by Barbara Pym
‘Yes, that’s an idea,’ said James, with forced heartiness. ‘But of course I haven’t got a new apartment yet.’
‘Maybe not, but you will have. In the meantime, what are we waiting for?’
‘I don’t know,’ said James.
Ned’s scent, so much more powerful and exotic than the discreetly British ‘after-shave’ which was all that James had ever used, seemed to fill the room as he came nearer to the bed where James was lying still holding Leonora’s letter in his hand.
XIV
Getting rid of Miss Foxe proved surprisingly easy. Leonora had left the letter for her on the table in the hall where she could not fail to see it, rather than risk the embarrassment of an encounter by slipping it under her door. She had then gone out to calm herself and prepare for what was to come, for even Leonora — hard though she professed to be—could not but realise that turning an elderly gentlewoman out of her home might well be an upsetting experience. She paced round the park in the sunshine, admiring the beds of heliotrope and fuchsia and remembering the time she had walked there with James. It was for him that she was doing this, not for herself. Two turns round the park convinced her of the Tightness of her action, so that when she got back to the house to find Miss Foxe hovering in the hall she was ready for her, determined to be firm but not unkind, or at least no more unkind than was necessary.
‘Oh, Miss Eyre,’ said Miss Foxe—they had never become ‘Leonora’ and ‘Charlotte’ to each other— ‘I’ve just had your letter. I wonder if we could talk about it.’
‘Certainly, Miss Foxe,’ said Leonora, relieved that she did not appear unduly agitated. ‘Come in and have a cup of coffee,’ she added graciously.
‘Oh, thank you, Miss Eyre, your coffee is always so delicious.’
‘I’m afraid my letter must have been rather a shock to you,’ Leonora began as she poured the coffee.
‘Well, in a way it was, but really it was more of a relief. You see, I’ve been wanting to ask you if I could leave before the end of the lease, because I’ve found what I believe one calls “alternative accommodation”’ —here they smiled at each other— ‘and naturally I’m anxious to get into it as soon as possible.’
Leonora was almost disappointed. Where could Miss Foxe have found to go at as reasonable a rent as her present one that would be at all suitable?
‘It’s St Basil’s Priory,’ Miss Foxe went on, as if Leonora would know at once what she meant. ‘A delightful country house for elderly people run by Anglican nuns,’ she explained, ‘and they’ve agreed to take me in.’
She made herself sound like a fallen woman, Leonora thought, being ‘taken in’ by nuns.
‘A vacancy occurred through death—Mrs Ainger told me about it, only of course you don’t know her, do you?—anyway, there it is and I should like to go next week.’
‘But what about your furniture?’ Leonora asked, thinking of Humphrey. ‘I suppose you’ll want to sell it?’
‘Oh, no, I can take my bits and pieces with me. I’m to have two unfurnished rooms.’
‘I see—it sounds ideal for you.’
‘Yes, I’m so glad things have turned out like this. When you said that in your note about your friend returning from abroad and needing somewhere to live, I thought, well, perhaps this has somehow been arranged, you know …’She inclined her head upwards in the direction of the ceiling, ‘I do believe things sometimes are, Miss Eyre …’
Perhaps this really had been, thought Leonora, with James in mind.
‘And there’s central heating, so no more bother with those heavy paraffin cans and wondering if the man is going to call. I always remember how kind your nephew was that time, taking it all the way upstairs for me. I think of that kind action when we hear about all this hooliganism and violence every where — young people aren’t all like that, are they?’
Leonora was disconcerted for a moment—surely James, her ‘nephew’, didn’t appear to be as young as all that? And yet if he did, so much the better. ‘Have you fixed with the removal men?’ she asked. ‘I know a very good firm.’
‘Oh, that’s all settled,’ said Miss Foxe eagerly. ‘Two of the lay brothers will come with the van.’-
Leonora expressed astonishment.
