moment’s need of her. She felt similarly towards them both, felt irritation, superiority, envy, anger.
In the case of Thea, none of it greatly mattered.
In the case of Thomas Cavendish, whom she wanted, it did.
Well, she would go home. She would play backgammon or rummy with her mother, who had been toomuch alone, she would stay up late, as the old lady liked, would be companionable, affectionate. They would chat.
If I do this, if I am not neglectful, if I look after my mother tenderly and with complete devotion, then it will come out, like a game of patience, and I will be rewarded, I will have what I want. Or so the thinking ran.
At the corner, she stopped the cab. The driver was to wait.
The blinds of the house had already been drawn.
‘Oh, Alice …’
‘Good evening, madam?’
‘It’s quite all right. I know I’m not expected, but perhaps you would say …’
‘I’m very sorry, madam, but there is no one at home. Mr Cavendish is in college, and Miss Georgiana has gone out visiting.’
‘Well, never mind … it does not matter in the least.’
She did not know what she had hoped for. Only, onthe spur of the moment, had wanted to be here, to step inside the house again. Perhaps to talk to Georgiana, have his name mentioned.
Or he might have been at home.
‘But I would like just to leave some papers.’
‘Of course, I’ll put them on Miss Georgiana’s desk. She always goes to it when she gets in.’
But Florence had swept away from her, down the passage.
‘No, no, Alice, please don’t trouble,I’ll do it. And they are for Mr Cavendish. Don’t let me interrupt you, I know where to go.’
She closed the door sharply behind her.
He was not there, of course. And yet he was, the room was full of him. The book he had been reading lay open on the arm of the chair. She went over to the desk.
Bird notes. His handwriting was spare, abbreviated, in black ink. Not easy to read. She stared at it,trying to force it to yield up something of the man to her. She felt a curious flutter of excitement, as though she were gazing into some intensely private diary, learning secrets. But they were simply names, descriptions, measurements.
She lifted her eyes from the book, to look slowly round the room again, wanting to hoard every detail of it, to remember everything. Thought, this would be myworld. I would no longer be an intruder. But there was an acute, guilty pleasure in being in here alone, as though she had in some way caught and held something of him.
Across the room, the glass doors that led to the conservatory, and the other birds. She did not understand at all the appeal they held for him.
But she saw herself, seated in another chair, beside the lamp and opposite to him,reading, belonging.
Absorbed, she had heard no sounds. Now, there was Alice’s voice, quite close, explaining, protesting, and the door had opened, Thomas came quickly, angrily, into the room.
11
‘BUT YOU can hardly blame Alice. You have heard what she told you, that Florence simply marched in. Alice could not stop her. You know what she is like.’
‘Incompetent.’
‘Florence.’
‘Oh, certainly. It is becoming all too clear. How dare she enter my room, and pry and poke about like that. What possible reason could she have?’
‘Alice said something about papers …’
‘Papers! She wanted topush her way in, to …’
‘Oh, to what , Thomas?’
The door was ajar. From the hall, they heard the slightest of noises, instantly suppressed.
‘You had better lower your voice.’
They were in Georgiana’s small sitting-room. She had come in, soaked to the skin, from having walked down the avenue, to find her brother raging, as she had never seen him before, Alice stiffly self-defensive, Florencegone.
‘Please sit down. If we must discuss this before I am even changed out of my wet clothes, then let us do so quietly and calmly.’
To her surprise, he did sit, and, looking at him, she saw that the anger had left
In the case of Thea, none of it greatly mattered.
In the case of Thomas Cavendish, whom she wanted, it did.
Well, she would go home. She would play backgammon or rummy with her mother, who had been toomuch alone, she would stay up late, as the old lady liked, would be companionable, affectionate. They would chat.
If I do this, if I am not neglectful, if I look after my mother tenderly and with complete devotion, then it will come out, like a game of patience, and I will be rewarded, I will have what I want. Or so the thinking ran.
At the corner, she stopped the cab. The driver was to wait.
The blinds of the house had already been drawn.
‘Oh, Alice …’
‘Good evening, madam?’
‘It’s quite all right. I know I’m not expected, but perhaps you would say …’
‘I’m very sorry, madam, but there is no one at home. Mr Cavendish is in college, and Miss Georgiana has gone out visiting.’
‘Well, never mind … it does not matter in the least.’
She did not know what she had hoped for. Only, onthe spur of the moment, had wanted to be here, to step inside the house again. Perhaps to talk to Georgiana, have his name mentioned.
Or he might have been at home.
‘But I would like just to leave some papers.’
‘Of course, I’ll put them on Miss Georgiana’s desk. She always goes to it when she gets in.’
But Florence had swept away from her, down the passage.
‘No, no, Alice, please don’t trouble,I’ll do it. And they are for Mr Cavendish. Don’t let me interrupt you, I know where to go.’
She closed the door sharply behind her.
He was not there, of course. And yet he was, the room was full of him. The book he had been reading lay open on the arm of the chair. She went over to the desk.
Bird notes. His handwriting was spare, abbreviated, in black ink. Not easy to read. She stared at it,trying to force it to yield up something of the man to her. She felt a curious flutter of excitement, as though she were gazing into some intensely private diary, learning secrets. But they were simply names, descriptions, measurements.
She lifted her eyes from the book, to look slowly round the room again, wanting to hoard every detail of it, to remember everything. Thought, this would be myworld. I would no longer be an intruder. But there was an acute, guilty pleasure in being in here alone, as though she had in some way caught and held something of him.
Across the room, the glass doors that led to the conservatory, and the other birds. She did not understand at all the appeal they held for him.
But she saw herself, seated in another chair, beside the lamp and opposite to him,reading, belonging.
Absorbed, she had heard no sounds. Now, there was Alice’s voice, quite close, explaining, protesting, and the door had opened, Thomas came quickly, angrily, into the room.
11
‘BUT YOU can hardly blame Alice. You have heard what she told you, that Florence simply marched in. Alice could not stop her. You know what she is like.’
‘Incompetent.’
‘Florence.’
‘Oh, certainly. It is becoming all too clear. How dare she enter my room, and pry and poke about like that. What possible reason could she have?’
‘Alice said something about papers …’
‘Papers! She wanted topush her way in, to …’
‘Oh, to what , Thomas?’
The door was ajar. From the hall, they heard the slightest of noises, instantly suppressed.
‘You had better lower your voice.’
They were in Georgiana’s small sitting-room. She had come in, soaked to the skin, from having walked down the avenue, to find her brother raging, as she had never seen him before, Alice stiffly self-defensive, Florencegone.
‘Please sit down. If we must discuss this before I am even changed out of my wet clothes, then let us do so quietly and calmly.’
To her surprise, he did sit, and, looking at him, she saw that the anger had left
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