The Death of the Heart - Elizabeth Bowen [69]
I say, darling, how much do you think Matchett knows about you and me? It was a foul bleak day and I could have cried.
Now remember how awful I often feel and write me long letters. If you write too much about Dickie I shall come down and shoot him, I am a jealous man. Is he as awful as Anna says, and is Daphne? I really do want you to tell me everything, you are horrid to say that I don't read your letters. Shall I come down one week-end, even not to shoot Dickie? It might be frightfully funny if I did. I suppose they could have me to stay, don't you? But of course that all depends how things pan out; at present I am having an awful time.
This office is going to bits without Thomas, which would be gratifying for Thomas to know. I can't tell you how awful they all are. I always did know all these people were crooks. They intrigue in really a poisonous way, and nothing is getting done. However, that gives me more time to write to you. You see I'm not using the office paper: I look after Thomas's interests while he's gone.
Oh, darling Portia, it's awful not to see you. Please do feel awful too. I saw a pair of Indian silver baby's bangles in Holborn, I think I'll send them to you for your silly wrists.
Do you remember Saturday?
I think it is just like them, packing you off like that to the seaside when everything could be so nice now. Anna locks you up like jam. I hope it will sleet and freeze all the time she is in that vulgar Italian villa. I really should laugh if I went to Seale. Do you hear the sea when you are in bed?
I must stop. I do feel homeless and sad. I have got to go out now for drinks with some people, but that isn't at all the same thing. Wouldn't it be nice if you were poking our fire and expecting me home at any minute?
Goodbye, Good-night, you darling. Think of me last thing.
Eddie.
THE KARACHI HOTEL,
CROMWELL ROAD,
S.W.
Dear Miss Portia,
I was sorry to miss you all when I called at 2 Windsor Terrace. I had hoped to wish your brother and sister-in-law luck on their trip, and hoped to reply personally to that very sweet little message you sent me through Mrs. Quayne, reporting your progress made with a certain puzzle. I also meant to have asked if you would care to have another puzzle, as that must be nearly done. To do the same puzzle twice would be pretty poor fun. If you would allow me to send you another puzzle, you could always send on the first to a sick friend. I am told they are popular in nursing homes, but as I enjoy excellent health I have never checked up on this. That kind of puzzle was not much in vogue during the War.
The weather has turned quite nasty, you are "well out of London" as the saying goes. Your brother's hospitable house was, when I called, dismantled for spring cleaning. What a dire business that is! I hope you have struck some pleasant part of the coast? I expect you may find it pretty blowy down there. I have been kept pretty busy these last days with interviews in connection with an appointment. From what I hear, things look quite like shaping up.
Some good friends of mine in this hotel, whose acquaintance I made here, have just moved on, and I find they leave quite a gap. One is often lucky in striking congenial people in these hotels. But of course people rather come and go.
Well, if you feel like trying your skill with yet another puzzle, will you be so good as to send me a little line? Just possibly you might care to have the puzzle to do at the seaside, where the elements do not always treat one as they should. If I were to know your address, I could have the puzzle posted direct to you. Meanwhile, your excellent parlourmaid will no doubt forward this.
Very sincerely yours,
Eric E. J. Brutt.
Portia had never had such a morning's post as this: it seemed to be one advantage of having left London. These three letters came on Saturday morning; she reread them at a green-tiled table at the Corona Café, waiting for Mrs. Heccomb. By this, her second morning, she was already into the Waikiki routine. Mrs. Heccomb always shopped from ten-thirty to midday, with a break for coffee at the Corona Caf