But when Peregrine wasn’t thinking about his awful wife he was quite gay, and a charming companion. When my morning sitting was over he would take me to a restaurant to have lunch. I was proud of being seen lunching with a distinguished-looking, middle-aged man, except that sometimes people mistook him for my father, and he didn’t like that very much. I used to eat a lot at these lunches, and sometimes when I got home I felt awfully sick.
I seemed to be feeling sick quite a lot lately, ever since I’d had ’flu. Then a great dread came in my mind, but I couldn’t face it at first, but eventually I had to tell Charles I was awfully sorry but there seemed to be another baby coming. He was simply horrified and said he just couldn’t bear the idea of any more babies, and I must do something to get rid of it. It wasn’t fair to him to keep having children like this.
I was very scared about this idea — getting rid of babies — but there was still the chance it might be a mistake, so I went to a woman doctor who lived quite near. I’d seen her sometimes getting in and out of her car, and I thought she was nice. I asked her to examine me, and when she did she said there was a baby inside me, and it was nearly three months old. I told her all about Charles hating babies and how we depended on the money I earned. Then she asked me how I felt about having any more children and I told her I’d always hoped to have a simply enormous family, and although I couldn’t help rather loving babies, I realised now it wasn’t right to have a family unless you were rich. All the same, I didn’t want to get rid of this one. It seemed a sordid and wicked thing to do. She said it was also a dangerous thing to do; then she offered to attend me and to bring the baby into the world for nothing. She was awfully kind, but said I must make Charles get a job, any job, even if it was nothing to do with painting.
I went home and told Charles all she had said, and he looked quite terrified and said he wouldn’t give up his painting for beastly babies and ran out of the house. I felt all frightened, as if I’d done something wicked. I did wish it was the men sometimes that had babies. I would be awfully kind to Charles if he had one, although I would hate to see him looking all fat.
He didn’t come back till late in the night, but I was still awake. He said he was sorry he had been so angry with me, but I must promise to get rid of this extra child. So I cried a bit and said I would as long as I didn’t have to do anything too alarming.
The next morning Peregrine ’phoned to say he was going away for about six weeks on a lecture tour. He was excited about it, and said he would get in touch with me as soon as he returned. I was pleased he was going to be away now I felt so unhappy, because I knew men hate women when they are unhappy.
20
Charles kept asking people’s advice on how to get rid of babies, and everyone seemed to know someone who knew someone who knew someone who did something which sounded quite crazy, like walking six miles carrying a heavy weight, or taking a dose of Epsom salts and swimming out to sea, or skipping for an hour. Someone’s charwoman told him she used to drink a bottle of port mixed with quinine, and it never failed. I did try this, but it only made me sick for three days and the port was quite expensive, too.
Charles was getting desperate. I felt dreadfully sorry for him, but angry, too. Then the woman who lived at the top of the house, who already had two children, told me she had had an operation when she found she was going to have another. She said it had cost five pounds and the baby had gone away, but she was ill for three months after. She was a good woman and a very kind mother, but her husband had been out of work for a long time. It rather comforted me that even good women got rid of their babies, but I didn’t like the idea of being ill for three months. I told Charles, in case he thought I should have that kind of operation, but I was very glad to hear that he didn’t like the idea either.
Then he heard about a doctor who did illegal operations for twenty-five pounds. He said he had heard of several people who had been to him, and they hadn’t died or been very ill or anything like that, so I agreed to visit this doctor if Charles would find the twenty-five pounds. I rather hoped he would be unable to raise such a large sum of money, but he went to five of our richer friends and told them we were behind with the rent and would be turned out if we didn’t pay at once, and they all gave him five pounds; I did hope they didn’t compare notes afterwards. Ann was one of the people he borrowed five pounds from, but she didn’t know what it was for. We had kept this wretched baby a secret from her. She was the only person who we paid back. To throw away twenty-five pounds on this sordid operation seemed such a dreadful waste to me. I thought of all the lovely things we could have bought for the flat, or we could have had a holiday by the sea and some new clothes as well.
