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Page 32
"We must try and help her," said Mrs. Arbuthnot.
"Oh, but nobody helps anybody in heaven. That's finished with.
You don't try to be, or do. You simply are."
Well, Mrs. Arbuthnot wouldn't go into that--not here, not to-day.
The vicar, she knew, would have called Lotty's talk levity, if not
profanity. How old he seemed from here; an old, old vicar.
They left the path, and clambered down the olive terraces, down
and down, to where at the bottom the warm, sleepy sea heaved gently
among the rocks. There a pine-tree grew close to the water, and they
sat under it, and a few yards away was a fishing-boat lying motionless
and green-bellied on the water. The ripples of the sea made little
gurgling noises at their feet. They screwed up their eyes to be able
to look into the blaze of light beyond the shade of their tree. The
hot smell from the pine-needles and from the cushions of wild thyme
that padded the spaces between the rocks, and sometimes a smell of pure
honey from a clump of warm irises up behind them in the sun, puffed
across their faces. Very soon Mrs. Wilkins took her shoes and stocking
off, and let her feet hang in the water. After watching her a minute
Mrs. Arbuthnot did the same. Their happiness was then complete. Their
husbands would not have known them. They left off talking. They
ceased to mention heaven. They were just cups of acceptance.
Meanwhile Lady Caroline, on her wall, was considering her position.
The garden on the top of the wall was a delicious garden, but its
situation made it insecure and exposed to interruptions. At any moment
the others might come and want to use it, because both the hall and the
dining-room had doors opening straight into it. Perhaps, thought Lady
Caroline, she could arrange that it should be solely hers. Mrs. Fisher
had the battlements, delightful with flowers, and a watch-tower all to
herself, besides having snatched the one really nice room in the house.
There were plenty of places the originals could go to--she had herself
seen at least two other little gardens, while the hill the castle stood
on was itself a garden, with walks and seats. Why should not this one
spot be kept exclusively for her? She liked it; she liked it best of
all. It had the Judas tree and an umbrella pine, it had the freesias
and the lilies, it had a tamarisk beginning to flush pink, it had the
convenient low wall to sit on, it had from each of its three sides the
most amazing views--to the east the bay and mountains, to the north
the village across the tranquil clear green water of the little harbour
and the hills dotted with white houses and orange groves, and to the
west was the thin thread of land by which San Salvatore was tied to
the mainland, and then the open sea and the coast line beyond Genoa
reaching away into the blue dimness of France. Yes, she would say she
wanted to have this entirely to herself. How obviously sensible if
each of them had their own special place to sit in apart. It was
essential to her comfort that she should be able to be apart, left
alone, not talked to. The others ought to like it best too. Why
herd? One had enough of that in England, with one's relations and
friends--oh, the numbers of them!--pressing on one continually.
Having successfully escaped them for four weeks why continue, and
with persons having no earthly claim on one, to herd?
She lit a cigarette. She began to feel secure. Those two had
gone for a walk. There was no sign of Mrs. Fisher. How very pleasant
this was.
Somebody came out through the glass doors, just as she was
drawing a deep breath of security. Surely it couldn't be Mrs. Fisher,
wanting to sit with her? Mrs. Fisher had her battlements. She ought
to stay on them, having snatched them. It would be too tiresome if she
wouldn't, and wanted not only to have them and her sitting-room but to
establish herself in this garden as well.
No; it wasn't Mrs. Fisher, it was the cook.
She frowned. Was she going to have to go on ordering the food?
Surely one or other of those two waving women would do that now.
The cook, who had been waiting in increasing agitation in the
kitchen, watching the clock getting nearer to lunch--time while she
still was without knowledge of what lunch was to consist of, had gone
at last to Mrs. Fisher, who had immediately waved her away. She then
wandered about the house seeking a mistress, any mistress, who would
tell her what to cook, and finding none; and at last, directed by
Francesca, who always knew where everybody was, came out to Lady
Caroline.
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