‘Yes, you see there are monks as well—oh, not living all together, of course, but quite near. And they help the sisters with all kinds of little jobs. In fact one of the lay brothers was a remover’s man before he entered St Basil’s.’
‘How strange,’ said Leonora. It was certainly a convenient arrangement but she did hope that the lay brothers and their van wouldn’t be too conspicuous in the road and make the whole operation ridiculous, or offend in any way against her own dignity.
When the moving day came, Leonora was of course woman enough to watch from the shadow of her curtains. One of the lay brothers was strikingly good-looking, really such a waste, one felt, while the other, perhaps the one who had been a furniture remover in his worldly life, was short and stockily built. Leonora watched Miss Foxe’s things being taken down to the van, noticing particularly the Chinese jars which Humphrey had coveted. When everything had been loaded up Leonora made her appearance in the hall to say good bye. She could afford to be gracious now and was at her most charming, wishing Miss Foxe all happiness in her new life. It was perhaps regrettable that Miss Foxe was to travel down in the van with the brothers, and the three of them looked rather odd perched up in front, Miss Foxe in the middle. Still, she had gone, that was the main thing. The house would be very different now.
Leonora could not resist running up into the empty flat and imagining James’s things arranged in the rooms, for now she could freely admit to herself that it was her intention to have him living under her roof. The events that had led up to this decision, and the anxiety, almost unhappiness, had been pushed into the back of her mind by the business of Miss Foxe’s removal. Now she began to go over what Humphrey had said and wonder how seriously she ought to take it and what she could do about it. From Humphrey’s description of the girl it all sounded rather sordid and unworthy, the kind of liaison James would be ashamed of and that meant very little to him. For nothing could touch their relationship, their rare and wonderful friendship, Leonora was sure of that.
All the same she was curious about the girl. She knew that James had been going to lend a few bits of his furniture to a friend in the country, but had thought nothing of it at the time. Could the friend be this girl, Phoebe Sharpe? It would be easy to find out when she arranged about gettingjames’s furniture moved into the empty flat. After all, it would save the cost of storage to have his things in her house and he could choose his own decorations when he came back.
The foreman at the depository was most helpful — Leonora had already classified him as a ‘sweet little man’ —and was able to give her the address of the young lady who had arranged for the furniture to be sent to her in the country. And of course the name was Miss Sharpe.
Now there was the question of what to do next. Should she write and announce herself or call unexpectedly — people in the country were always in—and thus see for herself the scene of James’s crime, if one could call it that? Leonora of course had no car, nor did she wish to enlist Humphrey’s help on this occasion; she wanted to go alone, to arrive anonymously by train or bus. There was something pleasingly adventurous about a journey by Green Line bus, and by a fortunate coincidence it seemed that one passed through the village. Once she got there it should be easy to find Vine Cottage.
Leonora was the only person getting out of the bus in the village. It was the middle of the afternoon, hot and sunny, and the place was deserted as if one were in Italy or Spain and the inhabitants were having their siesta.
She could not see anybody to ask the way so she began to walk slowly down the wide main street until she came to the church. Then, seeing what looked like a cottage through the trees, she turned towards it and came upon a gate with the name Vine Cottage on a faded wooden plaque.
>
So this was it. Seen through Leonora’s eyes it looked shabby, almost mean, not the kind of place she would have chosen to live in herself. Yet the shady front garden and the little windows overgrown with climbing roses suggested an ideal setting for a love affair, and she found that she was trembling and had to pause with her hand on the gate to think what she would do first. She would announce herself, saying that she was the friend of James’s who had packed up his furniture and that he was coming back soon and would need it. After that she would see how things went.
There was a tarnished brass knocker in the form of a dolphin on the front door. What a pity Miss Sharpe didn’t clean it, Leonora thought, as she lifted it and knocked. And surely something could have been done to the front garden? Presumably the vine was round at the back for there was no trace of it here. ‘I am Leonora Eyre,’ she said to herself as she waited, and the declaration gave her courage and a feeling of security. After a while she knocked again but there was still no answer. She pushed against the door and it opened. How careless people were in the country, she thought, noticing that all the windows were open too; they seemed to have no fear of burglars or intruders.
