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I
saw
a
lifetime
of
dropped
bricks
behind
her
;
but
her
tanned
skin
and
her
clear
bluish
eyes
,
and
the
body
that
had
conspicuously
not
run
to
seed
,
made
her
forgivable
.
She
said
,
"
What
is
your
name
?
"
I
told
her
.
"
Mr
.
Urfe
,
do
you
know
how
old
I
was
in
1914
?
"
"
Obviously
very
young
indeed
.
"
She
smiled
,
but
as
if
compliments
were
rather
continental
and
embarrassing
.
"
I
was
ten
.
"
She
looked
to
where
her
son
was
filling
the
bucket
.
"
Benjie
’
s
age
.
"
"
Those
other
names
—
they
mean
nothing
?
"
"
Good
Lord
yes
,
but
…
this
Maurice
—
what
did
you
call
him
?
—
he
stayed
with
them
?
"
I
shook
my
head
.
Once
again
Conchis
had
tricked
me
into
a
ridiculous
situation
.
He
had
probably
picked
the
name
with
a
pin
in
an
old
directory
:
all
he
would
have
had
to
find
was
the
name
of
one
of
the
daughters
.
I
plunged
insecurely
on
.
"
He
was
the
son
.
An
only
son
.
Very
musical
.
"
"
Well
,
I
’
m
afraid
there
must
be
a
mistake
.
The
Charlesworths
were
childless
,
and
there
was
a
Hamilton
-
Dukes
boy
but
—
"
I
saw
her
hesitate
as
something
snagged
her
memory
—
"
he
died
in
the
war
.
"
I
smiled
.
"
I
think
you
’
ve
just
remembered
something
else
.
"
"
No
—
I
mean
,
yes
.
I
don
’
t
know
.
It
was
when
you
said
musical
.
"
She
looked
incredulous
.
"
You
couldn
’
t
mean
Mr
.
Rat
?
"
She
laughed
,
and
put
her
thumbs
in
the
pockets
of
her
jodhpurs
.
"
The
Wind
in
the
Willows
.
He
was
an
Italian
who
came
and
tried
to
teach
us
the
piano
.
My
sister
and
me
.
"
"
Young
?
"
She
shrugged
.
"
Quite
.
"
"
Could
you
tell
me
more
about
him
?
"
She
looked
down
.
"
Gambellino
,
Gambardello
…
something
like
that
.
Gambardello
?
"
She
said
the
name
as
if
it
was
still
a
joke
.
"
His
first
name
?
"
She
couldn
’
t
possibly
remember
.
"
Why
Mr
.
Rat
?
"
"
Because
he
had
such
staring
brown
eyes
.
We
used
to
tease
him
terribly
.
"
She
pulled
an
ashamed
face
at
her
son
,
who
had
come
back
,
and
now
pushed
her
,
as
if
he
was
the
one
being
teased
.
She
missed
the
sudden
leap
of
excitement
in
my
own
eyes
;
the
certainty
that
Conchis
had
used
more
than
a
pin
.
"
Was
he
shortish
?
Shorter
than
me
?
"
She
clasped
her
headscarf
,
trying
to
remember
;
then
looking
up
,
puzzled
.
"
Do
you
know
…
but
this
can
’
t
be
…
?
"
"
Would
you
be
very
kind
indeed
and
let
me
question
you
for
ten
minutes
or
so
?
"
She
hesitated
.
I
was
politely
adamant
;
just
ten
minutes
.
She
turned
to
her
son
.
"
Benjie
,
run
and
ask
Gunnel
to
make
us
some
coffee
.
And
bring
it
out
in
the
garden
.
"
He
looked
at
the
stable
.
"
But
Lazy
.
"
"
We
’
ll
do
for
Lazy
in
a
minute
.
"
Benjie
ran
up
the
gravel
and
I
followed
Mrs
.
de
Seitas
,
as
she
peeled
off
her
gloves
,
flicked
off
her
headscarf
,
a
willowy
walk
,
down
beside
a
brick
wall
and
through
a
doorway
into
a
fine
old
garden
;
a
lake
of
autumn
flowers
;
on
the
far
side
of
the
house
a
lawn
and
a
cedar
.
She
led
the
way
round
to
a
sun
loggia
.
There
was
a
canopied
swing
-
seat
,
some
elegant
cast
-
iron
seats
painted
white
.
Money
;
I
guessed
that
Sir
Charles
Penn
had
had
a
golden
scalpel
.
