The Death of the Heart - Elizabeth Bowen [87]
She wondered, even, whether Mrs. Heccomb might not pause to wonder. Having lived in hotels where one's bills wait weekly at the foot of the stairs, and no "extra" is ever overlooked, she had had it borne in on her that wherever anyone is they are costing somebody something, and that the cost must be met. She understood that by living at Windsor Terrace, eating what she ate, sleeping between sheets that had to be washed, by even so much as breathing the warmed air, she became a charge on Thomas and Anna. Their keeping on paying up, whatever they felt, had to be glossed over by family feeling—and she had learned to have, with regard to them, that callousness one has towards relatives. Now she could only hope they were paying largely enough for her own board at Waikiki to meet the cost of the cake Eddie mighteat. But uncertainty made her limit her own tea.
Eddie had the advantage, throughout tea, of not being familiar with Mrs. Heccomb. All he thought was that she was exceedingly shy. He therefore set out to be frank, easy and simple, which were three things he could seem to be on his head. He could not be expected to know that his appearance, and that the something around him that might be called his aura, struck into her heart its first misgiving for years—a misgiving not about Portia but about Anna. He could not know that he started up in her mind a misgiving she had repressed about Anna and Pidgeon—a misgiving her own marriage had made her gladly forget. A conviction (dating from her last year at Richmond) that no man with bounce could be up to any good set up an unhappy twitch in one fold of her left cheek. Apprehensions that someone might be common were the worst she had had to combat since she ruled at Waikiki. No doubt it must be in order, this young man being Portia's friend, since Portia said that he was a friend of Anna's. But what was he doing being a friend of Anna's?... Portia, watching the cheek twitch, wondered what could be up.
Eddie felt he was doing wonderfully well. He liked Mrs. Heccomb, and was anxious to please. Not a scrap of policy underlay his manner. Perfectly guilelessly, he understood Mrs. Heccomb to be just a little dazzled by him. Indeed, he looked well here—from the moment of coming in, he had dropped into a happy relationship with the things in the room: the blue chenille curtain to the left of his head, the dresser he tilted his chair against, the finished lamp shade that he had seen and praised. He seemed so natural here, so much in the heart of things, that Portia wondered how the Waikiki lounge could have fully existed before he came. There in the sun porch stayed the unfinished puzzle, into which, before he came, she had fitted her hopes and fears. After tea, she took a retrospective look at the puzzle, as though it were a thing left from another age. Eddie stood gaily talking, gaily balancing on the fire kerb. He attracted a look from Doris as she slithered in to clear away the tea.
"It's nice to get back to a proper fire," he said. "I have only gas in my flat."
Mrs. Heccomb took the cloth from Doris to fold: it had a crochet border eight inches deep. "I suppose you have central heating in Mr. Quayne's office?"
"Oh yes," Eddie said. "It is all completely slap up."
"Yes, I have heard it is very fine."
"Anna, of course, has the loveliest log fire in her drawingroom. You go and see her quite often, I expect?"
"Yes, I go to Windsor Terrace when I am in London," said Mrs. Heccomb, though still not forthcomingly. "They are extremely hospitable," she said—discounting a right to the house as any one person's privilege. She turned on the light over her painting table, sat down and began to go through her brushes. Portia, watching dusk close round the porch, said: "I think perhaps I might show Eddie the sea."
"Oh, you won't see much of the sea, dear, now, I'm afraid."
"Still, we might just look."
So they went out. Portia went down the path pulling on her overcoat, but Eddie only wound his scarf round his neck. The tide was creeping in; the horizon was just visible in the dark grey air. The shallow curve of the bay held a shingly murmur that was just not silence and imperceptibly ended where silence was. There was no wind, just a sensation round one's collar and at the roots of one's hair. Eddie and Portia stood on the esplanade, watching the sky and water slowly blot themselves out. Eddie stood aloofly, like someone who after hours allows himself to be freely alone again. There was never much connection between his affability and his spirit