She found herself in a small low-ceilinged room, dark and cool after the sunshine outside and extremely untidy.
‘Is anybody in?’ she called out tentatively, for Miss Sharpe might be upstairs or out at the back. But there was no answer. Leonora sat down, for she was very tired. Perhaps she had even hoped to be offered a cup of tea, though given the circumstances of her visit that was perhaps unlikely. Also the general appearance of the room suggested nothing so conventional. Most of the space was taken up by a round table on which stood a typewriter, stacks of books, papers and letters, a pile of roughly dried washing, and the remains of a meal—a loaf, cheese, butter, and a mug half full of a brownish liquid. In the middle of it all was a tabby and white cat, curled up asleep. Along one wall was a sofa heaped with brightly coloured cushions, gramophone records and more books. It was difficult, impossible really, to imagine James in such a setting and Leonora began to go over the evidence she had — apart from his furniture of which there was no sign — for supposing that there was anything between James and Phoebe Sharpe. It was true that Phoebe had been to Humphrey’s shop and spoken of James as her friend, but perhaps Humphrey had jumped to the wrong conclusions. She decided to withhold an opinion until she had seen the girl.
Leonora stood up and looked around her. A lamp made out of a wine bottle caught her eye and she smiled, remembering that James had once had one until she had gently teased him into putting it away. There were no pictures or objects to give any clue to Phoebe Sharpe’s tastes, except possibly the books. Leonora opened one of them—it was poetry, but without her glasses she could make nothing of it. A place in it had been marked by envelope addressed in James’s unmistakable large sprawling hand, she didn’t need her glasses to recognisethat. It gave her a shock to see a letter from him addressed to somebody else and she stood with it in her hand, wondering if she should open it. Of course one didn’t read other people’s letters, one wasn’t that kind of person, but in the circumstances, and bearing in mind the close relationship between herself and James, going against one’s better nature though it would be …
There was a light tap on the door. Leonora quickly replaced the letter in the book and arranged herself in an attitude of waiting, realising that it could hardly be Phoebe knocking on her own door.
‘Oh … is Miss Sharpe not here?’ A tall fair woman of about Leonora’s own age came into the room.
Leonora stood up and the two women confronted each other.
‘I came to see her too, but there seems to be nobody here,’ she explained. ‘I am Leonora Eyre,’ she announced, making the declaration that was to have given her confidence for the encounter with Phoebe. ‘
‘And I am Rose Culver,’ countered the woman, almost challenging her.
Leonora took up the challenge by a cool appraisal of the woman’s clothes—cotton dress, bare legs and canvas sandals—did one have to dress like that in the country? Nevertheless Miss Culver had her own kind of distinction even if only that of a typical English spinster.
‘A friend of mine lent Miss Sharpe some furniture,’ she explained, ‘and I came to see her about returning it. I’m furnishing a flat for him and he’ll need the things.’
‘You came all this way to ask her that?’ asked Miss
Culver, as if she found it strange, ‘Wouldn’t it have been better to write or telephone first?’
Leonora was not used to having her actions questioned or criticised and was about to return a sharp answer when Miss Culver appeared to soften, remarking on the heat of the afternoon and inviting Leonora to have tea at her own cottage.
‘That’s very kind …,’ Leonora hesitated, ‘ … do you think Miss Sharpe will be back this afternoon?’
‘She’s probably gone to London for the day. Would you like to leave a note for her?’
‘No, I think I’ll write when I get home.’ Things had hardly turned out as Leonora had expected and the next step was not clear. Leonora could not of course confide in Miss Culver, but she was in great need of tea and allowed herself to be led into the next-door cottage, shown where to ‘wash her hands’, given an embroidered guest towel, and then placed in a deckchair with a canopy and footstool in a delightful little garden. She was even asked if she preferred Earl Grey or Darjeeling.
