watching.
And then, as if reading Catherine’s mind, Miss Hale says, ‘Of course, there are the fields. But they’re for sheep, aren’t they?’
Here Catherine laughs out loud, awkward but genuinely amused at the observation. And Miss Hale breaks into a smile, pleased, it seems, with the sound of a young woman’s laughter in the house.
‘For the sheep,’ Miss Hale goes on, ‘or the girls who don’t announce themselves. Or rather, shall we say, announce themselves in the wrong way altogether.’
It doesn’t occur to Catherine to think the statement snobbish or prim because she agrees with Miss Hale — this is exactly what she thinks. And to pronounce Miss Hale a snob (as Daniel would), she would have to include herself as well.
‘No,’ Miss Hale continues, ‘these towns can be so confining. When I saw you and your young man at the market yesterday evening, I thought — and I hope you don’t mind my saying so —’
And Catherine shakes her head — too readily, she realises, for she doesn’t even know what thewoman is going to say or where on earth this conversation is leading.
‘I thought … It must be difficult for them.’
This is a different Miss Hale again. Catherine knows the refined Miss Hale, even the prim Miss Hale. And she has also glimpsed the blunt Miss Hale who once liked you but doesn’t any more and drops the social niceties, as well as having witnessed the theatrical Miss Hale who lets herself go and subtly alludes to things that she can’t possibly tell you. Now, there is this other Miss Hale. Not the Miss Hale who hints at different kinds of love at the different stages of one’s life, but the Miss Hale who seems quite comfortable talking about sheep paddocks and the kinds of girls who use them.
And as Catherine nods she remembers once again that Miss Hale had been watching Daniel and her from a distance, that she had witnessed their kissing in the open, a market-stall kiss that Miss Hale had taken a certain pleasure in watching. More pleasure, quite possibly, than one might expect. But this time Catherine does not blush, for she now suspects that she has experienced something that Miss Hale hasn’t, or might once have.
Miss Hale then turns from the view out the window. ‘You don’t mind my saying this, do you?’
‘No, I don’t mind at all.’ And Catherine adds, a little coyly, ‘It’s true.’
‘I simply want you to understand that I appreciate these things. I was eighteen once, too.’
There it is again, Catherine observes, that note of regret. That sense of a long-ago garden, a young woman in another age, a young man, flowers flung to the ground, and that sense of something done badly, or not done at all. A memory, come down through the years, its power to haunt undiminished, for Miss Hale seems, quite genuinely, and it is not an act, to have slipped, irresistibly, into another time and place.
And it is while she is lost in that memory that Catherine decides to rise from her seat and excuse herself. As she rises, Miss Hale turns.
‘Oh, I kept you too long.’
‘Not at all.’ And Catherine means it. She would gladly stay on, but just when it appears that the conversation is finally at an end, Miss Hale suddenly remembers something. ‘Oh, but wait. I’ve something for you.’ She rushes upstairs to the connecting door, while Catherine waits downstairs in the drawing room, observing the view from the window, halfexpecting to see a young woman and a young man, in the clothes of another age, standing in the garden.
‘Here.’ Miss Hale is back, a little breathless, holding a small wrapped package. ‘These are for you. I bought them for myself, but decided afterwards that they belonged to a younger woman than I am now. And, you and I, we are the same height. I think you’ll find they fit.’ And here Miss Hale smiles as she passes the package over to Catherine, who thanks her profusely for the gift, without knowing, or even possibly caring, what it is. It
And then, as if reading Catherine’s mind, Miss Hale says, ‘Of course, there are the fields. But they’re for sheep, aren’t they?’
Here Catherine laughs out loud, awkward but genuinely amused at the observation. And Miss Hale breaks into a smile, pleased, it seems, with the sound of a young woman’s laughter in the house.
‘For the sheep,’ Miss Hale goes on, ‘or the girls who don’t announce themselves. Or rather, shall we say, announce themselves in the wrong way altogether.’
It doesn’t occur to Catherine to think the statement snobbish or prim because she agrees with Miss Hale — this is exactly what she thinks. And to pronounce Miss Hale a snob (as Daniel would), she would have to include herself as well.
‘No,’ Miss Hale continues, ‘these towns can be so confining. When I saw you and your young man at the market yesterday evening, I thought — and I hope you don’t mind my saying so —’
And Catherine shakes her head — too readily, she realises, for she doesn’t even know what thewoman is going to say or where on earth this conversation is leading.
‘I thought … It must be difficult for them.’
This is a different Miss Hale again. Catherine knows the refined Miss Hale, even the prim Miss Hale. And she has also glimpsed the blunt Miss Hale who once liked you but doesn’t any more and drops the social niceties, as well as having witnessed the theatrical Miss Hale who lets herself go and subtly alludes to things that she can’t possibly tell you. Now, there is this other Miss Hale. Not the Miss Hale who hints at different kinds of love at the different stages of one’s life, but the Miss Hale who seems quite comfortable talking about sheep paddocks and the kinds of girls who use them.
And as Catherine nods she remembers once again that Miss Hale had been watching Daniel and her from a distance, that she had witnessed their kissing in the open, a market-stall kiss that Miss Hale had taken a certain pleasure in watching. More pleasure, quite possibly, than one might expect. But this time Catherine does not blush, for she now suspects that she has experienced something that Miss Hale hasn’t, or might once have.
Miss Hale then turns from the view out the window. ‘You don’t mind my saying this, do you?’
‘No, I don’t mind at all.’ And Catherine adds, a little coyly, ‘It’s true.’
‘I simply want you to understand that I appreciate these things. I was eighteen once, too.’
There it is again, Catherine observes, that note of regret. That sense of a long-ago garden, a young woman in another age, a young man, flowers flung to the ground, and that sense of something done badly, or not done at all. A memory, come down through the years, its power to haunt undiminished, for Miss Hale seems, quite genuinely, and it is not an act, to have slipped, irresistibly, into another time and place.
And it is while she is lost in that memory that Catherine decides to rise from her seat and excuse herself. As she rises, Miss Hale turns.
‘Oh, I kept you too long.’
‘Not at all.’ And Catherine means it. She would gladly stay on, but just when it appears that the conversation is finally at an end, Miss Hale suddenly remembers something. ‘Oh, but wait. I’ve something for you.’ She rushes upstairs to the connecting door, while Catherine waits downstairs in the drawing room, observing the view from the window, halfexpecting to see a young woman and a young man, in the clothes of another age, standing in the garden.
‘Here.’ Miss Hale is back, a little breathless, holding a small wrapped package. ‘These are for you. I bought them for myself, but decided afterwards that they belonged to a younger woman than I am now. And, you and I, we are the same height. I think you’ll find they fit.’ And here Miss Hale smiles as she passes the package over to Catherine, who thanks her profusely for the gift, without knowing, or even possibly caring, what it is. It
Similar Books
