Authors: Elizabeth Jane Howard
‘Henry told me about the book he was doing that got destroyed.’
‘Who-’
Henry looked at her and mouthed, ‘Hazel.’
‘Oh, that one.’ Daisy had never heard of it before, but she realized that Henry did not want to talk about it.
‘It just came up,’ he said, when they were going to bed. ‘Anna asked me if I’d ever done any writing, so I told her. It was when I took her to the station, last time she
was here.’
‘You never told
me.’
‘Didn’t I? I thought I had. But it upset me so much at the time, I suppose I’ve kind of buried it.’
There was another storm that night and the next morning they woke up to heavy rain.
‘There’s nothing for it,’ Anthony said. He had wandered downstairs in a scarlet silk dressing-gown. ‘No Sunday papers and all that weather outside. You’ll all have
to buckle down to my jigsaw.’
So they did, spent hours on hands and knees fitting and not fitting pieces. The atmosphere became much easier. Henry joined in: he collected the pieces of the cottage with its thatched roof, and
this pleased Anthony. Daisy was given the sky to do, and Anna the rather muddy indeterminate foreground. Anthony did the people.
‘Far the easiest,’ Anna complained, ‘and much the most fun.’
‘Darling, it
is
my jigsaw. And I have done all the edges for all of you.’
Daisy had made a lamb stew for lunch and they had it very late, because of finishing the jigsaw. Anna and Anthony had both been very nice to Henry, praising him when he got something right,
commiserating when he didn’t.
When lunch was over Anthony said they really ought to go because he’d promised to take Katya to a movie, so Anna told him to go and pack, and Henry offered to pack away the jigsaw, the
Scrabble, etc.
Anna helped her clear away the lunch and they talked a little about the play.
‘I meant to give you the rough structure of it.’
‘Could I take it and make a copy and send you back the original?’
‘You could. There’s not an awful lot of it, but enough for you to see the way I have in mind to do it. Only I’m not sure yet whether it’s going to make a good shape.
Anyway, I’d really like to know what you think.’ Then, dropping her voice, she said, ‘Did you bring the other papers back?’
‘What papers? Oh –
those.
I’m so sorry, I clean forgot. I put them out to bring and then somehow I forgot.’
‘You could send them back with the treatment.’
‘I will.’
They looked at each other, and then Anna embraced her. ‘You do look well and happy, and I am glad,’ she said. ‘Don’t forget you’re a writer, will you? And come and
stay with me sometimes if your flat is full of family.’
‘Here I am with just what I stand up in,’ announced Anthony. ‘Dearest Daisy, it has been marvellous seeing you. If I were you, as people say when they’re so glad that
they aren’t, I should paint your walls with
slightly
less blue in the red. It will make them that much prettier. I’ll send you some pics. Let you know before I leave for Rio.
Where’s Henry?’
‘He’s probably taken all your toys to the car.’
He peered out of the door.
‘How kind of him. Still raining, I see. How you can
stand
everything being so wet and so green is utterly beyond me.’
‘I’m going to drive,’ said Anna. ‘I haven’t had a drop to drink since last night.’
‘And I’ve had thousands of drops. Lend me that carrier-bag, darling, to put over my head.’
‘It’s only a few yards—’
‘I know, dearest Daisy, but at the slightest excuse my hair goes into silly curls. I like it to stand on
end
– all the time.’
He stooped to kiss her and she put up her hand to touch his hair. It was as rich and thick as an otter’s.
They all went out to the car, with Anthony carrying the remains of his luggage. Everybody said goodbye again. Henry kissed Anna, which surprised Daisy as well as Anna.
Then they got into the car, and were gone. She stood for a moment, looking then listening to the car until she could not hear it at all. She felt curiously flat, which seemed odd. She was
conscious of missing these two special friends, and yet during the whole weekend, she had seldom felt at ease with them, and fleetingly, she wondered whether it would always be like this. Then she
felt her hand taken and she followed him back into the cottage.
The sense of relief at seeing them go was enormous. I realized then what a strain I had been under since Friday evening – less than forty-eight hours, but by God, it
seemed longer. I’ve never liked queers – too clever by half, most of them, but except for when I was in the Navy, when I could hardly choose my shipmates, I have had very little to do
with them. I came early to the conclusion that the trouble with Anna Blackstone was that she was jealous of me. She didn’t want anyone coming between her and her precious Daisy. She was
probably a repressed lesbian. I remembered Daisy telling me that it was she who blew the gaff on Jason – Jass, as she called him. Jass and Stach – when things were very easy I had
teased her and said that she would soon be calling me Hash.
