Providence by Anita Brookner Page A

Pauline can show you the garden. But I want so much to hear about your work – perhaps after tea you will tell me about your lecture. I have kept in touch, you know. After all, my generation was the first to read
The Romantic Agony
. My husband and I called on Professor Praz in Rome when we were on our wedding journey.’ She leaned back in her chair, groped on the top of the radio for a large green silk handkerchief, and draped it over her face. Within seconds she was asleep. Pauline lifted a corner of the handkerchief, lowered it gently, and motioned Kitty to follow her into the kitchen.
    ‘You’ve made a hit,’ she said, neutrally. She was enormously pleased with Kitty. ‘And now, like Prospero, I will give you your freedom. Take that bloody dog and walk. It’s a nice afternoon. Tea will be at four-thirty.’
    ‘Can’t I help, or something?’ asked Kitty.
    ‘You already have,’ said Pauline. ‘Are you sure those shoes are comfortable? You look terribly smart. Wedon’t dress up much here, you see. Don’t get much chance.’
    Kitty noticed the small stone sink, the wooden draining board, the dim glass jar containing wild flowers in dirty water on the windowsill. There was no refrigerator, only a larder.
    ‘Pauline,’ said Kitty on impulse. ‘Let me take you both out to dinner. Your mother would be all right with the two of us. And you ought to get out a bit. I don’t like to think of you waiting on me.’
    Pauline, who would not normally have contemplated such a thing, thought of the mince she had bought that morning and made a sudden decision to feed it to the dog.
    ‘Well, there is The Manor,’ she said slowly. ‘That’s the local hotel. It’s rather smart. I don’t think …’
    ‘Where is it?’ asked Kitty. ‘Can I walk there and book a table?’ And she said it in such an eager tone that Pauline smiled and agreed.
    Kitty set off with the dog and the firm intention that they were going to have a really festive evening. It was essential for Pauline to break the pattern, and the old lady, she knew, would enjoy the change of scene. She deserves it, thought Kitty. They both do. And they won’t make a move on their own.
    She found The Manor, a largish house set in extensive gardens, booked a table for that evening, and then, since she was thirsty from walking, asked if she might have some tea. She was beginning to get the hang of the country, she thought; even the dog followed her without question. They had nothing to say to each other, for Kitty did not believe in wasting words on animals. Or, indeed, in wasting words at all, when every single one counted. She was again reminded of
Adolphe
. Sitting in the garden and sipping her tea, she contemplated the brilliant and frightening future. If everything workedout she might one day find herself seated in her own garden something like this one. Having tea. Her mind veered shyly away from this possibility, but the unrealized thought brought colour to her cheeks and for a while she looked as happy as she supposed herself to be. She scarcely noticed the journey back to the cottage.
    ‘Now, my dear,’ said Mrs Bentley, her slice of bread and butter returned somewhat uncertainly to her plate. ‘You must tell me what you are doing. I left the field when Existentialism came in, and on the whole I was glad to.’
    ‘But how could you?’ cried Kitty. ‘It is such a valid creed. I sometimes think it is the only one I can believe in.’
    Mrs Bentley hauled out her tin and manufactured another cigarette. ‘Well, I thought it was just a desacralized form of Christianity, you know. And rather a poor-spirited one.’
    ‘But that is the point,’ said Kitty. ‘Because it is desacralized, everyone can join in. There are no elect. There is no grace. It is a system of pure ethics.’
    Mrs Bentley smiled faintly. ‘And do you understand the idea of the Absurd?’ she asked, using the tolerant tone she had formerly employed with students. ‘Without recourse to