carpet, the vase she had put them in shattered into four or five large irregular pieces. Julia stifled a scream rising in her throat, and put one hand to her mouth: someone had smashed the vase against the mahogany table and then thrown the flowers to the carpet. She ran to the windows and tugged at the handle; it moved smoothly down, and the window swung out into the garden, admitting a wave of cool night air. It was unlocked. Last night, outside, she had pushed at the handle, and it had not budged. Now she turned the key, locking the window again. Magnus must have entered somehow—had found his way in here—and after smashing the vase, had fled through the garden. The scene, in her imagination, had the same stench of moral failure, the same hopelessness, as the moment on the rooftop in her dream—it was overwhelmingly despairing.
Julia bent to the soaking carpet and picked up the sections of the McClintocks’ vase. These she took into the kitchen and set on the counter. Later she would try to glue them together. When she returned to the dining room she gathered the foolish broken flowers, took them into the kitchen and pitched them into the small bin beneath the sink. She thought of Magnus reeling home, furious, talking to himself, staggering bearlike up Kensington High Street. She supposed that he would visit one of his women.
After she had blotted up some of the water with a dish towel, Julia went back upstairs to her bedroom. She felt flushed and restless and lay down in her bed to await morning. It would be impossible to sleep, she thought, but her eyes, heavy, began to close almost immediately. Just beforeshe dozed, she imagined she heard far off laughter—an unfriendly, mocking noise. Heat settled on her in layers; in one of the broken dreams she had between intervals of wakefulness, she dreamed that she and Kate were birds, gliding birds, riding currents of warm air. Up there, they were free: no one would notice them. She desired anonymity, apartness, isolation. Perhaps, she thought, she really did want to go mad.
“Well, I told you I wanted to see your house,” said Lily. They were speaking on the telephone, shortly before noon. “And it would be a heaven-sent answer to our problem. Normally we meet at Mr. Piggot’s rooms in Shepherd’s Bush, but he’s been doing some painting and the flat simply reeks of it—extremely unsuitable, as you can imagine. Mrs. Fludd won’t come to Plane Tree House because she insists on working in a ground-floor room, and I don’t imagine we should occupy the lobby, do you? Miss Pinner and Miss Tooth live together in a bed-sitter in West Hampstead, but that, too, is on the second floor. Mr. Arkwright says his wife won’t hear of having our session at his house. So, my dear, you see our position. Might we meet at your house? I know it’s an intrusion, especially as it’s your first experience, but I’m at my wit’s end trying to invent a ground-floor room which simply does not exist.”
“No, it’s my pleasure, really,” said Julia, who was in fact dubious about having Mrs. Fludd and the rest of Lily’s circle in her house. Then she thought that if Magnus were hanging about outside, watching the house, it would serve him right to see a crowd of people drive up. She saw the house from his point of view, all its lights blazing, cars parked outside on both sides of the street: it would be an emblem of her independencefrom him. She said, “I’d be happy to help out. What time do you usually meet?”
“You
angel
,” breathed Lily. “Nine o’clock. The others will be so gratified.”
“Should I have any refreshments? Anything to eat?”
“Coffee or tea. Some biscuits. We’re not a very particular set.”
For the rest of the morning Julia sat out in the sun in her garden, alternately reading
Herzog
and dozing; after lunch she went again into the garden, taking with her an iced glass of gin and bitter lemon. The drink, the hot sun, reminded her of summer
Julia bent to the soaking carpet and picked up the sections of the McClintocks’ vase. These she took into the kitchen and set on the counter. Later she would try to glue them together. When she returned to the dining room she gathered the foolish broken flowers, took them into the kitchen and pitched them into the small bin beneath the sink. She thought of Magnus reeling home, furious, talking to himself, staggering bearlike up Kensington High Street. She supposed that he would visit one of his women.
After she had blotted up some of the water with a dish towel, Julia went back upstairs to her bedroom. She felt flushed and restless and lay down in her bed to await morning. It would be impossible to sleep, she thought, but her eyes, heavy, began to close almost immediately. Just beforeshe dozed, she imagined she heard far off laughter—an unfriendly, mocking noise. Heat settled on her in layers; in one of the broken dreams she had between intervals of wakefulness, she dreamed that she and Kate were birds, gliding birds, riding currents of warm air. Up there, they were free: no one would notice them. She desired anonymity, apartness, isolation. Perhaps, she thought, she really did want to go mad.
“Well, I told you I wanted to see your house,” said Lily. They were speaking on the telephone, shortly before noon. “And it would be a heaven-sent answer to our problem. Normally we meet at Mr. Piggot’s rooms in Shepherd’s Bush, but he’s been doing some painting and the flat simply reeks of it—extremely unsuitable, as you can imagine. Mrs. Fludd won’t come to Plane Tree House because she insists on working in a ground-floor room, and I don’t imagine we should occupy the lobby, do you? Miss Pinner and Miss Tooth live together in a bed-sitter in West Hampstead, but that, too, is on the second floor. Mr. Arkwright says his wife won’t hear of having our session at his house. So, my dear, you see our position. Might we meet at your house? I know it’s an intrusion, especially as it’s your first experience, but I’m at my wit’s end trying to invent a ground-floor room which simply does not exist.”
“No, it’s my pleasure, really,” said Julia, who was in fact dubious about having Mrs. Fludd and the rest of Lily’s circle in her house. Then she thought that if Magnus were hanging about outside, watching the house, it would serve him right to see a crowd of people drive up. She saw the house from his point of view, all its lights blazing, cars parked outside on both sides of the street: it would be an emblem of her independencefrom him. She said, “I’d be happy to help out. What time do you usually meet?”
“You
angel
,” breathed Lily. “Nine o’clock. The others will be so gratified.”
“Should I have any refreshments? Anything to eat?”
“Coffee or tea. Some biscuits. We’re not a very particular set.”
For the rest of the morning Julia sat out in the sun in her garden, alternately reading
Herzog
and dozing; after lunch she went again into the garden, taking with her an iced glass of gin and bitter lemon. The drink, the hot sun, reminded her of summer
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