Looking at her face listening to the departing car, I knew that she felt in some sort sad that they had gone. I must make it up to her. I took her hand and led her into the kitchen where there
was all the debris of lunch.
‘You have very good friends.’
‘You liked them?’
‘Of course I liked them. The question is – did they like me?’
‘Of course they did.’
I can recognize a lie when I hear one – nobody quicker.
‘I know we ought to clear up.’
‘Yes?’
‘But what I want to do is to take you to bed. Two nights of abstinence is something of a strain.’ And later: ‘And the same applies to you, doesn’t it, my sweet and only
love?’
We were on the stairs and I was leading her. She did not answer, but her hand trembled in mine.
We had a delightful time. By now I had the map of her body by heart. I knew exactly how to rouse her, please her, torment and finally satisfy her. I had thoroughly taught her to need me. The
fleeting thought, when we had reached somewhere near the half-way mark, when she had come several times and I not at all (how age interferes with performance! Once I would, not have matched her,
but certainly had my share; now it is necessary to save it – to wait until the last possible moment) it did occur to me that sexual boredom was always lying in wait. Once one knew all there
was to be known, one was left with repetition, which could become dangerously dull. I could even envisage the time when familiarity might breed impotence. But this lay far ahead. I could for some
time enjoy her eagerness, her pleasure, her dependence. They say a good lover gets more pleasure from pleasing his love than pleasing himself, and I had no false modesty about my capacity as a
lover.
When they were gone, he took me upstairs to bed. It almost frightens me to want him so much. But it was wonderful to lie there not needing to whisper – we felt like children let out
of school. At least, I did. When I said that to him, he laughed. ‘We are not children,’ he said. ‘We are old, old people, supposed by many to be well past this sort of
thing.’ And then he came out with an extraordinary piece of information. Did I know that a woman’s vagina was the only part of her that never betrayed age? You could look, he
said, at dozens of photographs of them and be unable to distinguish between a girl of sixteen, and a woman of sixty. How did he know this? He’d read it somewhere; he’d seen the
photographs that illustrated the point.
When we got up, the rain had stopped, the afternoon sun had come waveringly out, not bright enough for shadows – it was more as though it chose what it had the strength to light. He
showed me how to gently shake the heavy sodden heads of phlox that were bowed down by the weight of rain. We went to pick parsley and chives from the herb bed. I made a fish salad from the
remains of the salmon. At supper we talked mostly about Anthony and Anna – ‘The rock I shall founder on,’ he said, ‘is intellectual. I shan’t be able to keep up
with your clever friends. I shall always be at a loss when they make musical allusions.’ He looked sad, and I told him that I did not think this was true, or needed to be true. They
would not know the Latin names for plants.
That evening we drank some brandy (I drink far more with Henry than I usually do), and I played him the first act of
Rigoletto.
I think he was surprised at how much he enjoyed it. I
felt selfish then: up until now I have played what music I have wanted, I have not thought what he might like to encounter or learn. I was so relaxed and tired, I fell asleep on the sofa.
Going to bed as loving friends was lovely.
I woke in the night because the moon was shining across the bed. Henry, asleep beside me, did not stir. I propped myself up on one elbow to look at him. His face was in shadow, but there
was enough light for me to see it. I touched the lock of hair that always fell over the side of his forehead. He lay on his side, turned away from me. His mouth in repose is pre-Raphaelite, a
sculpted mouth, with a full, clearly delineated upper lip. It is interesting to look at a face when the eyes are shut: it makes the whole thing look more like a mask; you cannot tell what the
person
is.
They could look noble and be stupid; look peaceful and be militant; look saintly and be a villain. Henry does not look his age when he is awake, and asleep he seems to be no
determinate age at all. I amuse myself for a few minutes imagining a very different person from the one I know: a hectoring bore; a man who talks of nothing but killing things and making
money; a man who has an innate contempt for women (and fear of them too). Then I think, supposing I was in bed with a genius? What kind of genius would he have? A writer, I decide: he writes
so well that I am sure he could write good fiction – particularly as he knows so much about women. His men might be rather weak, though. He was out of his depth with Anthony; I think he
was afraid of him. And Anna . . . He does not understand Anna at all. But all that will get better. I think of how he was with Katya, how he won her round in that drive to the station.
The moon has reached his face, and he stirs. He turns towards me and I take him in my arms. I love him and I long for him to know it – really to
know
it.