I don’t feel much like writing about the actual operation. It was horrible and did not work at all as it should. I couldn’t go to hospital, because we would have all gone to prison if I had. Even the doctor did his best to help me recover, although he was scared stiff to come near me when he saw it had all gone wrong, but eventually I became better. But my mind didn’t recover at all. I felt all disgusted and that I had been cheated from having my baby. Now it had gone I wanted it more than ever; I felt I had been weak. I should have left Charles and had the baby somewhere. If I’d just become a tramp with Sandro surely someone would have taken us in, but instead of that I had murdered it.
While I had been ill Sandro had had to go away. He stayed with a married sister of Eva’s who lived in the country. We did not, of course, tell them the truth about my illness. When I recovered and suggested bringing him home, they wrote and said he could stay there for a few months if we liked and share their child’s nurse. They had a little girl of four and he would be a companion for her. Charles was very keen on this suggestion and I could hardly refuse to let him have a good country holiday with a trained nurse to look after him, instead of the very haphazard life he led with us, but I had an uneasy feeling about him being so far away, as if he would never come back to me again.
Just at this time I was offered a job in a commercial studio. The pay was two pounds ten shillings a week, more than I had ever earned before. That finally decided me to let Sandro stay away for a time, so I accepted the job, although I had to tell them I would have to leave when Sandro returned, but they said perhaps I could work part time then, so we left it at that.
I was glad to have a regular job. It took my mind off all my miserable feelings. The first day there, I had to walk to work because we had no money in the house. Charles promised he would bring some in time for lunch, but, of course, didn’t, and I was too shy of the other girls to borrow any, so I became rather hungry and when it was time to leave I waited to see if he would come to fetch me, but again he failed me, so I had to walk home, getting more and more hungry on the way, and angry, too. When I arrived home I saw Charles through the uncurtained window. He was sitting reading with a tray of tea-things beside him. He looked so comfortable, I became even more angry, and dashed in like a whirlwind and picked up a chair and hit him with it. He did look startled. It was the first time I had done anything like that, and he was disgusted with me. I was ashamed of myself, too, but felt too tired to apologise, so just went to bed and wished I was dead.
But I didn’t die. The next morning there was a letter from Peregrine saying he was returning that day and would call round after dinner. I was glad about this, because it was seven weeks since we had seen him and everything had been so miserable. I felt things might be better now he had returned.
When I told Charles he said he was going out that evening. He had arranged to share a model with Francis at his studio, so I would have to entertain him alone. Charles and I were still on bad terms with each other, but it didn’t seem to matter any more.
That evening, when I returned from work, I tidied the flat and then myself. Charles had already left the house, so I did not have to cook any supper. I made some coffee and was just laying a tray with the best cups and some chocolate biscuits when Peregrine arrived. He seemed pleased to
see me and after a few minutes asked where Charles was. I told him he was out. Then he said he would go and say good night to Sandro, who was very fond of him, so I told him Sandro was out, too, and would be for several months. Then he noticed how thin and awful I was looking and asked what was the matter. He said he was sure something dreadful had happened while he was away, but I changed the subject and told him about my new job, and we sat on the divan and drank coffee and talked about his lecture tour; but I hardly listened. I couldn’t help looking at him and thinking how glad I was he was back.
Then he said he insisted on knowing what had happened while he was away. I didn’t like to tell him in case it made him hate me, but he was so insistent that eventually I did tell him, and it did not make him hate me, but he seemed rather shocked, and kept muttering ‘If only I’d known’ over and over; but I couldn’t see that there was anything he could have done if he had known. It was a great relief to get all this misery and guilty feeling off my mind, and no one could have had a more kind and sympathetic listener to load their misery on than I had. I even told him about hitting Charles with the chair, but it didn’t seem to matter any more. Charles was miles away.