She
sat
in
the
swing
-
seat
and
indicated
a
chair
for
me
.
I
murmured
something
about
the
garden
.
"
It
is
rather
jolly
,
isn
’
t
it
?
My
husband
does
almost
all
this
by
himself
and
now
,
poor
man
,
he
hardly
ever
sees
it
.
"
She
smiled
.
"
My
husband
’
s
an
economist
.
He
’
s
stuck
in
Strasbourg
.
"
She
swung
her
feet
up
;
she
was
a
little
too
girlish
,
too
aware
of
her
good
figure
;
reacting
from
a
rural
boredom
.
"
But
come
on
.
Tell
me
about
your
famous
writer
I
’
ve
never
heard
of
.
You
’
ve
met
him
?
"
"
He
died
in
the
Occupation
.
"
"
Poor
man
.
What
of
?
"
"
Cancer
.
"
I
hurried
on
.
"
He
was
,
well
,
very
secretive
about
his
past
,
so
one
has
to
deduce
things
from
his
work
.
We
know
that
he
was
Greek
,
but
he
may
have
pretended
to
be
Italian
.
"
I
jumped
up
and
gave
her
a
light
for
her
cigarette
.
"
I
just
can
’
t
believe
it
was
Mr
.
Rat
.
He
was
such
a
funny
little
man
.
"
"
Can
you
remember
one
thing
—
his
playing
the
harpsichord
as
well
as
the
piano
?
"
"
The
harpsichord
is
the
plonkety
-
plonk
one
?
"
I
nodded
,
but
she
shook
her
head
.
"
You
did
say
a
writer
?
"
"
He
turned
from
music
to
literature
.
You
see
,
there
are
countless
references
in
his
early
poems
—
and
in
,
well
,
a
novel
he
wrote
—
to
an
unhappy
but
very
significant
love
affaire
he
had
when
he
was
still
in
England
.
Of
course
we
just
don
’
t
know
to
what
extent
he
was
recalling
reality
and
to
what
extent
embroidering
on
it
.
"
"
But
—
am
I
mentioned
?
"
"
There
are
all
sorts
of
clues
that
suggest
the
girl
’
s
name
was
a
flower
name
.
And
that
he
lived
near
her
.
And
that
the
common
bond
was
music
…
"
She
sat
up
,
fascinated
.
"
How
on
earth
did
you
trace
this
to
us
?
"
"
Oh
—
various
clues
.
From
literary
references
.
I
knew
it
was
very
near
Lord
’
s
cricket
ground
.
In
one
…
passage
he
talks
of
this
girl
with
her
ancient
British
family
name
.
Oh
,
and
her
famous
doctor
father
.
Then
I
started
looking
at
street
directories
.
"
"
How
absolutely
extraordinary
.
"
"
It
’
s
just
one
of
those
things
.
You
meet
hundreds
of
dead
ends
.
But
one
day
you
really
hit
a
way
through
.
"
Smiling
,
she
glanced
towards
the
house
.
"
Here
’
s
Gunnel
.
"
For
two
or
three
minutes
we
had
to
go
through
the
business
of
getting
coffee
poured
;
polite
exchanges
about
Norway
—
Gunnel
had
never
been
further
north
than
Trondheim
,
I
discovered
.
Benjie
was
ordered
to
disappear
;
and
the
ur
-
Lily
and
I
were
left
alone
again
.
For
effect
,
I
produced
a
notebook
.
"
If
I
could
just
ask
you
a
few
questions
…
"
"
I
say
—
glory
at
last
.
"
She
laughed
rather
stupidly
;
horsily
;
she
was
enjoying
herself
.
"
I
believed
he
lived
next
to
you
.
He
didn
’
t
.
Where
did
he
live
?
"
"
Oh
I
haven
’
t
the
faintest
idea
.
You
know
.
At
that
age
.
"
"
You
knew
nothing
about
his
parents
?
"
She
shook
her
head
.
"
Would
your
sisters
perhaps
know
more
?
"
Her
face
gravened
.
"
My
eldest
sister
lives
in
Chile
.
She
was
ten
years
older
than
me
.
And
my
sister
Rose
—
"
"
Rose
!
"
She
smiled
.
"
Rose
.
"
"
God
,
this
is
extraordinary
.
It
clinches
it
.
There
’
s
a
sort
of
…
well
a
sort
of
mystery
poem
that
belongs
to
the
group
about
you
.
