The Remains of the Day

by Kazuo Ishiguro

  DAY SIX · EVENING

  Weymouth

  This seaside town is a place I have thought of coming to for many years. I have heard various people talk of having spent a pleasant holiday here, and Mrs Symons too, in The Wonder of England, calls it a ‘town that can keep the visitor fully entertained for many days on end’. In fact, she makes special mention of this pier, upon which I have been promenading for the past half-hour, recommending particularly that it be visited in the evening when it becomes lit up with bulbs of various colours. A moment ago, I learnt from an official that the lights would be switched on ‘fairly soon’, and so I have decided to sit down here on this bench and await the event. I have a good view from here of the sun setting over the sea, and though there is still plenty of daylight left – it has been a splendid day – I can see, here and there, lights starting to come on all along the shore. Meanwhile, the pier remains busy with people; behind me, the drumming of numerous footsteps upon these boards continues without interruption.

  I arrived in this town yesterday afternoon, and have decided to remain a second night here so as to allow myself this whole day to spend in a leisurely manner. And I must say, it has been something of a relief not to be motoring; for enjoyable though the activity can be, one can also get a little weary of it after a while. In any case, I can well afford the time to remain this further day here; an early start tomorrow will ensure that I am back at Darlington Hall by tea-time.

  It is now fully two days since my meeting with Miss Kenton in the tea lounge of the Rose Garden Hotel in Little Compton. For indeed, that was where we met, Miss Kenton surprising me by coming to the hotel. I had been whiling away some time after finishing my lunch – I was, I believe, simply staring at the rain from the window by my table – when a member of the hotel staff had come to inform me that a lady was wishing to see me at the reception. I rose and went out into the lobby, where I could see no one I recognized. But then the receptionist had said from behind her counter: ‘The lady’s in the tea lounge, sir.’

  Going in through the door indicated, I discovered a room filled with ill-matching armchairs and occasional tables. There was no one else present other than Miss Kenton, who rose as I entered, smiled and held out her hand to me.

  ‘Ah, Mr Stevens. How nice to see you again.’

  ‘Mrs Benn, how lovely.’

  The light in the room was extremely gloomy on account of the rain, and so we moved two armchairs up close to the bay window. And that was how Miss Kenton and I talked for the next two hours or so, there in the pool of grey light while the rain continued to fall steadily on the square outside.

  She had, naturally, aged somewhat, but to my eyes at least, she seemed to have done so very gracefully. Her figure remained slim, her posture as upright as ever. She had maintained, too, her old way of holding her head in a manner that verged on the defiant. Of course, with the bleak light falling on her face, I could hardly help but notice the lines that had appeared here and there. But by and large the Miss Kenton I saw before me looked surprisingly similar to the person who had inhabited my memory over these years. That is to say, it was, on the whole, extremely pleasing to see her again.

  For the first twenty or so minutes, I would say we exchanged the sort of remarks strangers might; she inquired politely about my journey thus far, how I was enjoying my holiday, which towns and landmarks I had visited and so on. As we continued to talk, I must say I thought I began to notice further, more subtle changes which the years had wrought on her. For instance, Miss Kenton appeared, somehow, slower. It is possible this was simply the calmness that comes with age, and I did try hard for some time to see it as such. But I could not escape the feeling that what I was really seeing was a weariness with life; the spark which had once made her such a lively, and at times volatile person seemed now to have gone. In fact, every now and then, when she was not speaking, when her face was in repose, I thought I glimpsed something like sadness in her expression. But then again, I may well have been mistaken about this.

  After a little while, what little awkwardness as existed during the initial minutes of our meeting had dissipated completely, and our conversation took a more personal turn. We spent some time reminiscing about various persons from the past, or else exchanging any news we had concerning them, and this was, I must say, most enjoyable. But it was not so much the content of our conversation as the little smiles she gave at the end of utterances, her small ironic inflexions here and there, certain gestures with her shoulders or her hands, which began to recall unmistakably the rhythms and habits of our conversations from all those years ago.

  It was around this point, also, that I was able to establish some facts concerning her present circumstances. For instance, I learnt that her marriage was not in quite as parlous a state as might have been supposed from her letter; that although she had indeed left her home for a period of four or five days – during which time the letter I received had been composed – she had returned home and Mr Benn had been very pleased to have her back. ‘It’s just as well one of us is sensible about these things,’ she said with a smile.

  I am aware, of course, that such matters were hardly any of my business, and I should make clear I would not have dreamt of prying into these areas were it not that I did have, you might recall, important professional reasons for doing so; that is to say, in respect to the present staffing problems at Darlington Hall. In any case, Miss Kenton did not seem to mind at all confiding in me over these matters and I took this as a pleasing testimony to the strength of the close working relationship we had once had.

