The Death of the Heart - Elizabeth Bowen [142]
"Besides," St. Quentin said gently, "I don't think Eddie would starve. He'd turn up for meals here."
"No, you can't do that, Thomas," Anna wildly repeated, pulling her pearls round. "If he is being slack, simply give him a good fright. But you can't sack him right out of the blue. You've got nothing against him, except being such a donkey."
"Well, we can't afford donkeys at five pounds a week.
When you asked me to put him in, you insisted he was so bright—which I must say he was, for the first week. Why did you say he was bright if you say he is such a donkey, and if he's such a donkey, why is he always here?"
Anna looked at St. Quentin but did not look at Thomas. She left her pearls alone, ate a spoonful of compote, then said: "Because he is running after her."
"And you think that's a good thing?"
"I really could not tell you. After all, she's your sister. It was you who wanted to have her here. No, it's all right, St. Quentin, we're not having a scene—If you didn't like it, Thomas, why didn't you say so? It seems to me we have talked about this before."
"She seemed to know what was what, in her own way."
"In fact, you wouldn't cope, but you always hoped I might."
"Look, what did you mean just now about them blowing off at Seale? What business had he down there? Why couldn't he stay in London? Was that old fool Mrs. Heccomb running a rendezvous?"
Anna went very white. She said: "How dare you say that? She was my governess."
"Oh, yes, I know," said Thomas. "But was she ever much of a chaperone?"
Anna paused, and looked at the candle-lit flowers. Then she asked St. Quentin for one more cigarette, which he with the discreetest speed supplied. Then she returned and said very steadily: "I'm afraid I don't quite understand you, Thomas. Am I to take it you don't trust Portia, then? It is you, I suppose, who should know if we're right to trust her or not. You knew your father: I really never did. I never saw any reason to spy on her."
"Except by reading her diary."
St. Quentin, sitting with his back to the window, turned round and had a good look out. He said: "It's getting pretty dark outside."
"St. Quentin means that he wishes he wasn't here."
"Actually what I do mean, Anna, is, didn't you say you would telephone Major Brutt?"
"Yes, he'll be waiting, won't he? So, I suppose, will Portia."
"Very well, then," said Thomas, leaning back, "what are we going to say?"
"We should have kept to the point."
"We've kept a good deal too near it."
"We must say something. He'll think us so very odd."
"He's got every reason," said Thomas, "to think us odd already. You say, he says she'll come home if we do the right thing?"
"Do we know what the right thing is?"
"I suppose that's what we're deciding."
"We shall know if we don't do it. It will He quite simple: Portia will simply stay there with Major Brutt. Oh, heaven keep me," said Anna, sighing, "from insulting a young person again! But it hasn't simply been me—you know, we are all in it. We know what we think we've done, but we still don't know what we did. What did she expect, and what is she expecting now? It's not simply a question of getting her home this evening; it's a question of all three going on living here.... Yes, this is a situation. She's created it."
"No, she's just acknowledged it. An entirely different thing. She has a point of view."
"Well, so has everybody. From the outside we may seem worthless, but we are not worthless to ourselves. If one thought what everyone felt, one would go mad. Itdoes not do to think of what people feel."
"I'm afraid," St. Quentin said, "in this ease we may have to. That is, if you are anxious to get her home. Her 'right thing' is an absolute of some sort, and absolutes only exist in feeling. There they both are, waiting in Kensington. Really you will have to do something soon."
"Even supposing one wanted to for a moment, how is one to know how anyone else feels?"
"Oh, come," said St. Quentin. "In this case, none of us are so badly placed. I am a novelist; you, Anna, have read her diary; Thomas is her brother—they can't be quite unlike. However much we may hate to, there's no reason, now we have got to face it, why we should not see more or less what her position is