It
’
s
very
obscure
,
but
now
we
know
you
have
a
sister
called
Rose
…
"
"
Had
a
sister
.
Rose
died
just
about
that
time
.
In
1916
.
"
"
Of
typhoid
?
"
I
said
it
so
eagerly
that
she
was
taken
aback
;
then
smiled
.
"
No
.
Of
some
terribly
rare
complication
following
jaundice
.
"
She
stared
out
over
the
garden
for
a
moment
.
"
It
was
the
great
tragedy
of
my
childhood
.
"
"
Did
you
feel
that
he
had
any
special
affection
for
you
—
or
for
your
sisters
?
"
She
smiled
again
,
remembering
.
"
We
always
thought
he
secretly
admired
May
—
my
eldest
sister
—
she
was
engaged
,
of
course
,
but
she
used
to
come
and
sit
with
us
.
And
yes
…
oh
goodness
,
it
’
s
strange
,
it
does
come
back
,
I
remember
he
always
used
to
show
off
,
what
we
called
showing
off
,
if
she
was
in
the
room
.
Play
frightfully
difficult
bits
.
And
she
was
fond
of
that
Beethoven
thing
—
For
Elise
?
We
used
to
hum
it
when
we
wanted
to
annoy
him
.
"
"
Your
sister
Rose
was
older
than
you
?
"
"
Two
years
older
.
"
"
So
the
picture
is
really
of
two
little
girls
teasing
a
foreign
music
teacher
?
"
She
began
to
swing
on
the
seat
.
"
Do
you
know
,
it
’
s
frightful
,
but
I
can
’
t
remember
.
I
mean
,
yes
,
we
teased
him
,
I
’
m
jolly
sure
we
were
perfect
little
pests
.
But
then
the
war
started
and
he
disappeared
.
"
"
Where
?
"
"
Oh
.
I
couldn
’
t
tell
you
.
No
idea
.
But
I
remember
we
had
a
dreadful
old
hattie
-
axe
in
his
place
.
And
we
hated
her
.
I
’
m
sure
we
missed
him
.
I
suppose
we
were
frightful
little
snobs
.
One
was
in
those
days
.
"
"
How
long
did
he
teach
you
?
"
"
Two
years
?
"
She
was
almost
asking
me
.
"
Can
you
remember
any
sign
at
all
of
strong
personal
liking
—
for
you
—
on
his
side
?
"
She
thought
for
a
long
moment
,
then
shook
her
head
.
"
You
don
’
t
mean
…
something
nasty
?
"
"
No
,
no
.
But
were
you
,
say
,
ever
alone
with
him
?
"
She
put
on
an
expression
of
mock
shock
.
"
Never
.
There
was
always
our
governess
,
or
my
sister
.
My
mother
.
"
"
You
couldn
’
t
describe
his
character
at
all
?
"
"
I
’
m
sure
if
I
could
meet
him
now
I
’
d
think
,
a
sweet
little
man
.
You
know
.
"
"
You
or
your
sister
never
played
the
flute
or
the
recorder
?
"
"
Goodness
no
.
"
She
grinned
at
the
absurdity
.
"
A
very
personal
question
.
Would
you
say
you
were
a
strikingly
pretty
little
girl
…
I
’
m
sure
you
were
—
but
were
you
conscious
that
there
was
something
rather
special
about
you
?
"
She
looked
down
at
her
cigarette
.
"
In
the
interests
,
oh
dear
,
how
shall
I
say
it
,
in
the
interests
of
your
research
,
and
speaking
as
a
poor
old
raddled
mother
,
the
answer
is
…
yes
,
I
believe
there
was
.
Actually
,
I
was
painted
.
It
became
quite
famous
.
All
the
rage
of
the
1913
Academy
.
It
’
s
in
the
house
—
I
’
ll
show
you
in
a
minute
.
"
I
consulted
my
notebook
.
"
And
you
just
can
’
t
remember
what
happened
to
him
when
the
war
came
?
"
She
pressed
her
fine
hands
against
her
eyes
.
"
Heavens
,
doesn
’
t
this
make
you
realize
—
I
think
he
was
interned
…
but
honestly
for
the
life
of
me
I
…
"
"
Would
your
sister
in
Chile
remember
better
?
Might
I
write
to
her
?
"
"
Of
course
.
Would
you
like
her
address
?
"
She
gave
it
to
me
and
I
wrote
it
down
.
Benjie
came
and
stood
about
twenty
yards
away
,
by
an
astrolabe
on
a
stone
column
,
looking
plainer
than
words
that
his
patience
was
exhausted
.