  For a little while after that, I recall. Miss Kenton went on talking more generally about her husband, who is to retire soon, a little early on account of poor health, and of her daughter, who is now married and expecting a child in the autumn. In fact. Miss Kenton gave me her daughter’s address in Dorset, and I must say, I was rather flattered to see how keen she was that I call in on my return journey. Although I explained that it was unlikely I would pass through that part of Dorset, Miss Kenton continued to press me, saying: ‘Catherine’s heard all about you, Mr Stevens. She’d be so thrilled to meet you.’

  For my own part, I tried to describe to her as best I could the Darlington Hall of today. I attempted to convey to her what a genial employer Mr Farraday is; and I described the changes to the house itself, the alterations and the dust-sheetings, as well as the present staffing arrangements. Miss Kenton, I thought, became visibly happier when I talked about the house and soon we were recollecting together various old memories, frequently laughing over them.

  Only once do I recall our touching upon Lord Darlington. We had been enjoying some recollection or other concerning the young Mr Cardinal, so that I was then obliged to go on to inform Miss Kenton of the gentleman’s being killed in Belgium during the war. And I had gone on to say: ‘Of course, his lordship was very fond of Mr Cardinal and took it very badly.’

  I did not wish to spoil the pleasant atmosphere with unhappy talk, so tried to leave the topic again almost immediately. But as I had feared, Miss Kenton had read of the unsuccessful libel action, and inevitably, took the opportunity to probe me a little. As I recall, I rather resisted being drawn in, though in the end I did say to her:

  ‘The fact is, Mrs Benn, throughout the war, some truly terrible things had been said about his lordship – and by that newspaper in particular. He bore it all while the country remained in peril, but once the war was over, and the insinuations simply continued, well, his lordship saw no reason to go on suffering in silence. It’s easy enough to see now, perhaps, all the dangers of going to court just at that time, what with the climate as it was. But there you are. His lordship sincerely believed he would get justice. Instead, of course, the newspaper simply increased its circulation. And his lordship’s good name was destroyed for ever. Really, Mrs Benn, afterwards, well, his lordship was virtually an invalid. And the house became so quiet. I would take him tea in the drawing room and, well … It really was most tragic t
o see.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Stevens. I had no idea things had been so bad.’

  ‘Oh yes, Mrs Benn. But enough of this. I know you remember Darlington Hall in the days when there were great gatherings, when it was filled with distinguished visitors. Now that’s the way his lordship deserves to be remembered.’

  As I say, that was the only time we mentioned Lord Darlington. Predominantly, we concerned ourselves with very happy memories, and those two hours we spent together in the tea lounge were, I would say, extremely pleasant ones. I seem to remember various other guests coming in while we were talking, sitting down for a few moments and leaving again, but they did not distract us in any way at all. Indeed, one could hardly believe two whole hours had elapsed when Miss Kenton looked up at the clock on the mantelshelf and said she would have to be returning home. On establishing that she would have to walk in the rain to a bus stop a little way out of the village, I insisted on running her there in the Ford, and so it was that after obtaining an umbrella from the reception desk, we stepped outside together.

  Large puddles had formed on the ground around where I had left the Ford, obliging me to assist Miss Kenton a little to allow her to reach the passenger door. Soon, however, we were motoring down the village high street, and then the shops had gone and we found ourselves in open country. Miss Kenton, who had been sitting quietly watching the passing view, turned to me at this point, saying:

  ‘What are you smiling to yourself about like that, Mr Stevens?’

  ‘Oh … You must excuse me, Mrs Benn, but I was just recalling certain things you wrote in your letter. I was a little worried when I read them, but I see now I had little reason to be.’

  ‘Oh? What things in particular do you mean, Mr Stevens?’

  ‘Oh, nothing in particular, Mrs Benn.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Stevens, you really must tell me.’

  ‘Well, for instance, Mrs Benn,’ I said with a laugh, ‘at one point in your letter, you write – now let me see – “the rest of my life stretches out like an emptiness before me.” Some words to that effect.’

  ‘Really, Mr Stevens,’ she said, also laughing a little. ‘I couldn’t have written any such thing.’

  ‘Oh, I assure you you did, Mrs Benn. I recall it very clearly.’

  ‘Oh dear. Well, perhaps there are some days when I feel like that. But they pass quickly enough. Let me assure you, Mr Stevens, my life does not stretch out emptily before me. For one thing, we are looking forward to the grandchild. The first of a few perhaps.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. That will be splendid for you.’

  We drove on quietly for a few further moments. Then Miss Kenton said:

  ‘And what about you, Mr Stevens? What does the future hold for you back at Darlington Hall?’

  ‘Well, whatever awaits me, Mrs Benn, I know I’m not awaited by emptiness. If only I were. But oh no, there’s work, work and more work.’

  We both laughed at this. Then Miss Kenton pointed out a bus shelter visible further up the road. As we approached it, she said:

  ‘Will you wait with me, Mr Stevens? The bus will only be a few minutes.’

  The rain was still falling steadily as we got out of the car and hurried towards the shelter. This latter – a stone construct complete with a tiled roof – looked very sturdy, as indeed it needed to be, standing as it did in a highly exposed position against a background of empty fields. Inside, the paint was peeling everywhere, but the place was clean enough. Miss Kenton seated herself on the bench provided, while I remained on my feet where I could command a view of the approaching bus. On the other side of the road, all I could see were more farm fields; a line of telegraph poles led my eye over them into the far distance.

