The Death of the Heart - Elizabeth Bowen [57]
Thomas and I were alone for dinner tonight, as Anna was having dinner with somebody. He asked if I minded if we did not go out to anything, as he said he had had rather a day. He did not seem to want to talk about anything special. At the end of dinner he said I'm afraid this is rather dull, but it is family life. I said that when we lived in the South of France we often did not talk. He said, oh, talking of the South of France, I forget if I told you we are going to Capri. I said that that would be very nice. He coughed and said, I mean Anna and I are going. He went quickly on to say, we have been wondering what would be the nicest plan for you. I said I thought London was very nice.
Friday.
Last night, when I had just finished putting away this diary, Matchett came up to say good night. She clapped her hands at me for not being in bed yet. Then I told her I had been told that they were going abroad. She said, oh, you have? and sat down on my bed. She said, she's been on at him to tell you. I said, well they can't help it, I'm not their fault. She said no, but if they did right by you you wouldn't be always out after that Eddie. I said, well after all, they are married, and I'm not married to either of them. She said, it's one marriage and then another that's done harm all along. I said to Matchett that at any rate I'd got her. Then she leaned right on my bed and said, that's all very well, but are you a good girl? I said I didn't know what she meant, and she said no, that is just the trouble. She said, if Mr. Thomas had been half of the man his father was, I'd have—I said, what, Matchett? and she said, never you mind.
She got up, stroking her apron, with her mouth tight shut. She said, he's a little actor, he is. She said, he had a right to leave you alone. Her good-nights are never the same now.
Tomorrow will be Saturday.
Saturday.
This morning Anna came with a quite ordinary smile and said, Eddie's wanting you on the telephone. It was quite a time since I'd heard the telephone ring, so Anna must have been having a talk first. He said, what about another walk in the park? He said, it's all right, I know, they are going out to Richmond. He said to meet on the bridge at three.
Matchett took no notice when we met on the stairs.
We did meet on the bridge at three.
Sunday.
This morning they got up late, so I got on with my puzzle. When they were up they said they would do whatever I liked. I could not think what, so one of them said Epping. So we drove there to a place called The Robin Hood and had sausages for our lunch. Then Thomas and I went for a walk in the forest, Anna stayed in the car and read a detective story. The forest is full of blackish air like London, the trees do not look the same in it. He told me they had arranged for me to stay at the seaside at the time when Anna and he would be in Capri. I said oh, yes, that that would be fun. Thomas gave me a sort of look and said yes he thought it would.
When we got back to the car Thomas said, I've been talking plans with Portia. Anna said, oh, have you, I'm so glad. She was so interested in her detective story, she went on with it all the way home.
I told them how much I had enjoyed my day.
Anna said, it will be spring before we know where we are.
THE FLESH
I
EARLY in March the crocuses crept alight, then blazed yellow and purple in the park. The whistle was blown later: it was possible to walk there after tea. In fact, it is about five o'clock in an evening that the first hour of spring strikes—autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day. The air, about to darken, quickens and is run through with mysterious white light; the curtain of darkness is suspended, as though for some unprecedented event. There is perhaps no sunset, the trees are not yet budding—but the senses receive an intimation, an intimation so fine, yet striking in so directly, that this appears a movement in one's own spirit. This exalts whatever feeling is in the heart.
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