A beautiful morning; no more storms lurking and everything freshened by the rain. She is full of plans. Wants to repaint the sitting room – simply a slightly different
shade of red. It seems dotty to me. She also thinks she would like to make the best spare room ‘prettier’. I shall enjoy this, as it will involve going to local auctions and I like
picking over old things, finding bargains among the rubbish. She has changed her mind again about the builders – wants to start all that. I suggest that we go away while they are doing it
– Ireland, perhaps, or the Channel Islands. I’ve always wanted to go there, but she says we cannot possibly go away while the builders are here, they will do everything wrong. But I
noticed that she did not seem to rule out going away altogether, and this cheered me. It is sometimes frustrating to be so much under her orders, so to speak. However, I draw my money every week
and stash it away in a biscuit tin hidden in my plastic bags with my papers in the shed. If we
did
go anywhere I would bury it for greater safety.
Days pass. They are punctured by small events. Katya rings to say she and Anthony are going to see her husband. The garage rings to say the mower is back. Unluckily, Daisy answered the
telephone, and of course she wanted to know why the village garage would have it when I had taken it to the machine shop in town. I had to think quickly there. I said that the machine shop had
suggested that it could be taken to the village if anyone was going that way. An unlikely tale, but she seemed to believe it.
I
fetched it myself to stop them giving the game away What a
nuisance all that kind of thing can be! I was only trying to save myself trouble, after all.
Last night, she asked me what happened to my father. I told her that he had stayed in his cottage after his retirement until his death; it seemed the most likely thing to have happened to him,
but I never went back there, and spoke to him only once when he telephoned me just before I was called up, I really have no idea. I said that my stepmother had effectively cut me off, and that I
had ceased to care. Daisy was most concerned: I saw her eyes fill with tears. She is such a soft-hearted creature that she would cry for anyone.
We went to some auction rooms in the town yesterday, and she put in a bid for a small fruitwood table that she wanted for the kitchen. When she rang up the next day, they said she’d got
it, so I offered to fetch it for her in the morning while she worked (which she did every day).
After I had got the table, I saw two dealers sorting out a tray of oddments, salt spoons, a couple of watches, fountain pens and an assortment of rings, and I suddenly had an idea, so I went and
asked them if I could look at the rings and if they were not too expensive, buy one, and they said I could have a look if I liked. I chose a small gold ring with a red stone in the middle and white
ones either side of it. Eighty pounds, the older man said; it was nine-carat gold. He didn’t say anything about the stones. I said I wanted something far cheaper; it was for my
daughter’s birthday and she was just a teenager – I didn’t want anything valuable. ‘What’s not valuable, then?’ the younger man said. Five to ten quid? The
younger man snorted; the older said I could have the silver ring for that. It was a plain band about a quarter of an inch wide with a scroll of what looked like strawberry leaves etched upon it. I
offered a fiver; they wanted ten, and we settled for eight. It would rub up nice; it was real silver. They put it in a weak brown envelope – no, they hadn’t got a box.
I didn’t give it to her immediately; I wanted to make an occasion of it.
Last night, we had our first row. It seemed to come from nowhere. He had been especially sweet to me all day; he even helped me in the afternoon with painting the
sitting-room walls. I am doing them one at a time, since we cannot stop using the room, but this entails moving bookcases and furniture and spreading newspaper all over the floor. We have
done two of the four walls now and Anthony was quite right – it all looks far warmer and wonderful with my pink curtains. We played the rest of
Rigoletto
and Henry said that for
ever more he would smell paint when he heard the opera.
We stopped at six, and had showers, and then he made one of those amazing vodka drinks – only this time he put Angostura and elderflower syrup in it with ice and soda water, and I
was very thirsty and drank two of them without noticing. So when he started pouring me a third drink, I said I didn’t want any more.
‘Oh, come on,’ he said, ‘it’s far weaker than the vodka drink I usually make.’ So I had a third one; it is quite difficult to tell how much vodka there is in
a mixed drink. Anyway, we both got quite jolly and had dinner rather late. Henry had opened a bottle of wine but he had to drink most of it – I’d really had enough.
We left the supper things because he wanted to go up. He came into the room after I was in bed, and I could see that he was very pleased about something. He took my left hand, told me to
shut my eyes and when I opened them there was a silver ring on my finger. His eyes were sparkling, and he was so pleased and excited: I was touched, it was the first present he had given me.
The ring was too big for my third finger, so I put it on the second one, and when he protested, said I should lose it if I did not. He would have it made smaller, he said: it had to be on my
third finger, it was my engagement ring. That was the first bad moment. I looked at him and said that I had told him – several times now – that I did not want to marry him, did
not want to marry anybody.