But not in reality. Very soon he was at home again, with his sketch book under his arm. He was very pleased with the drawings he had done and showed them to Peregrine, but although they were good, he didn’t seem interested; he seemed kind of distracted and left almost immediately. Charles said he was ‘a surly bugger’.
21
The next day at lunch-time the little man called ‘Lonely Pilgrim’ who swept out the studio and did odd jobs came and told me in a loud whisper that a Mr Narrow had called for me, so I went to the outer room and there he was. He said he had come to take me out to lunch so that I didn’t throw any more chairs at Charles. I was awfully pleased to see him, but hoped I wasn’t covered in dirt and paint. I ran away to fetch my coat and saw in the glass I wasn’t looking dirty at all; on the contrary, I looked my very best, although I was only wearing a home-made plaid frock that had cost three shillings.
We went to an Italian restaurant in Charlotte Street which was quite near and had a beautiful lunch. I’d quite forgotten how sad I was and chattered away, but he wasn’t bored, because he said he would fetch me for lunch almost every day in future to make sure I had at least one good meal a day. He didn’t eat much himself, just sat watching me, which I thought rather a waste. I didn’t tell Charles about these lunches I had with Peregrine in case he came to the restaurant every day to get a free lunch, too.
I began to think of Peregrine all the time, but this didn’t make me unkind to Charles. I was much nicer to him than usual, and always cooked his favourite food for supper, and let him draw me as much as he wished. I kept quite still without grumbling, even when I had masses of work screaming to be done.
One morning before I left for work James ’phoned and asked us to have dinner with him. I said Charles would love to come, but I wanted to have an evening at home to have a great tidy up, and if I had no cooking to do it would be a great opportunity, so it was arranged that Charles should go. When I told Peregrine this at lunch-time, he said, ‘Don’t go home and do all that stupid tidying. Come and have supper at my studio.’ I rather felt it would be deceitful to do this, but, on the other hand, I wanted to very much, so I said I would, but I must leave early so that I could at least make the flat look as if it had been cleaned, and have a smell of polish about. Already I was getting a scheming mind.
When I left work that evening Peregrine was waiting outside to take me to his studio. It was pouring with rain, and his collar was turned up and his hat was turned down, and he looked like a dreadful wet piece of seaweed. He took my arm and we hurried to the nearest bus stop. For the moment I felt almost annoyed with him for waiting in the rain for me like that, and getting so stupid and wet. I felt almost suffocated and wished I had gone home to do my cleaning.
Eventually we arrived at his studio and everything became more cheerful. He had left the gas-fire burning, and the table was laid with a nice clean check cloth and had a bottle of red wine on it, and some daffodils, too.
I felt ashamed of my unkind thoughts as he helped me off with my wet coat. My frock was damp, too, so he made me put on his dressing gown. I was a bit frit of taking off my frock, because all the underclothes I wore was knickers, but the dressing gown was red silk with white spots, and I draped it round me in a fashionable kind of way and felt quite grand except that the sleeves flapped. We cooked the supper over the gas-ring — he didn’t have a kitchen, just a large studio and a bathroom. The supper was mixed grill — bacon, mushrooms and the inevitable sausages. It didn’t go very well with the wine, but we drank it all the same.
When we had finished eating and drinking, I played the portable gramophone. He had a lot of foreign records — chiefly Spanish. I hadn’t heard any before and played them every time I came. After a while I became bored with turning the handle, which fitted badly and kept flying out, so we just talked. I sat on the floor, very near the fire, and he sat in a low chair behind me, and I leant my back against him. It was so comfortable, I couldn’t bear the idea of going home and making the flat smell of polish. Then we became silent, and Peregrine came and sat on the floor beside me. Then he began to kiss me; at first I was shy and scared, although I realised now I’d been wanting him to do this for quite a long time. I forgot about being shy and kissed him back. Then I knew I had never loved Charles. I felt I was being carried away in a great, fierce, misty flood.
