The Sweet Dove Died by Barbara Pym Page A

what’s her name?’
    ‘Phoebe Sharpe.’
    Phoebe Sharpe,’ Leonora murmured, and just as Jennifer had experienced a feeling of disquiet and distaste on hearing the name ‘Leonora Eyre’, so Leonora was conscious of a slight uneasiness now. The name evoked a memory of Gilbert and Sullivan  ( The Yeoman of the Guard?) and Thackeray’s Becky Sharpe; a disturbing combination, but perhaps in the circumstances any name would have had its disagreeable undertones.
    ‘I believe her mother lives in Putney – East Putney, I think she said.’
    Leonora laughed. ‘What an extraordinary picture you paint. It doesn’t sound at all like James. Are you  sure?’
    ‘Oh, yes. She went to get a District Line train from Sloane Square after she left the shop.’
    ‘I didn’t doubt the part of Putney,’ said Leonora. ‘I meant, how could you be sure about their relationship?’
    ‘I had the feeling – one can’t really explain it. Anyway, don’t all young people these days “sleep around" – if that’s the expression?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Leonora fastidiously. ‘One hardly would know such things and one certainly doesn’t attempt to keep up with modern slang. I seem to remember that people used to “sleep around”, as you put it, twenty years ago and more.’
    Humphrey looked rather crestfallen. ‘So you aren’t exactly astonished at my news?’ he asked.
    ‘AboutJames? No, I’m not all that surprised, as I told you. And how does one know that he hasn’t got entangled with a pretty Spanish girl by now?’
    ‘That’s rather what poor Miss Sharpe was afraid of, I suspect,’ said Humphrey, relieved that Leonora was taking it so well.
    In the taxi going home he was rather tender with her, as far as she would permit it, but she did not invite him in. Anyway, they would only have talked about James, he thought.
    Leonora stood in the hall, waiting for the taxi to drive away. When lovely woman stoops to folly, she said to the fruitwood mirror with the cupids, though of course it wasn’t exactly that. In the kitchen she thought she could almost ‘fancy’ a cup of strong Indian tea, but of course one couldn’t really see oneself drinking tea after that delicious dinner. She was calm – perhaps numb with shock – for she had certainly had no idea that James was seeing another woman, whatever she may have pretended to Humphrey. Nevertheless she had been thinking ever since she heard the news and now she knew exactly what she was going to do. She undressed, hung up and folded her clothes methodically, then sat down at her desk in her night things and began to write a letter.
    ‘Dear Miss Foxe,’ it began. ‘I am afraid I may have to ask you to vacate your flat at the end of the month instead of when the lease runs out, as we had arranged.’ ‘Arranged’ was perhaps an exaggeration, for they had done no more than discuss the future in the vaguest terms and Leonora had found herself hoping, unworthily she knew, that Miss Foxe might not be fully aware of her strong position as the tenant of an unfurnished flat. And being of such gentle birth there was always the possibility that she might feel herself bound to do whatever Leonora wanted. Leonora continued, ‘A friend of mine is coming back from abroad and has nowhere else to go, so I am sure you will appreciate the position.’ Leonora paused again, seeing the ‘friend’ as Miss Foxe might imagine this person – a woman who had done some splendid service, nursing or in the mission field. ‘Of course I shall do all I can to help you to find alternative accommodation' – that was the jargon, she believed – ‘Yours very sincerely’ – it was best to be very sincere in this sort of letter – ‘Leonora M. Eyre.’
    She would get in touch with the furniture depository in the morning – there was nothing more she could do now.

XIII

    James was reading a letter from Leonora. The companion he had picked up on his travels (‘an American called Ned’)