gone, thank God. George went on interfering—for the good of others.
He bearded the lion in its den. The lion looked very tame and was occupied in womanly fashion, ironing one of his dress shirts.
“Yes, sir?” Her tabby-cat hair was neatly combed, and she wore a blue and white checked cotton dress.
All his life George had been looked after by women, but none of them had ever attempted the formidable task of washing, starching, and ironing a “boiled” shirt. George, if he ever thought about it at all, supposed that there was a special mystique attached to these operations, and that they could only be performed in a laundry by a clever machine. He smiled approvingly.
“Ah, I can see I’m interrupting an expert at a very skilled task. You’re making a fine job of that, Miss Parchman.”
“I like ironing,” said Eunice.
“I’m glad to hear it, but I don’t suppose you like being confined at Lowfield Hall all the time, do you? That’s what I’ve come to talk about. My wife tells me you’ve never found time in your busy life to learn to drive a car. Am I right?”
“Yes,” said Eunice.
“I see. Well, we shall have to remedy that. What would you say to driving lessons? I shall be happy to foot the bill. You’re doing well by us and we’d like to do something for you in return.”
“I couldn’t learn to drive,” said Eunice, who had been thinking hard. The favourite excuse came out. “My sight wouldn’t be up to it.”
“You don’t wear glasses.”
“I should do. I’m waiting for my new pair.”
In-depth questioning elicited that Eunice should have glasses, had been in need of new ones when she came to Greeving, had “let it slide,” couldn’t, even with glasses, read a number plate or a road sign. She must have her eyes tested forthwith, said George, he would see to it himself and drive her into Stantwich.
“I feel rather ashamed of myself,” he said to Jacqueline. “All the time the poor woman was as blind as a bat. I don’t mind telling you now we know the reason for it, but I was beginning to find that reserve of hers quite off-putting.”
Alarm showed in her eyes. “Oh, George, you mustn’t say that! Having her has made such a difference to my life.”
“I’m not saying a thing, darling. I quite understand she’s very shortsighted and was much too diffident to say so.”
“The working classes are absurd about things like that,” said Jacqueline, who would have suffered agonies struggling with contact lenses, would have bumped into walls rather than wear glasses. They both felt immensely satisfied with George’s discovery, and it occurred to neither of them that a purblind woman could hardly have cleaned the windows to a diamond brilliance or watched the television for three hours every evening.
7
At forty-seven, Eunice had better sight than Giles Mont at seventeen. Sitting beside George in the car, she wondered what to do if he insisted on coming into the optician’s with her. She was unable to concoct any excuse to avoid this happening, and her experience was inadequate to teach her that middle-aged conservative landowners do not generally accompany their middle-aged female servants into what is virtually a doctor’s surgery. A sullen puzzled resentment simmered within her. The last man who sought to make her life insupportable had got a pillow over his face for his pains.
A slight fillip came to her spirits at the sight, at last, of shops, those familiar and wonderful treasure houses that had seemed left behind forever. They got an even greater lift when George showed no sign of accompanying her into the optician’s. He left her with a promise to be back in half an hour and the instruction to have any bill sent to him.
Once the car had gone, Eunice walked round the corner where she had noticed a confectioner’s. She bought two Kit-Kats, a Mars bar, and a bag of marshmallows, and then she went into a teashop. There she had a cup of tea, a currant bun, and a
He bearded the lion in its den. The lion looked very tame and was occupied in womanly fashion, ironing one of his dress shirts.
“Yes, sir?” Her tabby-cat hair was neatly combed, and she wore a blue and white checked cotton dress.
All his life George had been looked after by women, but none of them had ever attempted the formidable task of washing, starching, and ironing a “boiled” shirt. George, if he ever thought about it at all, supposed that there was a special mystique attached to these operations, and that they could only be performed in a laundry by a clever machine. He smiled approvingly.
“Ah, I can see I’m interrupting an expert at a very skilled task. You’re making a fine job of that, Miss Parchman.”
“I like ironing,” said Eunice.
“I’m glad to hear it, but I don’t suppose you like being confined at Lowfield Hall all the time, do you? That’s what I’ve come to talk about. My wife tells me you’ve never found time in your busy life to learn to drive a car. Am I right?”
“Yes,” said Eunice.
“I see. Well, we shall have to remedy that. What would you say to driving lessons? I shall be happy to foot the bill. You’re doing well by us and we’d like to do something for you in return.”
“I couldn’t learn to drive,” said Eunice, who had been thinking hard. The favourite excuse came out. “My sight wouldn’t be up to it.”
“You don’t wear glasses.”
“I should do. I’m waiting for my new pair.”
In-depth questioning elicited that Eunice should have glasses, had been in need of new ones when she came to Greeving, had “let it slide,” couldn’t, even with glasses, read a number plate or a road sign. She must have her eyes tested forthwith, said George, he would see to it himself and drive her into Stantwich.
“I feel rather ashamed of myself,” he said to Jacqueline. “All the time the poor woman was as blind as a bat. I don’t mind telling you now we know the reason for it, but I was beginning to find that reserve of hers quite off-putting.”
Alarm showed in her eyes. “Oh, George, you mustn’t say that! Having her has made such a difference to my life.”
“I’m not saying a thing, darling. I quite understand she’s very shortsighted and was much too diffident to say so.”
“The working classes are absurd about things like that,” said Jacqueline, who would have suffered agonies struggling with contact lenses, would have bumped into walls rather than wear glasses. They both felt immensely satisfied with George’s discovery, and it occurred to neither of them that a purblind woman could hardly have cleaned the windows to a diamond brilliance or watched the television for three hours every evening.
7
At forty-seven, Eunice had better sight than Giles Mont at seventeen. Sitting beside George in the car, she wondered what to do if he insisted on coming into the optician’s with her. She was unable to concoct any excuse to avoid this happening, and her experience was inadequate to teach her that middle-aged conservative landowners do not generally accompany their middle-aged female servants into what is virtually a doctor’s surgery. A sullen puzzled resentment simmered within her. The last man who sought to make her life insupportable had got a pillow over his face for his pains.
A slight fillip came to her spirits at the sight, at last, of shops, those familiar and wonderful treasure houses that had seemed left behind forever. They got an even greater lift when George showed no sign of accompanying her into the optician’s. He left her with a promise to be back in half an hour and the instruction to have any bill sent to him.
Once the car had gone, Eunice walked round the corner where she had noticed a confectioner’s. She bought two Kit-Kats, a Mars bar, and a bag of marshmallows, and then she went into a teashop. There she had a cup of tea, a currant bun, and a
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