certain things between the generations, but not this kind of thing. Certainly, Mendel’s ideas go beyond and even against many received notions about character. Yet I have come to believe in them absolutely. If I see any remarkable resemblances between any two members of a family, I now attribute them automatically to heredity, and begin to reflect upon what physical peculiarity they might reflect.’
‘I suspect that if I think about it enough, I will soon begin to do the same,’ I admitted. ‘It is too convincing. It opens up new vistas of possibilities – albeit slightly frightening ones. But now that I understand it, I cannot help believing in it. Even before I have had time to get used to it.’
‘That is because you are a very unusual young woman,’ he said, taking my arm.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In which Vanessa attempts to understand what the suicide note might have meant
‘Vanessa! It’s me! I’m visiting at home for a few days – I simply had to see how you were getting on!’ Rose’s delightful face beamed at me from the doorway. The afternoon sun shone on her thick, wavy hair, once gold, now burnished to the colour of ripe honey. Her whole being radiated joie de vivre; the kind of happiness that simply comes from inside, with no cause and no explanation; some people are born happy and the happiness wells up inside them no matter what the circumstances. I felt how lucky it was for Rose, and for those around her, that she could express her feelings in music.
‘I was going to write to you,’ I told her. ‘Do come in. It’s nearly teatime.’ As I spoke, a tornado stormed through the front room in the form of the twins, who flung themselves bodily upon Rose, one clinging to her legs and the other attempting to scale the vertical surface of her back with the aid of her hair, which immediately came down.
‘Rose! Rose! Rose!’ they screamed in a cacophonous medley. I had already noticed with pleased astonishment how deeply they were attached to her, even though they rarely had occasion to see her; still, she had known them from the earliest moments of their existence, and in their little minds she was as familiar as their own nursery. It was a charming feature of their love for her, that they were able to sit silent and attentive through an entire concert of cello music, if only it was Rose who was playing.
‘Dear me,’ I remonstrated, trying to pull them off her as they shouted for her to come up to the nursery to see their newest toys. ‘It seems we will not get any calm if we have tea at home. They won’t stay upstairs if they know you’re here. I propose a bargain,’ I added, grasping each twin firmly by the arm in order to get its complete attention. ‘Rose will play with you in the nursery for half an hour, and then Rose and Mamma will go out to tea and you will have yours in the nursery with Nurse.’
‘I should love to,’ said Rose warmly. ‘It is amazing how they grow each time I look away for a few moments!’ And she sailed off up the stairs, towed like a little ship by two eager tugs. An unseemly racket was immediately heard to proceed from the nursery, but I forbore to interfere.
Half an hour later I collected my things and went to fetch Rose, causing something of an uproar, which was fortunately soon quelled by the sight of three severe adult faces combined with the sudden production of a sponge cake for nursery tea. Rose and I took ourselves outside, and walked across the Green to a tea shop I was fond of, tucked away in Little St Mary’s Lane.
It was not until tiny sandwiches, scones, jam, cream and a steaming teapot had been set before us that I undertook to tell Rose something of what I had learnt, and to ask her the questions that were troubling me. I recounted to her the entire tale of my Swiss adventure, and she listened intently, but at the end of my tale she sighed.
‘I only wish he had really heard something on that evening!’ she exclaimed. ‘But I
‘I suspect that if I think about it enough, I will soon begin to do the same,’ I admitted. ‘It is too convincing. It opens up new vistas of possibilities – albeit slightly frightening ones. But now that I understand it, I cannot help believing in it. Even before I have had time to get used to it.’
‘That is because you are a very unusual young woman,’ he said, taking my arm.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In which Vanessa attempts to understand what the suicide note might have meant
‘Vanessa! It’s me! I’m visiting at home for a few days – I simply had to see how you were getting on!’ Rose’s delightful face beamed at me from the doorway. The afternoon sun shone on her thick, wavy hair, once gold, now burnished to the colour of ripe honey. Her whole being radiated joie de vivre; the kind of happiness that simply comes from inside, with no cause and no explanation; some people are born happy and the happiness wells up inside them no matter what the circumstances. I felt how lucky it was for Rose, and for those around her, that she could express her feelings in music.
‘I was going to write to you,’ I told her. ‘Do come in. It’s nearly teatime.’ As I spoke, a tornado stormed through the front room in the form of the twins, who flung themselves bodily upon Rose, one clinging to her legs and the other attempting to scale the vertical surface of her back with the aid of her hair, which immediately came down.
‘Rose! Rose! Rose!’ they screamed in a cacophonous medley. I had already noticed with pleased astonishment how deeply they were attached to her, even though they rarely had occasion to see her; still, she had known them from the earliest moments of their existence, and in their little minds she was as familiar as their own nursery. It was a charming feature of their love for her, that they were able to sit silent and attentive through an entire concert of cello music, if only it was Rose who was playing.
‘Dear me,’ I remonstrated, trying to pull them off her as they shouted for her to come up to the nursery to see their newest toys. ‘It seems we will not get any calm if we have tea at home. They won’t stay upstairs if they know you’re here. I propose a bargain,’ I added, grasping each twin firmly by the arm in order to get its complete attention. ‘Rose will play with you in the nursery for half an hour, and then Rose and Mamma will go out to tea and you will have yours in the nursery with Nurse.’
‘I should love to,’ said Rose warmly. ‘It is amazing how they grow each time I look away for a few moments!’ And she sailed off up the stairs, towed like a little ship by two eager tugs. An unseemly racket was immediately heard to proceed from the nursery, but I forbore to interfere.
Half an hour later I collected my things and went to fetch Rose, causing something of an uproar, which was fortunately soon quelled by the sight of three severe adult faces combined with the sudden production of a sponge cake for nursery tea. Rose and I took ourselves outside, and walked across the Green to a tea shop I was fond of, tucked away in Little St Mary’s Lane.
It was not until tiny sandwiches, scones, jam, cream and a steaming teapot had been set before us that I undertook to tell Rose something of what I had learnt, and to ask her the questions that were troubling me. I recounted to her the entire tale of my Swiss adventure, and she listened intently, but at the end of my tale she sighed.
‘I only wish he had really heard something on that evening!’ she exclaimed. ‘But I
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