‘You
must
have changed your mind by now.’
I shook my head.
‘We’ll go to some wonderful exotic place for our honeymoon; somewhere that you have never been.’
‘No.’ I said that I loved him but that I wouldn’t marry him.
‘For
Christ’s sake
! You know
nothing
about love!’
And then he hit me. I can hardly believe that – even now, the next day, when I am sitting in the train going to Katya. But he hit the side of my head, one heavy blow. It was so
unexpected and awful that my heart stops when I think of it. I fell back and hit my head against the wall.
‘I can’t be with you when you are like this!’ He almost shouted it, and stormed out of the room. I heard him going downstairs, and then silence.
It was dark. We had put out all the lights. It was dark and perfectly silent. I could feel my heart banging away, but that made no sound either and suddenly I felt very frightened. I was
frightened because I did not know where he was, or what else he might do to me. I got up and stood by the open door, trying to hear where he was. Nothing. He could move very silently, I knew
that, and he had once told me that he felt utterly at home in the dark – it made no difference to him at all. I shut my door very quietly, then realized that I could not lock it –
I could not stop him coming back. In the end, I put a chair so that its back was jammed against the door latch. It did not feel much safer, but it was something. I realized that I was
shivering violently. I could neither hide nor run away although those were the only coherent thoughts that I had. Part of me could not believe what had happened. I had to put my hand to my
head where he had struck me and feel the bruise to believe it. I wanted to go to the window to listen and hear if he was somewhere outside the cottage, but I could not bear to put out the
lamp and if I did not and he was there he would see me. And what? Thoughts, imagination of further violence – or murder, even – came and went. It was as though I had a high fever
and could make no sense of anything at all, but had to endure again and again his shouting and the blow. I sat on the bed for a long time, trying to listen, trying not to think, waiting for
it not to be dark.
In the end, I lay down because my head ached. I remember taking off the ring and putting it on the table by the lamp and a kind of stupor set in when I seemed neither asleep nor awake.
I became aware that it was light; an amazing relief. I turned off the lamp and dressed – in my jeans and a shirt and my track shoes, and immediately felt less vulnerable. I undid the
door and went, very quietly, to look at the other two bedrooms to see if he was in either of them. He was not. I went to the bathroom. I longed for a hot shower, but I didn’t want to
undress until I knew he was not anywhere in the cottage. He wasn’t anywhere. I even looked in the car and the shed behind the garage, but there was no sign of him. So I locked the
cottage doors and did have a very long, very hot shower. All my bones seemed to ache, and the hot water relieved some of the stiffness. It was six o’clock. I made a pot of coffee and
drank it while I cleared up the supper from the night before. Activity was good; and I even felt that perhaps I was making too much of the whole thing. He loved me, wanted to marry me, he had
drunk too much and when I turned him down he couldn’t take it. How did that sound? In a way, it sounded quite reasonable – the unreason came with the chilling quantity of fear
that I had felt about it. My head still ached, and I got some Panadol and made more coffee.
At eight the telephone rang. It was Anna.
‘I don’t suppose that you are alone,’ she began.
‘I am as a matter of fact.’
‘I’m ringing you for Katya.’
‘What about her? Nothing awful has happened?’
‘No, she’s fine.’
‘Is it the children, then?’ Anna did not sound all right.
‘No. Nothing like that. It’s just that she wants you to come up to see her – rather urgently. Well,
today.’
‘Why isn’t
she
ringing me?’
‘She asked me to. Really, Daisy, you must come. Catch the train I caught before. Nine thirty, wasn’t it?’
‘Anna, what
is
going on?’
‘She wants to tell you herself. Where is Henry?’
‘Out at the moment.’
‘Has he taken your car?’
‘No. Why do you ask?’
‘You can drive to the station then. Daisy, it’s important that you come. I wouldn’t be asking you like this if it wasn’t.’
‘All right, I’ll come, just for the day, or does she want me to stay?’
‘I should come prepared to stay. Will you catch the nine thirty, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ And she rang off.
I went and packed a bag and changed into a skirt. I looked awful. I put some colour on my cheekbones, but it looked worse and I rubbed it off. It felt odd that I had wanted so much to flee
last night and was now doing it for an entirely different reason. I took my bag downstairs, and was writing a note to Henry simply telling him that Katya wanted me and I might be away for the
night, when he knocked on the door. I let him in and picked the note off the table to throw away. I felt quite calm at that moment: the sight of him did not frighten me at all.