The Death of the Heart - Elizabeth Bowen [129]
"She's such a dear girl. She is a sweet little kid."
"If you were me, then, you'd just tell Eddie to go to the devil?"
"Well, more or less—Yes, I certainly would."
"And just have a word with Portia?"
"I'm sure you could manage that."
"Do you know, Major Brutt, I'm most stupidly shy?"
"I feel certain," he said with vigour, "she'd be most upset if she thought she's upset you. I'd be ready to swear she hasn't the least idea."
"She hasn't any idea how Eddie talks," Anna said with a sharpness she simply couldn't control. "Major Brutt, this has been a wretched afternoon for you: first those dreadful people at lunch, and now my family worries. But it cheers me up to feel you feel Portia's happy. You must come back soon and we'll have a much nicer time. You will come again soon?"
"There's nothing I'd like better. Of course, as you know, my plans are rather unsettled still. I shall have to take up whatever may come along, and the Lord only knows where that might involve being sent."
"Not right away, I do hope. I am so glad, at any rate, that you're not going to Shropshire. Thomas and I were mad to consider that idea; I see now that it would not have done at all. Well, thank you for listening: you have been an angel. It's fatal," she concluded, holding her hand out, "to be such a good friend to a selfish woman like me." With her hand in his, being wrung, she went on smiling, then not only smiled but laughed, looking out of the window as though she saw something funny in the park.
Upon which he took his leave. She, not giving herself a moment, sat down to dash off that little letter to Eddie.
Dear Eddie,
Of course I could not say so at lunch but I should, if I were you, be rather more careful about using the office telephone. It must be hard to know when is the once too often, but I'm afraid the once too often may have been passed. The fact is, I hear that Thomas and Mr. Merrett are going to have a drive about all these personal calls that get put through and taken. The girl at the switchboard must have ratted, or something. You must not think this unkind of Thomas and Mr. Merrett; they seem to feel it is a matter of principle. Even though you are getting on so well at the office, I should be a little careful, just for a week or two. I feel it is more considerate to tell you: you know I do want you to get on well.
However much your friends may have to say to you, I should ask them to wait till you get back to your room. And if I were you I should ring them up from there. I'm afraid this may send up your telephone bill, but that seems a thing that simply cannot be helped.
Yours,
Anna.
When Anna had written this, she glanced at the clock. If she were to send this to post now, it could only reach Eddie tomorrow morning. But if it went round by special messenger, he would find it when he came in, late. That is the hour when letters make most impression. So Anna rang up for a special messenger.
At half-past four, that same Monday afternoon, Lilian and Portia came up Miss Paullie's area steps into Cavendish Square. Lilian had taken some time washing her wrists, for her new bangles, though showy, left marks on them. So these two were the last of a long straggle of girls. After the silence of the classroom, the square seemed to be drumming with hot sound; the high irregular buildings with their polished windows stood glaring in afternoon light. The trees in the middle tossed in a draught that went creeping round the square, turning the pale under-sides of