She
beckoned
to
him
;
caressed
back
his
forelock
.
"
Your
poor
old
mum
’
s
just
had
a
shock
,
darling
.
She
’
s
discovered
she
’
s
a
muse
.
"
She
turned
to
me
.
"
Is
that
the
word
?
"
"
What
’
s
a
muse
?
"
"
A
lady
who
makes
a
gentleman
write
poems
.
"
"
Does
he
write
poems
?
"
She
laughed
and
turned
back
to
me
.
"
And
he
’
s
really
quite
famous
?
"
"
I
think
he
will
be
one
day
.
"
"
Can
I
read
him
?
"
"
He
’
s
not
been
translated
.
But
he
will
be
.
"
"
By
you
?
"
"
Well
…
"
I
let
her
think
I
had
hopes
.
She
said
,
"
I
honestly
don
’
t
think
I
can
tell
you
any
more
.
"
Benjie
whispered
something
.
She
laughed
and
stood
up
in
the
sunlight
and
took
his
hand
.
"
We
’
re
just
going
to
show
Mr
.
Orfe
a
picture
,
then
it
’
s
back
to
work
.
"
"
It
’
s
Urfe
,
actually
.
"
She
put
her
hand
to
her
face
,
in
shame
.
"
Oh
dear
.
There
I
go
again
.
"
The
boy
jerked
her
other
hand
;
he
too
was
ashamed
of
her
silliness
.
We
all
walked
up
to
the
house
,
through
a
drawing
room
into
a
wide
hall
and
then
into
a
room
at
the
side
.
I
saw
a
long
dining
table
,
silver
candlesticks
.
On
the
paneling
between
two
windows
was
a
painting
.
Benjie
ran
and
switched
on
a
picture
light
above
it
.
It
showed
a
little
Alice
-
like
girl
with
long
hair
,
in
a
sailor
dress
,
looking
round
a
door
,
as
if
she
was
hiding
and
could
see
whoever
was
looking
for
her
searching
in
vain
.
Her
face
was
very
alive
,
tense
,
excited
,
yet
still
innocent
.
In
gilt
on
a
small
black
plaque
beneath
I
read
:
Mischief
,
by
Sir
William
Blunt
,
R
.
A
.
"
Charming
.
"
Benjie
made
his
mother
bend
down
and
whispered
something
.
"
He
wants
to
tell
you
what
the
family
calls
it
.
"
She
nodded
at
him
and
he
shouted
,
"
How
Soppy
Can
You
Get
.
"
She
pulled
his
hair
as
he
grinned
.
Another
charming
picture
.
She
apologized
for
not
being
able
to
invite
me
to
lunch
,
but
she
had
a
"
Women
’
s
Institute
do
"
in
Hertford
;
and
I
promised
that
as
soon
as
a
translation
of
the
Conchis
poems
was
ready
I
would
send
her
a
copy
.
Driving
back
down
the
lane
to
Much
Hadham
,
I
laughed
.
I
might
have
guessed
that
Conchis
was
compensating
for
some
deep
feeling
of
inferiority
towards
her
and
her
sisters
,
towards
his
own
youth
,
towards
England
and
the
English
;
just
as
I
ought
to
have
had
more
confidence
in
my
inevitably
arriving
,
one
day
,
at
the
real
truth
about
him
.
In
a
sense
I
,
and
all
the
others
who
had
been
through
the
"
system
"
at
Bourani
,
must
represent
his
revenge
for
all
the
humiliations
and
unhappiness
he
had
suffered
in
the
Montgomery
household
,
and
probably
others
like
them
,
during
those
distant
years
.
I
came
out
into
the
main
street
.
It
was
half
-
past
twelve
and
I
decided
to
get
a
bite
to
eat
before
I
did
the
drive
back
into
London
.
So
I
stopped
at
a
small
half
-
timbered
pub
.
I
had
the
lounge
bar
all
to
myself
.
"
Passing
through
?
"
asked
the
landlord
,
as
he
drew
me
a
pint
.
"
No
.
Been
to
see
someone
.
Dinsford
House
.
"
"
Nice
place
she
’
s
got
there
.
"
"
You
know
them
?
"
He
wore
a
bow
tie
;
had
a
queasy
in
-
between
accent
.
"
Know
of
them
.
I
’
ll
take
the
sandwiches
separate
.
"
He
rang
up
the
till
.
"
Used
to
see
the
children
round
the
village
.