  After we had been waiting in silence for a few minutes, I finally brought myself to say:

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Benn. But the fact is we may not meet again for a long time. I wonder if you would perhaps permit me to ask you something of a rather personal order. It is something that has been troubling me for some time.’

  ‘Certainly, Mr Stevens. We are old friends, after all.’

  ‘Indeed, as you say, we are old friends. I simply wished to ask you, Mrs Benn. Please do not reply if you feel you shouldn’t. But the fact is, the letters I have had from you over the years, and in particular the last letter, have tended to suggest that you are – how might one put it? – rather unhappy. I simply wondered if you were being ill-treated in some way. Forgive me, but as I say, it is something that has worried me for some time. I would feel foolish had I come all this way and seen you and not at least asked you.’

  ‘Mr Stevens, there’s no need to be so embarrassed. We’re old friends, after all, are we not? In fact, I’m very touched you should be so concerned. And I can put your mind at rest on this matter absolutely. My husband does not mistreat me at all in any way. He is not in the least a cruel or ill-tempered man.’

  ‘I must say, Mrs Benn, that does take a load from my mind.’

  I leaned forward into the rain, looking for signs of the bus.

  ‘I can see you are not very satisfied, Mr Stevens,’ Miss Kenton said. ‘Do you not believe me?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not that, Mrs Benn, not that at all. It’s just that the fact remains, you do not seem to have been happy over the years. That is to say – forgive me – you have taken it on yourself to leave your husband on a number of occasions. If he does not mistreat you, then, well … one is rather mystified as to the cause of your unhappiness.’

  I looked out into the drizzle again. Eventually, I heard Miss Kenton say behind me: ‘Mr Stevens, how can I explain? I hardly know myself why I do such things. But it’s true, I’ve left three times now.’ She paused a moment, during which time I continued to gaze out towards the fields on the other side of the road. Then she said: ‘I suppose, Mr Stevens, you’re asking whether or not I love my husband.’

  ‘Really, Mrs Benn, I would hardly presume …’

  ‘I feel I should answer you, Mr Stevens. As you say, we may not meet again for many years. Yes, I do love my husband. I didn’t at first. I didn’t at first for a long time. When I left Darlington Hall all those years ago, I never realized I was really, truly leaving. I believe I thought of it as simply another ruse, Mr Stevens, to annoy you. It was a shock to come out here and find myself married. For a long time, I was very unhappy, very unhappy indeed. But then year after year went by, there was the war, Catherine grew up, and one day I realized I loved my husband. You spend so much time with someone, you find you get used to him. He’s a kind, steady man, and yes, Mr Stevens, I’ve grown to love him.’

  Miss Kenton fell silent again for a moment. Then she went on:

  ‘But that doesn’t mean to say, of course, there aren’t occasions now and then – extremely desolate occasions – when you think to yourself: “What a terrible mistake I’ve made with my life.” And you get to thinking about a different life, a better life you might have had. For instance, I get to thinking about a life I may have had with you, Mr Stevens. And I suppose that’s when I get angry over some trivial little thing and leave. But each time I do so, I realize before long – my rightful place is with my husband. After all, there’s no turning back the clock now. One can’t be forever dwelling on what might have been. One should realize one has as good as most, perhaps better, and be grateful.’

  I do not think I responded immediately, for it took me a moment or two to fully digest these words of Miss Kenton. Moreover, as you might appreciate, their implications were such as to provoke a certain degree of sorrow within me. Indeed – why should I not admit it? – at that moment, my heart was breaking. Before long, however, I turned to her and said with a smile:

  ‘You’re very correct, Mrs Benn. As you say, it is too late to turn back the clock. Indeed, I would not be able to rest if I thought such ideas were the cause of unhappiness for you and your husband. We must each of us, as you point out, be grateful for what we do have. And from what you tell me, Mrs Benn, you have reason to be conten
ted. In fact, I would venture, what with Mr Benn retiring, and with grandchildren on the way, that you and Mr Benn have some extremely happy years before you. You really mustn’t let any more foolish ideas come between yourself and the happiness you deserve.’

  ‘Of course, you’re right, Mr Stevens. You’re so kind.’

  ‘Ah, Mrs Benn, that appears to be the bus coming now.’

  I stepped outside and signalled, while Miss Kenton rose and came to the edge of the shelter. Only as the bus pulled up did I glance at Miss Kenton and perceive that her eyes had filled with tears. I smiled and said:

  ‘Now, Mrs Benn, you must take good care of yourself. Many say retirement is the best part of life for a married couple. You must do all you can to make these years happy ones for yourself and your husband. We may never meet again, Mrs Benn, so I would ask you to take good heed of what I am saying.’

  ‘I will, Mr Stevens, thank you. And thank you for the lift. It was so very kind of you. It was so nice to see you again.’