong rang. I followed Spalding meekly across the passage to the dining-room.

Mrs Border was already seated at the end of a small and elaborately laid table. She was clad in plum-coloured silk and a white cashmere shawl. I apologized for my lateness.

‘Dinner is at a quarter past seven,’ she replied affably,

We began a long meal, with exceedingly hot soup which Mrs Border drank with alarming speed. Game, sweet and a savoury followed. I found it difficult even to simulate hunger. The room was papered
deep red which alone would have produced an illusion of heat; but seemed now to collect the warmth of the fire and throw it back at one from all sides of the room.

We repaired at length to the drawing-room, where we played backgammon until ten o’clock, when hot milk was brought to us by Spalding, which I was emboldened to refuse.