around her darling Stephen, whom she had gathered in for more than one night and laugh, laugh with freshness, candour, charm and what health!
‘Oh, Stephen, I am not nearly as good as she was. You never knew her. I knew her. There never was anyone like her.’
Emily now looked across the room at Laura’s cheesecake photographs (as he said) and her eyes sparkled. Laura, with all her conquests, had in fact, been sure she would tip up Stephen, play with him and throw him away. ‘Stephen the Scion,’ she called him.
‘Laura never had a chance,’ said Stephen.
Emily now walked lightly up and down the room in which her own little son, Giles, her only child, slept pleasantly. He was a square-faced, rosy, dark-haired lad, with large dark-seeming eyes, really light hazel, which opened wide between long dark lashes. He had a well-shaped mouth which opened to smile and say wise things. He was like Laura in some ways. Emily sighed gustily and stood at the foot of her son’s bed.
‘Ah, dear Giles, what will you be? Mystery of personality! Are personalities developed so young? They are though. Each pregnancy I had was different, a different soul was there. Is it possible you see something different from us all and not even a shred of what Laura saw, or me? And nothing of Stephen? It’s possible. Can you go your own way so young? Yes. And you’re a mystery, a deep mystery. Why be parents at all? And I was always afraid I would never get a chance to be a parent! And I’m the writer, supposed to understand people and fix up their destinies. Ah me, I don’t even know the next critic who’s going to shy coconuts at me. Someone smiles, I think he’s warm and good. Then the smiler attacks, he’s indecent, inhuman, he contradicts all decorum, kills all hope in life. But destiny itself is a smiler with a knife. I haven’t any animal instincts, ah me, and yet I’m all animal.’ She sighed naturally and went on, in her soft, husky, resonant undertone, looking at the sleeping child, ‘I know you inside out! How can that be if you are so different from us? I won’t like you if you are! You have no right to be!’ Although she respected sleep, she was so excited that she went to Giles and kissed him, threw her arms round his head and when he woke, in his usual good temper, she said, ‘Giles darling, Giles, my own sweetheart, what would you do if Mother went away from your for ever. Went a long way away?’
‘Do you mean died?’
‘No, no, good heavens. I mean went away to New York and stayed there.’
Giles smiled, ‘I’d go and live with Grandma, and Grandma would take Olivia back and Uncle Maurice likes me too: he has money and he has no children. He could pay for my education and put me into business.’
Emily was shocked, surprised, and hid a laugh, ‘Jee-hosaphat, wouldn’t you cry for Mother?’
‘Oh, yes, I’d cry; but what good would it do? Where would you be? I could telephone you. I could take the plane and come on my birthday.’
Emily smiled, ‘H’m, very true, my child, but you oughtn’t to say those things to parents.’
‘I thought about it when you were sick.’
Emily laughed, ‘Go to sleep, Giles. I oughtn’t to have waked you up. What were you dreaming about?’
‘I dreamed a black lamb came and lay down beside me in bed. It seemed so real,’ and his eyes filled with tears.
Emily’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Go to sleep, my darling, and then the black lamb will come back.’
‘Oh, no, it will be something else; it’s always something else.’
‘Then a white peacock,’ she said impatiently, covering him up and rising from the side of the bed. She rarely dreamed. She felt uneasy when she did, as if the dream were a portent, even a threat.
She stood in one part of the room biting her lip. Supposing she did get a place for herself in the east and write? She would have to provide for them. All Stephen had was his quarterly allowance from Dear Anna and they thought of it as a
‘Oh, Stephen, I am not nearly as good as she was. You never knew her. I knew her. There never was anyone like her.’
Emily now looked across the room at Laura’s cheesecake photographs (as he said) and her eyes sparkled. Laura, with all her conquests, had in fact, been sure she would tip up Stephen, play with him and throw him away. ‘Stephen the Scion,’ she called him.
‘Laura never had a chance,’ said Stephen.
Emily now walked lightly up and down the room in which her own little son, Giles, her only child, slept pleasantly. He was a square-faced, rosy, dark-haired lad, with large dark-seeming eyes, really light hazel, which opened wide between long dark lashes. He had a well-shaped mouth which opened to smile and say wise things. He was like Laura in some ways. Emily sighed gustily and stood at the foot of her son’s bed.
‘Ah, dear Giles, what will you be? Mystery of personality! Are personalities developed so young? They are though. Each pregnancy I had was different, a different soul was there. Is it possible you see something different from us all and not even a shred of what Laura saw, or me? And nothing of Stephen? It’s possible. Can you go your own way so young? Yes. And you’re a mystery, a deep mystery. Why be parents at all? And I was always afraid I would never get a chance to be a parent! And I’m the writer, supposed to understand people and fix up their destinies. Ah me, I don’t even know the next critic who’s going to shy coconuts at me. Someone smiles, I think he’s warm and good. Then the smiler attacks, he’s indecent, inhuman, he contradicts all decorum, kills all hope in life. But destiny itself is a smiler with a knife. I haven’t any animal instincts, ah me, and yet I’m all animal.’ She sighed naturally and went on, in her soft, husky, resonant undertone, looking at the sleeping child, ‘I know you inside out! How can that be if you are so different from us? I won’t like you if you are! You have no right to be!’ Although she respected sleep, she was so excited that she went to Giles and kissed him, threw her arms round his head and when he woke, in his usual good temper, she said, ‘Giles darling, Giles, my own sweetheart, what would you do if Mother went away from your for ever. Went a long way away?’
‘Do you mean died?’
‘No, no, good heavens. I mean went away to New York and stayed there.’
Giles smiled, ‘I’d go and live with Grandma, and Grandma would take Olivia back and Uncle Maurice likes me too: he has money and he has no children. He could pay for my education and put me into business.’
Emily was shocked, surprised, and hid a laugh, ‘Jee-hosaphat, wouldn’t you cry for Mother?’
‘Oh, yes, I’d cry; but what good would it do? Where would you be? I could telephone you. I could take the plane and come on my birthday.’
Emily smiled, ‘H’m, very true, my child, but you oughtn’t to say those things to parents.’
‘I thought about it when you were sick.’
Emily laughed, ‘Go to sleep, Giles. I oughtn’t to have waked you up. What were you dreaming about?’
‘I dreamed a black lamb came and lay down beside me in bed. It seemed so real,’ and his eyes filled with tears.
Emily’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Go to sleep, my darling, and then the black lamb will come back.’
‘Oh, no, it will be something else; it’s always something else.’
‘Then a white peacock,’ she said impatiently, covering him up and rising from the side of the bed. She rarely dreamed. She felt uneasy when she did, as if the dream were a portent, even a threat.
She stood in one part of the room biting her lip. Supposing she did get a place for herself in the east and write? She would have to provide for them. All Stephen had was his quarterly allowance from Dear Anna and they thought of it as a
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