Nan, looked up from her Gaskell, it was Sylvia's Lovers at that moment, when Di swept in, her twin's gray-green eyes were wide, and turbulently greenish, and on her face, a handful of freckles stood brightly upon against, sudden pallor. Nan, noticed that Alice hadn't followed Di in like she usually did. Nan, glanced at Di, and went to close the lace curtains in the living room, and as she did so, she saw Alice sitting in the garden, in a slightly slumped position, that was uncharasteric of her, Alice glanced towards the window, a quick little glance, it was full of some emotion that Nan did not want to know about, not at all. So, resolutely, coolly, Nan nodded, and pulled curtains shut with a swish.
Slowly Nan crept, half on tiptoe, to Di's side, and embraced her, and whispered very anxiously, "I'm here if you want to talk, about anything." Nan, felt Di's whole body tighten as involuntary spasm shook her. Nan felt Di's long-fingered hand squeeze hers tightly. Nan, waited, because whenever there was a surprise, especially an emotional one, Di first snapped in her cold pale way, and then she fell silent. The words would come, they might be indirect, but they would come, sooner or later. Finally, Nan carefully pulled herself out of Di's embrace and slipped into the kitchen. Soon she was carrying a tray, one plate filled with Susan's gingerbreads, and the rose gold procelaine cups which had been given to Anne as Rachel Lynde's inheritance. Di was sitting on the couch.
The scent of dark, strongly slightly sugary tea perfumed the room. Nan stirred her tea, and her heart ached, for the fiece love toward her twin, steeling herself, Nan inquired, with the utmost caution, "Darling, have you had fall out-then?" The silence deepened, as Di looked into the middle distance, it seemed like she was trying to remember some, half-forgotten thing. Then a little light snort came from her, which was almost like a stifled sob, as she marched to the piano, and striking her hands, upon the keys, furiously massive chords filled the room with their fluttering wave of sound. Almost furiously Di, shook music folders on the floor, and out of that paper chaos, she placed one note on the stand and began to play, her fingers were stroking, shiny, worn keys, a flickering feeling waves of music, shimmering, full of sadness, cutting disappointment, all twined with love.
Listening to her twin play, Nan swallowed back tears, for she distantly remembered that once Rosemary Meredith had patiently said, "Darlings, perhaps one of you, may play Chopin, in some far-far off day, but if you do, remember that emotional interpretation is the key to for him too, and especially it is the case with, Prelude in E Minor Op. 28. No. 4. As Nan peeked over Di's shoulder, she was not at all surprised that Di was actually playing that very Chopin piece, over and over she played, in almost mechanic way, as by rote, but those evocative, blissful notes, spoke, when she could not, or perhaps would not, Nan was not totally sure.
Di let her tired fingers come off from cold, piano keys. Only the small lily-shaped table lamp on the writing desk glowed with its dim light. Some time ago, Nan had kissed Di on the cheek, of her old way, and crept upstairs. This tumultuous emotional state in the grips that she was now, it was stronger than the betrayed emotional storms of her childhood friendships, when the treacherous and fanciful Jenny Penny and the exaggerating and lying Delilah Green had momentarily captured her heart, and those scars, left behind, they contained, comic quips, social scorn, and outright lies and petty deceptions. Di, knew, she felt very deeply and that made it hard for her to open up or trust people, let alone open her heart. Di had always been looking, and waiting, and then here in Redmond, things had started to fall into place, piece by piece, as her hidden, inner confusion from years ago took finally shape and form.
Di, hadn't reflected much on her own feelings for Alice, for they had deepened and emerged so gradually, almost imperceptibly, even before, of those weeks of lilac-hued, suffocating sadness after Courcelette, Di had automatically clung to Alice, for she had been a port of calmness, and grace, in a world that was full of cutting, sharp corners, and emptiness, almost without realizing it, she had woken up next to Alice one morning, and knew that she loved her, with an outright world-embracing frenzy, that she had wanted to shout her emotions all over Kingsport´s stately rooftops, but she knew that she could not do that, unlike her siblings. Gertrude Olivier's suggestive warnings, had been like a chilling wind that had pierced her rosy cloud, of bliss, which had consisted of the half glances she had sometimes allowed herself to cast at Alice, she had imagined no one would have noticed, but as it had happened one had done so.
Exhausted, Di stretched, and tasted her cold bitter tea, it was like drinking pure remorse. With her other hand, she broke one of Susan's gingerbread into small crumbs, because, suddenly Di realized, something, a little startling. They had shared mutual confidences, quite often, but not for some time. Di, swept her messy hair that had come out of her braid, at the same movemet she, closed the piano lid, and arranged the sheet music in a messy pile on the piano lid. Little uneasy, Di put out the lamp, and crept upstairs, for the thought of meeting Alice, before she had arranged her thoughts, was too unsettling, for she might do, or say, something she might regret, for she had a dose of the famous fire of Shirley's temperament, though it was sometimes tempered with Blythian cheekiness and capacity of deep and loyal devotion. Namely, Di, had meant what she had told her, in that first sudden start, she knew that she could never smell the clover on the wind again, without remembering that moment. Alice had gone, hopefully to Compline, as was her custom, always on Thursday evenings.
