Mrs De Winter by Susan Hill Page B

he would let me go, he had not changed his mind, did not need me here.
    But I felt a pang, as I went to get my coat. I lingered, holding his hand, waiting to be reassured that he could face
     
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    the solicitor, the papers, and whatever the business talk might bring up, without me.
    ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘It’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about.’
    Only the wreath, I thought, and saw the letter traced, suddenly, upon his face. R. Rebecca.
    It had never once crossed my mind that it had stood for anyone else. I saw that Maxim was watching me, composed my face into a bright smile.
    He said, ‘It is all like a dream, not unpleasant. I simply go through it — and it has curiously nothing at all to do with me, and tomorrow I shall wake and real life will dawn again, and we can go on with it. Do you understand?’
    ‘I think so.’
    ‘Be patient with me.’
    ‘Darling, would you rather I stayed here, just in the next room - ?’
    ‘No.’ He touched my cheek lightly with the back of his hand, and I took it, and pressed my face against it, loving him, and guilty, guilty.
    Til telephone Frank this evening,’ he said, smiling. We can be away from here tomorrow.’
    And then Giles came out of the study, looking for Maxim, some papers in his hand, and so I could ask about the car, I could go, out of their way, out of the house, dismissed with a clear conscience, to amuse myself.
     
    What was I thinking of? What was I planning to do? Why was I making this journey, the journey I had said
     
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    and believed I could never make again? Why was I tempting fate?
    I was foolish, what I wanted was wrong, and it was dangerous, too. At best, I would be made wretched and be horribly disappointed. At worst, and if Maxim were ever to find out, I might destroy everything, our fragile happiness, the love and trust we had built up with such care and patience, him, myself, the rest of our lives.
    Yet I would go, I think I had known from the day I knew that we were coming back, that I would go, it was quite impossible to resist. I craved it, it was like a secret, irresistible love affair, I dreamed of it, longed for it, wanted and needed to know.
    No one would speak to me of it. I did not dare to ask. The only person I had mentioned it to was Frank Crawley and even then, the name had not passed my lips… Manderley.
    There are some temptations that cannot be resisted, some lessons we never learn. Whatever happened, whatever the outcome, I had to go there, see for myself at last. I had to know.
    Manderley. It had me in thrall, half in love, half fear, but it had never let me go, its spell was all powerful still. I realised that, as I set the old black, bull nosed car towards where the road would bend and turn a little, before running straight on, in the direction of the sea.
    It was thirty miles away, on the other side of the county, so that, at first, the villages and lanes and little market towns were unfamiliar. I saw the sign to Hemmock, where I had said I wanted to go, wander round the market, perhaps have a
     
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    light lunch in a little shop overlooking the square. But I passed the turning. I was going another way.
    I did not allow myself to brood upon it, did not linger over any of the scenes of the past, I enjoyed the sky and the trees and the high, open moor, I wound down the window so that I could smell the autumn earth. I felt free and happy and I liked driving the car. I was an innocent on an outing, I dared not be anyone else.
    But at the end of it, what did I expect to find? What did I want there to be? An empty shell, amidst the tangle of the deep woods, charred, and twisted, and hollow, the ashes long, long dead and cold, the creeper strangling it now, weeds choking the drive, as in my recurring dream? But I could not be sure, no one had ever dared to tell us what there was, we had refused to let the name cross anyone’s lips, no letters had come with news, during our exile.
    I think I half convinced myself that