Without Reservations_ The Travels of an Independent Woman - Alice Steinbach [60]
“See you then,” Olivia chimed in, before letting her head drop back onto Robert’s shoulder.
Although I’d already decided not to meet them for lunch, I said nothing. Later in the morning I’d phone and make my apologies.
It had been an exciting night, but I’d had my fill of life in the fast lane, at least for now. I liked the Morgans and their friends, but they were people who lived big, sprawling, complicated lives; lives that involved drivers and butlers and houses on more than one continent and partying around the clock. It suited them. And as long as I only had to do it once every five years or so, it suited me, too.
I undressed, took a shower, and put on a pair of soft cotton pajamas. It was Sunday and my plan was to sleep through the afternoon. But first I needed to unwind with a cup of tea and something to read. I reached for the small book of essays that celebrated the life and work of Gertrude Jekyll.
One essay, a personal recollection written by a horticulturist, described a visit to Miss Jekyll in 1931, the last year of her life. He wrote of the simplicity of Miss Jekyll’s “modest and charming home amongst the trees on the sandy rising ground. Our tea was brought and we had it on occasional tables near the sunny windows, thin white bread and butter and a preserve (I do not remember what) and some little cakes. Her mellow voice floated on through the words of wisdom she imparted and I came away deeply moved by all I had seen and heard.”
She found the life that suited her, I thought, closing the book. Work that interested her, a house she loved, good friends who came for tea and, of course, the company of her cats, Pinkie, Tavy, Tittlebat, Tabby, and the ever-excitable Blackie. It was a simple life but by no means an unsophisticated one.
Remembering the candlelit glamour of the night before, I found myself comparing its luxurious excess with the elegant economy of Miss Jekyll’s life. There was little doubt which suited me best: I was much more Jekyll than Hyde.
Still, turning off the lamp, I had to admit that every once in a while it was quite exciting to travel up front, in first class.
9
UP AT OXFORD
Dear Alice,
Going back to school is like going back in time. Immediately, for better or for worse, you must give up a little piece of your autonomy in order to become part of the group. And every group, of course, has its hierarchies and rules—spoken and unspoken. It is like learning to live once again in a family—which, of course, is the setting where all learning begins.
Love, Alice
Driving up to Oxford from London on a clear Sunday morning, alone, and with no traffic on the road, the air still fragrant from Saturday’s rain, singing along with Ella Fitzgerald on the radio, I felt like a sixteen-year-old who’s just been given permission to drive the family car. And like an adolescent, I felt up to the challenge of whatever lay ahead.
Even the act of driving, which I usually found boring, took on an edge of pleasure. I shifted into overdrive and, still singing out loud with Ella, purposely passed a silver Jaguar. It was a move, I realized, that allowed me to relive simultaneously two of my adolescent fantasies: one, to be a singer like Ella, and two, to own a souped-up convertible and cruise the highways leaving startled but admiring drivers in my dust.
The souped-up car thing never worked out, but I actually pursued the Ella thing. At the Miss Henrietta Freedenberg School of Music in Baltimore, to be exact. Once a week, armed with my Rodgers and Hart songbook, I took three streetcars to Miss Henrietta’s studio for a private singing lesson. There, Miss Henrietta would accompany me on the piano in her living room—or “studio” as she called it—while coaching me on how to properly breathe and “emote.” Words to be “emoted” were penciled on my score in all capital letters by Miss Henrietta.
Although I had every reason to doubt my singing talent,