Leonora leaned back and closed her eyes. The country was certainly most agreeable in some ways and Miss Culver seemed a nice woman. Perhaps after all it had been a good thing that Phoebe Sharpe had been out; it was much more dignified never to meet her, and after seeing the state of that room Leonora felt she hardly wished to.
Miss Culver poured tea and handed the thinnest of brown bread and butter.
‘Delicious,’ murmured Leonora, ‘you’re so kind.’ After her second cup of tea she inquired tentatively whether Miss Culver had ever met James.
‘Oh, there seem to be several young people who come to see Phoebe Sharpe,’ said Miss Culver vaguely. ‘I can’t say that I know any of them by name.’
Leonora found this encouraging and was conscious of a feeling of relief; perhaps James was only one of many. ‘He is a very great friend of mine,’ she said, ‘we’re very close.’
‘The odd thing about men is that one never really knows,’ said Miss Culver, ‘Just when you think they’re close they suddenly go off.’
Leonora was startled and wondered if she had heard correctly. For a moment the two ageing unmarried women looked at each other in a way that seemed to ask, ‘What can you know of being close to a man?’ It was a temporary embarrassment, however. Leonora quickly recovered, deciding that Miss Culver was obviously one of those eccentric women who live alone and don’t always realise what they are saying.
‘What a delightful herb garden,’ she remarked. ‘I’ve never seen such marvellous parsley.’
‘Yes, it does seem to flourish here—would you like some?’
‘Thank you, I should. And I think perhaps I ought to be going for my bus.’
‘Ah, yes, you’ll want to get the four forty-five—it won’t be crowded in the middle of the week, but I always like to be in plenty of time myself. I’ll come and show you where the stop is.’
How completely dull and normal Miss Culver appeared now, as they walked along together, Leonora carrying her bunch of parsley with such elegance that it looked like an exotic accessory to her outfit. In the bus she brooded a little over that unexpected remark about men ‘going off’just when you thought they were close. She hardly liked to admit it, but she did sometimes feel slightly uneasy when James was out of her sight and this business with Phoebe Sharpe —whether there had been much or little in it—showed that her anxiety was justified. Not that one thought of James as ‘men’, of course, or regarded him quite as other people. It wasn’t as if one could marry James, for instance, though it was amusing to toy with the idea. ‘Quietly in London’,
one sometimes read, perhaps even ‘very quietly’. Surely life—and literature—were not without precedents for such a marriage? Then she remembered Humphrey looming over her that evening, but of course dear James wouldn’t expect anything like that…
When she got home she wrote a note to Phoebe about the furniture, explaining that it would now be needed and suggesting a time when it might be collected, a few cool but polite lines that would no doubt have the desired effect.
XV
Three days later Leonora was in an antique shop in Kensington Church Street, examining a pair of porcelain vases.
‘They’re quite perfect, Madam,’ said the woman assistant coldly. ‘You won’t find any flaw, I can assure you.’
‘That may be,’ said Leonora, equally cold, ‘but one likes to see for oneself.’ They had certainly looked perfect that evening when she and James had walked past the shop and he had admired them so, but Humphrey had impressed on her the importance of making quite sure. ‘What are you asking for them?’ she inquired, her voice becoming a degree colder.
The woman, very clear and cool, stated the price.
Leonora repeated this on a questioning note, as if she could hardly believe what she had just been told.
‘That is the price, Madam.’
The temperature of the little room now fell to zero, although it was a warm September afternoon outside. An icy silence lay between the two women.
‘Very well then, I’ll take them.’ One did not haggle of course, Leonora told herself, and the faint doubt in her
mind was not whether these beautiful objects were too expensive but whether it was entirely wise to spend quite so much money on James’s birthday present. Still, it wasn’t as if she didn’t like them herself; they were exquisite and as James was coming to live in her house they would, in a sense, be hers too. She sat down at a little table, also exquisite in its humbler way, and began to write out the cheque.