lepidopterist. If she had held up her hand in the air anywhere – even on a wartime London bus – I would have expected a butterfly to land on it.
Hubert poured from a silver teapot into a Derbyshire cup on a table by the door and navigated around the many pieces of furniture across the room to deliver it to me. I wondered whether for him each room in the house had a navigation chart, like seas do. On the ground floor I had noticed the dining room was equally encumbered.
I made some cucumber sandwiches, if you would like one? he asked.
Thank you very much.
I had an aunt, he said, who maintained there were two golden rules about invitations to tea. One is that cucumber sandwiches and sponge cake are obligatory items, and the second is that guests have to insist upon leaving, and succeed in doing so, before six o’clock . . .
I heard the ticking of a pendulum clock on the shelf behind me. There were at least four clocks in the room.
I want to ask you a question about our art-school days, I said. Do you remember a girl, the same year as us, who was studying Theatre Costume? She went around a lot with Colette.
Colette! replied Hubert, I wonder what has become of her? She used to come in with a new dress every week, remember? Often with the pins still in it.
She used to stay with Colette in her rooms in Guildford Place, I said. The rooms were on the first floor, overlooking Coram’s Fields. She was short, snub-nosed, had large eyes, was a little plump. Not at all talkative.
Coram’s Fields, said Hubert. I saw a painting of them in a show the other day. By a young painter called Arturo di Stefano. Kids on a hot, hot day by a swimming pool playing with the water. Full of the eternity – if I may so put it – of childhood!
No swimming pool there then, I said. Just a boarded-up bandstand, and the tall trees that looked down at us in the morning when we looked out of the window.
I don’t think I was ever at Colette’s place, Hubert said.
Do you see whom I’m thinking about though?
Was it Pauline who had an affair with Joe, the framer?
No, no, dark hair, short dark hair! Very white teeth. A bit stand-offish, walked around with her nose in the air.
You’re not thinking of Jeanne with the two n’s to her name?
Jeanne was tall! This one was small, roundish, tiny. She used to go home for weekends to somewhere smart like Newbury. Was it Newbury? Anyway, she loved horses.
Why do you need to know her name?
I’ve been trying for a long time to remember her name, and it keeps escaping me.
Was it Priscilla?
It was a very common name, that’s what’s so strange.
Probably she got married, most art students got married in those days and then her family name would have changed.
I only want her first name.
Are you trying to trace her whereabouts today?
On Mondays in June she came with strawberries from the countryside and would hand them round the whole class.
She may be dead, don’t forget!
There are only a few people today whom I can consult, that’s why I came to you.
True, unfortunately true. We are not so many. What was her work like?
Dull. Yet as soon as she came into a room you knew she had a sense of style. She shone. She said nothing and she shone.
I’ve always maintained that style is the inheritance of a number of talents. A single talent, however great, does not yield a sense of style. Did I take one of my pills? I’m talking too much.
I didn’t see you do so.
I wish I could place her for you. I’m afraid I can’t. She’s gone.
Nobody wore hats in those days, and she did! She wore a hat as if she was going to the races! Askew on the back of her head.
He said nothing. I let him think. And the silence continued. Hubert had always been prone to silences – as if life hung by a thread and foolish talking might snap it. In the silence I could feel that, since Gwen’s death, the standards the two of them had established and maintained here had in no way changed. What this room liked was
Hubert poured from a silver teapot into a Derbyshire cup on a table by the door and navigated around the many pieces of furniture across the room to deliver it to me. I wondered whether for him each room in the house had a navigation chart, like seas do. On the ground floor I had noticed the dining room was equally encumbered.
I made some cucumber sandwiches, if you would like one? he asked.
Thank you very much.
I had an aunt, he said, who maintained there were two golden rules about invitations to tea. One is that cucumber sandwiches and sponge cake are obligatory items, and the second is that guests have to insist upon leaving, and succeed in doing so, before six o’clock . . .
I heard the ticking of a pendulum clock on the shelf behind me. There were at least four clocks in the room.
I want to ask you a question about our art-school days, I said. Do you remember a girl, the same year as us, who was studying Theatre Costume? She went around a lot with Colette.
Colette! replied Hubert, I wonder what has become of her? She used to come in with a new dress every week, remember? Often with the pins still in it.
She used to stay with Colette in her rooms in Guildford Place, I said. The rooms were on the first floor, overlooking Coram’s Fields. She was short, snub-nosed, had large eyes, was a little plump. Not at all talkative.
Coram’s Fields, said Hubert. I saw a painting of them in a show the other day. By a young painter called Arturo di Stefano. Kids on a hot, hot day by a swimming pool playing with the water. Full of the eternity – if I may so put it – of childhood!
No swimming pool there then, I said. Just a boarded-up bandstand, and the tall trees that looked down at us in the morning when we looked out of the window.
I don’t think I was ever at Colette’s place, Hubert said.
Do you see whom I’m thinking about though?
Was it Pauline who had an affair with Joe, the framer?
No, no, dark hair, short dark hair! Very white teeth. A bit stand-offish, walked around with her nose in the air.
You’re not thinking of Jeanne with the two n’s to her name?
Jeanne was tall! This one was small, roundish, tiny. She used to go home for weekends to somewhere smart like Newbury. Was it Newbury? Anyway, she loved horses.
Why do you need to know her name?
I’ve been trying for a long time to remember her name, and it keeps escaping me.
Was it Priscilla?
It was a very common name, that’s what’s so strange.
Probably she got married, most art students got married in those days and then her family name would have changed.
I only want her first name.
Are you trying to trace her whereabouts today?
On Mondays in June she came with strawberries from the countryside and would hand them round the whole class.
She may be dead, don’t forget!
There are only a few people today whom I can consult, that’s why I came to you.
True, unfortunately true. We are not so many. What was her work like?
Dull. Yet as soon as she came into a room you knew she had a sense of style. She shone. She said nothing and she shone.
I’ve always maintained that style is the inheritance of a number of talents. A single talent, however great, does not yield a sense of style. Did I take one of my pills? I’m talking too much.
I didn’t see you do so.
I wish I could place her for you. I’m afraid I can’t. She’s gone.
Nobody wore hats in those days, and she did! She wore a hat as if she was going to the races! Askew on the back of her head.
He said nothing. I let him think. And the silence continued. Hubert had always been prone to silences – as if life hung by a thread and foolish talking might snap it. In the silence I could feel that, since Gwen’s death, the standards the two of them had established and maintained here had in no way changed. What this room liked was
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