Some time later, when I realised I had been unfaithful, I didn’t feel guilty or sad; I just felt awfully happy I had had this experience, which if I had remained a ‘good wife’ I would have missed, although, of course, I wouldn’t have known what I was missing. I felt quite bewildered. I had had one and a half children, but had been a kind of virgin all the time. I wondered if there were other women like this, but I knew so few women intimately it was difficult to tell.
When I went home I hurriedly put myself to bed. I’d just got in when Charles returned. He stood by the bed talking a little, and asked if I had done my great cleaning, and I found myself answering, ‘Oh, no. I didn’t feel very well and went straight to bed when I came in.’ He said I did look a little feverish. He hoped I wasn’t sickening for something. And even then I didn’t feel ashamed of myself.
22
There seemed to be unlimited chances of seeing Peregrine at this time. For one thing, Charles went away to stay with his father for a week. Also he joined a sketch club and went there two evenings a week to draw a model in many quick positions, which was very good practice for him. About once a week Peregrine would come to dinner in our flat. He talked about painting to Charles and seemed very friendly, but I almost wished he would never come; it seemed kind of deceitful and lacking in pride.
On the whole, I was very happy at this time. It was beautiful to be in love, and to have someone care so much for me. I didn’t feel guilty towards Charles, because it was his own fault in a way. If he hadn’t made me destroy my baby this would never have happened. I almost wished I could have a baby by Peregrine to make up for the last one. We had discussed living together, but at the moment it seemed impossible. For one thing, I didn’t like to leave Charles while he was earning no money, but the main reason was I was afraid Charles’s family would take Sandro away from me if I left him, and put the poor child in a ghastly orphanage or somewhere dreadful.
I had begun to miss Sandro a lot. At first it had been a relief to know I had not to worry about him while I was out all day, and to know he was having plenty of good food and country air, but I felt depressed in case he was forgetting me. The flat seemed so empty and dull on Sundays. He had been away three months now.
I told Peregrine how much I longed to see Sandro, but where he was staying was such a difficult place to get to by train, and it was so far away I wouldn’t have enough money for the ticket in any case, so he said he would try to borrow a car and take me down there. I felt so happy
about this. A few days later at lunch he told me he had found someone who would lend him a car the following Sunday. I told Charles and at first he said he didn’t want to come in case I made a scene about leaving Sandro behind, but I promised I wouldn’t, so he agreed to come. I bought a little Beatrix Potter book for a present. He loved books and did not tear them like most children do.
When Sunday came it was a beautiful spring day, and we started off early. I had written and told the people he was staying with we were coming and would be along before lunch. Peregrine was a good driver, but sat rather forward and crouched over the wheel and talked a lot about driving as if he wasn’t really used to it. This seemed rather waddy to me. Then I felt unkind to criticise him after all his kindness. He had even thought to bring a camera so that I could take a few snapshots. We enjoyed the drive so much at first, but gradually we became bored. It was such a long journey and the car was small and old and didn’t go very fast and was very bumpy, too. Peregrine kept comparing it to cars he had owned and driven before. The sky clouded, too.
These relations of Charles lived near Evesham and we rather lost our way, but eventually found ourselves surrounded by fruit blossom, so guessed we must be near. We kept crossing the River Avon because we were not sure which side the village was and everyone directed us different ways, but at last we found ourselves outside a charming half-timbered house with gables, and that was Charles’s uncle’s house.
A thin, sour-faced maid came to the door. She looked all wrong for the house. She asked us into the hall, and then went into a room that sounded like a dining-room, and there was a lot of talk before she came out. Although it was only one o’clock, they had not waited lunch for us, and when the sour maid eventually showed us into the dining-room, they did not seem at all pleased and you could tell they did not like the idea of giving three extra people lunch, although it wasn’t wartime or anything, and I had written to warn them. They hardly spoke to us while we tried to swallow our cold beef. It was fortunate the helpings were small, because they kind of stuck in your throat.
Our Spoons Came from Woolworths Page 9