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By Root 7712 0

we should find my uncle, my aunt, my Aunt Phillippa, my cousin Jasper, and, of recent years, Jasper's wife and children; and besides them, perhaps already arrived, perhaps every moment expected, my wife and my children. This annual sacrifice united us; here among the holly and mistletoe and the cut spruce, the parlour game's ritually performed, the brandy-butter and the Carlsbad plums, the village choir in the pitch-pine minstrels' gallery, gold twine and sprigged wrappingpaper, she and I were accepted, whatever ugly rumours had been afloat in tile past year, as man and wife. 'We must keep it up, whatever it costs us, for the sake of the children my wife said.

'Yes, two Christmases...And the three days, of good taste before I followed you to Capri.'

'Our first summer.'

'Do you remember how I hung about Naples, then followed, how we met by arrangement on the hill path and how flat it fell?'

'I went back to the villa and said, "Papa, who do you think has arrived at the hotel?" and he said, "Charles Ryder, I suppose." I said, "Why did you think of him?" and papa replied, "Cara came back from Paris with the news that you and he were inseparable. He seems to have a penchant for my children. However, bring him here; I think we have the room."

'There was the time you had jaundice and wouldn't let me see you.'

'And when I had flu and you were afraid to come.'

'Countless visits to Rex's constituency.'

'And Coronation Week, when you ran away from London. Your goodwill mission to your father-in-law. The time you went to Oxford to paint the picture they didn't like. Oh, yes, quite a hundred days.'

'A hundred days wasted out of two years and a bit...not a day's coldness or mistrust or disappointment.'

'Never that.'

We fell silent; only the birds spoke in a multitude of small, clear voices in the lime trees; only the waters spoke among their carved stones.

Julia took the handkerchief from my breast pocket and dried her hand; then lit a cigarette. I feared to break the spell of memories, but for once our thoughts had not kept pace together, for when at length Julia spoke, she said sadly: 'How many more? Another hundred?'

'A lifetime.'

'I want to marry you, Charles.'

'One day; why now?'

'War,' she said, 'this year, next year, sometime soon. I want a day or two with you of real peace.'

'Isn't this peace?'

The sun had sunk now to the line of woodland beyond the valley; all the opposing slope was already in twilight, but the lakes below us were aflame; the light grew in strength and splendour as it neared death, drawing long shadows across the pasture, falling full on the rich stone spaces of the house, firing the panes in the windows, glowing on cornices and colonnade and dome, spreading out all the stacked merchandise of colour and scent from earth and stone and leaf, glorifying the head and golden shoulders of the woman beside me.

'What do you mean by "peace", if not this?'

'So much more'; and then in a chill, matter-of-fact tone she continued: 'Marriage isn't a thing we can take when the impulse moves us. There must be a divorce—two divorces. We must make plans.'

'Plans, divorce, war—on an evening like this.'

'Sometimes said Julia, 'I feel the past and the future pressing so hard on either side that there's no room for the present at all.' Then Wilcox came down the steps into the sunset to tell us that dinner was ready.

Shutters were up, curtains drawn, candles lit, in the Painted Parlour.

'Hullo, it's laid for three,'

'Lord Brideshead arrived half an hour ago, my lady. He sent a message would you please not wait dinner for him as he may be a little late.'

'It seems months since he was here last,' said Julia. 'What does he do in London?'

It was often a matter for speculation between us—giving birth to many fantasies, for Bridey was a mystery; a creature from underground; a hard-snouted, burrowing, hibernating animal who shunned the light. He had been completely without action in all his years of adult life; the talk of his going into the army and into parliament and into