much more.
‘Yes. None of us are saints, madam, but some of us are luckier than the rest.’
She took cigarettes and matches from her skirt pocket and lit up. ‘Well, the work’s gone to the wall this morning and no mistake,’ she said, rinsing cups at the sink.
Liz came past the kitchen-window with Arthur, carrying the baby between them in a Moses basket. She opened the kitchen door and put her finger to her lips. Harry slept beautifully, his mouth parted, his veined eyelids still.
Arthur tiptoed away to fetch the luggage from the car. When he had gone, Mrs Parsons whispered to Frances: ‘Say nothing for the time being, madam, him being a parson.’
‘Say nothing about what?’ Liz asked.
‘Tell you later,’ Mrs Parsons promised gaily. She had wrought a great change upon herself since her arrival. Stimulated by company, drama quickened the tempo of her life, lifted her up, and made this a red-letter day.
Liz went creaking upstairs with the cradle and put Harry intohis little room among the stacked canvases. Camilla was dusting their dressing-table.
‘What’s going on downstairs that must be kept from Arthur?’ Liz enquired.
‘Hallo Liz. It’s Euniss Parsons, I expect.’
‘I thought it must be something like that. It is usually sex that clergymen mustn’t hear about. Poor Euniss. How far gone is she?’
‘How far gone! No, really Liz! I’m not going to talk that sort of language to you. You’ll be telling me next about what a had time you had with Harry.’
‘Well, so I did. It’s that Ernie, I suppose.’
‘I don’t know who that Ernie is.’
‘The lad at the farm. Brings the milk. She’s engaged to him.’
‘Well, perhaps it is. It’s their own affair and I don’t know them and can’t be interested.’
She polished the mirror furiously and Liz saw her reddened face reflected in it. She said meekly, changing the subject: ‘I had a nice time at home after all.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘What have
you
been doing?’
Camilla’s hand slowed over the mirror and then dropped to her side. For a second, she seemed to relax, her lips formed the word ‘I’; but it was as if her mind were too clouded to form a sentence. Then she said crisply: ‘I never question you about your comings and goings.’
‘That’s the trouble with you. You wait for people to tell you things. So they feel you don’t care.’
‘It isn’t that. You are like a newly-married wife with your anxious curiosity … “and
then
what did you do?” … “and after
that
where did you go?” You must leave me alone.’
‘You don’t want to be left alone. You want to tell me, but you are too much afraid of behaving badly; or rather, behaving like other people. And you will tear that duster to shreds.’
Liz sat down on her bed and began to strip off her stockings. ‘I know you went out with that man,’ she continued. ‘I guessed you were going to. You were half-relieved to send me off with Arthur, so that you could.’
‘You try to be so perceptive, but you are quite wrong.’
‘You
did
go out with him.’
Camilla sat down at the dressing-table. She felt an icy paralysis creeping over her, even her lips seemed frozen.
‘Do you know where my sandals are?’ Liz asked.
‘The bottom shelf of the cupboard.’
Liz pottered about the room and Camilla sat staring in front of her at the dressing-table. When Liz was ready to go down, she went over and put her hand on Camilla’s shoulder, rather timidly, because she was shy of touching her.
‘Frances is furious with me,’ Camilla said. ‘Yes, I did go. And I came back very late. She had waited up for me, and I believe thought I was drunk. Which I was not.’
‘You are not a girl in your ’teens, Frances forgets.’
‘But my behaviour as a guest!’
‘Remember her conventionality and her genteel ways are an exaggeration she goes in for deliberately, a brake she imposes on herself, because of her painting, and perhaps because she fears she might so
‘Yes. None of us are saints, madam, but some of us are luckier than the rest.’
She took cigarettes and matches from her skirt pocket and lit up. ‘Well, the work’s gone to the wall this morning and no mistake,’ she said, rinsing cups at the sink.
Liz came past the kitchen-window with Arthur, carrying the baby between them in a Moses basket. She opened the kitchen door and put her finger to her lips. Harry slept beautifully, his mouth parted, his veined eyelids still.
Arthur tiptoed away to fetch the luggage from the car. When he had gone, Mrs Parsons whispered to Frances: ‘Say nothing for the time being, madam, him being a parson.’
‘Say nothing about what?’ Liz asked.
‘Tell you later,’ Mrs Parsons promised gaily. She had wrought a great change upon herself since her arrival. Stimulated by company, drama quickened the tempo of her life, lifted her up, and made this a red-letter day.
Liz went creaking upstairs with the cradle and put Harry intohis little room among the stacked canvases. Camilla was dusting their dressing-table.
‘What’s going on downstairs that must be kept from Arthur?’ Liz enquired.
‘Hallo Liz. It’s Euniss Parsons, I expect.’
‘I thought it must be something like that. It is usually sex that clergymen mustn’t hear about. Poor Euniss. How far gone is she?’
‘How far gone! No, really Liz! I’m not going to talk that sort of language to you. You’ll be telling me next about what a had time you had with Harry.’
‘Well, so I did. It’s that Ernie, I suppose.’
‘I don’t know who that Ernie is.’
‘The lad at the farm. Brings the milk. She’s engaged to him.’
‘Well, perhaps it is. It’s their own affair and I don’t know them and can’t be interested.’
She polished the mirror furiously and Liz saw her reddened face reflected in it. She said meekly, changing the subject: ‘I had a nice time at home after all.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘What have
you
been doing?’
Camilla’s hand slowed over the mirror and then dropped to her side. For a second, she seemed to relax, her lips formed the word ‘I’; but it was as if her mind were too clouded to form a sentence. Then she said crisply: ‘I never question you about your comings and goings.’
‘That’s the trouble with you. You wait for people to tell you things. So they feel you don’t care.’
‘It isn’t that. You are like a newly-married wife with your anxious curiosity … “and
then
what did you do?” … “and after
that
where did you go?” You must leave me alone.’
‘You don’t want to be left alone. You want to tell me, but you are too much afraid of behaving badly; or rather, behaving like other people. And you will tear that duster to shreds.’
Liz sat down on her bed and began to strip off her stockings. ‘I know you went out with that man,’ she continued. ‘I guessed you were going to. You were half-relieved to send me off with Arthur, so that you could.’
‘You try to be so perceptive, but you are quite wrong.’
‘You
did
go out with him.’
Camilla sat down at the dressing-table. She felt an icy paralysis creeping over her, even her lips seemed frozen.
‘Do you know where my sandals are?’ Liz asked.
‘The bottom shelf of the cupboard.’
Liz pottered about the room and Camilla sat staring in front of her at the dressing-table. When Liz was ready to go down, she went over and put her hand on Camilla’s shoulder, rather timidly, because she was shy of touching her.
‘Frances is furious with me,’ Camilla said. ‘Yes, I did go. And I came back very late. She had waited up for me, and I believe thought I was drunk. Which I was not.’
‘You are not a girl in your ’teens, Frances forgets.’
‘But my behaviour as a guest!’
‘Remember her conventionality and her genteel ways are an exaggeration she goes in for deliberately, a brake she imposes on herself, because of her painting, and perhaps because she fears she might so
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