"
"
I
’
ve
just
been
out
there
on
business
.
"
"
Oh
yes
.
"
A
peroxided
woman
’
s
head
appeared
round
the
door
.
She
held
out
a
plate
of
sandwiches
.
As
he
handed
me
back
my
change
,
he
said
,
"
Singer
in
opera
,
wasn
’
t
she
?
"
"
I
don
’
t
think
so
.
"
"
That
’
s
what
they
say
round
here
.
"
I
waited
for
him
to
go
on
,
but
he
evidently
wasn
’
t
very
interested
.
I
finished
half
a
sandwich
.
Thought
.
"
What
’
s
her
husband
do
?
"
"
Isn
’
t
a
husband
.
"
He
caught
up
my
quick
look
.
"
Well
we
been
here
two
years
now
and
I
never
heard
of
one
There
’
re
…
gentlemen
friends
,
I
’
m
told
.
"
He
gave
me
a
minute
wink
.
"
Ah
.
I
see
.
"
"
Course
they
’
re
like
me
.
London
people
.
"
There
was
a
silence
.
He
picked
up
a
glass
.
"
Good
-
looking
woman
.
Never
seen
her
daughters
?
"
I
shook
my
head
.
He
polished
the
glass
.
"
Real
corkers
.
"
Silence
.
"
How
old
are
they
?
"
"
Don
’
t
ask
me
.
I
can
’
t
tell
twenty
from
thirty
these
days
.
The
eldest
are
twins
,
you
know
.
"
If
he
hadn
’
t
been
so
busy
polishing
the
glass
in
the
old
buy
-
me
-
a
-
drink
ploy
he
would
have
seen
my
face
freeze
into
stone
.
"
What
they
call
identicals
.
Some
are
normals
.
And
others
are
identicals
.
"
He
held
the
glass
up
high
to
the
light
.
"
They
say
the
only
way
their
own
mother
can
tell
them
apart
one
’
s
got
a
scar
or
something
on
her
wrist
.
"
I
was
out
of
the
bar
so
fast
that
he
didn
’
t
even
have
time
to
shout
.
I
didn
’
t
feel
angry
at
first
;
I
drove
very
fast
,
and
nearly
killed
a
man
on
a
bicycle
,
but
I
was
grinning
most
of
the
way
.
This
time
I
didn
’
t
park
my
car
discreetly
by
the
gate
.
I
skidded
it
on
the
gravel
in
front
of
the
black
door
;
and
I
made
the
lion
-
headed
knocker
give
the
hardest
banging
it
had
sounded
in
years
.
Mrs
.
de
Seitas
herself
answered
the
door
;
she
had
changed
,
but
only
from
her
jodhpurs
into
a
pair
of
pale
fawn
trousers
.
She
looked
past
me
at
my
car
,
as
if
that
might
explain
why
I
had
returned
.
I
smiled
.
"
I
see
you
’
re
not
going
out
for
lunch
after
all
.
"
"
Yes
,
I
made
a
stupid
mistake
over
the
day
.
"
She
gathered
her
shirt
collar
together
.
"
Did
you
forget
something
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Oh
.
"
I
said
nothing
and
she
went
on
brightly
but
a
fraction
too
late
,
"
What
?
"
"
Your
twin
daughters
.
"
Her
expression
changed
;
she
didn
’
t
appear
in
the
least
guilty
,
but
she
gave
me
a
look
of
concession
and
then
the
faintest
smile
.
I
wondered
how
I
had
not
seen
the
similarity
;
the
eyes
,
the
long
mouth
.
I
had
let
that
spurious
snapshot
Lily
had
shown
me
linger
in
my
mind
.
A
silly
woman
with
fluffed
-
up
hair
.
She
stepped
back
for
me
to
enter
.
"
Yes
.
You
did
.
"
Benjie
appeared
at
a
door
at
the
end
of
the
hall
.
She
spoke
calmly
to
him
as
she
closed
the
door
behind
me
.
"
Benjie
,
go
and
have
your
lunch
.
"
"
Benjie
.
"
I
went
quickly
and
bent
a
little
in
front
of
him
.
"
Benjie
,
could
you
tell
me
something
?
The
names
of
your
twin
sisters
?
"
He
frowned
and
looked
at
his
mother
.
She
must
have
nodded
.
"
Lil
’
and
Rose
.
"
"
Thank
you
.
"
He
gave
me
one
last
doubtful
look
,
and
disappeared
.