With almost silent steps, Di, walked the slightly creaking stairs upstairs, and stopped at the bathroom door, and looked in, on the clothesline hung a few pale shifts, and corset covers, Di, touched one with the tip of her finger, and felt the thin embroidery, the silk thread was soft, under her fingers, and suddenly Di, startled, glanced at the silvery wall-mirror, her face looking worn in the dim half-light, closing the door behind her, Di resolutely, walked across the hall, and without once looking in the direction of Alice's room, she went into Nan's and hers, where the quiet, regular breathing of her twin could be heard.
Nan, Di noticed, had left a small lamp burning on the other table, and the flickering play of the oil lamp´s flame, cast wavering shadow over wallpaper. In sudden darkness, Di closed her eyes, as she tried to sleep, but it was no use, for although Nan's breathing could be heard very close, her own beloved bed, suddenly felt shrunken, and there was no embroidery on the pillows, and above all, Alice's scent on the sheets was nowhere to be found, but that was exactly the point. Di, was half furious with herself, for at this moment, quite irrationally, she found herself longing for that smell of violets and nutmeg and honey and incense that was essence of Alice to her. No one, with cold toes poked her kneecaps, or a thick braid tickled her neck, didn't hum, in half tone in her ear, gutturally intimate Dvořák, that song could be a fairy tale, or a love song, or something a little more special, like sometimes when Di was feeling unsettled, it always made her feel more at home at her skin, and the itching anxiety was gone. Di, stifled a small sigh and turned, the bed springs creaked, and with dry, burning eyes, Di looked at the ceiling, and counted the ticking of the clock, as she reflected, that scene in the garden. In her mind´s eye, she saw Alice's shadowy features, and heard that not-so-surprising confession, for if she was completely honest, with herself, those sings of it were there. Although it was painful to admit it, as that thought passed, in her mind, cutting disbelief, and rebellious pain, seemed to flood over her in small growing waves.
There had been those Alice's, little, evasions, her glowing, almost palpable devotion to the lessons, which Di recognized, for it was similar to Di's own almost forgotten devotion, to the music lessons of her childhood, when fair Rosemary Meredith, by her side, gently guiding her, first steps, had been a heart-warming experience that she had not been able to describe at all to anyone, not even to her diary, but that memory was in places still very vivid, as was her soft spot towards blond musical women, that alluring hint of tendresse that had eventually led her towards Alice. There had been those few moments when, Di had softly playfully teased Alice after quite ruthless way, of staking her claim on her, for the scent of rose water had wafted from Alice's hair, and that scent had been like a shadow between them. Even though Di had thoroughly enjoyed their experimental moments, but Alice hadn't reacted as Di had expected, instead of laughing, she had stiffened barely perceptibly, and her ears had turned red. And the times when Alice had been uncharacteristically forceful, Di had taken advantage, with great pleasure, but in hindsight, Alice's feverish, throbbing, silken, surrender, it hadn't been calculated, but, there had been something uncanny in it. There had been those times when Di had been on the border between sleep and wakefulness, as Alice's warm breath in her ear, her warmth by her side, curled amid sheets, Di had experienced a sudden sharp realization that was like a quiet whisper, "It's possible she'll leave me, that we, that this will not last." But when that thought had surfaced, Di mercilessly pushed it away, because it was too painful, to even think about it.
At Dorian's birthday Di, had been watching Christine Stuart Dawson critically, she had noticed that Christine was throwing, little jabs of varying quality, often perfectly innocent on the surface, but some of them had another level, or meaning that might be, titillating, and when Di had upon their retun to piecefullness of Hollow told Nan about this, Nan had laughed merrily, as she had said, uncharacteristically sarcastically, "Of course, for what would be more natural, power is seductive, to some. And that woman is just that type, I think."
So, Alice's shaky, stuttering, confused, admission was not surprising, for aesthetically Di understood a certain allure, that Stuart Dawson woman had, and working together could be quite intimate, especially since Alice had sometimes used what she had learned with Di, for a slightly different purposes, that had been quite illuminating, to them both. In her heart of hearts, Di, knew that certain fork in the road had been reached, but in which direction, it was hard to tell. Time, clarity and above all a little distance were needed, and discussions, long ones, eventually, but they had all the time in the world, surely.
Downstairs, the front door of Primrose Hollow creaked open. Di strained her hearing, and soon there were light footsteps up the stairs, and a weary weary sigh, and the light scent of beeswax candles and incense wafted from the hall.
For the first time in weeks, the smell of fresh bread did not waft from Primrose Hollow´s kitchen, Nan found when she came downstairs in the morning, just before eight. Flickering morning light, illuminated that living room that had become so cozy, during these few years. A covered teapot was on the worn kitchen table, on a covered plate were cut slices of spice cake, Nan noticed as she lifted the lid. Nan grabbed one piece, that moist, not at all sweet cake, where cinnamon, ginger, allspice, nut-crushed, and raisins and pieces of dates brought sweetness, which she daintily nibbled, as she poured a cup of tea, for herself and glanced around.
Newspaper was spread with careful precision on the table, worried, Nan glanced at the dark powerful headlines, "On the Italian front block, the eleventh battle of Izonzo has ended, in 12.9.1917. Results of this massive bloodbath, are still unclear, although it seems that the Italian Second Army, has achieved a tactical victory over Austro-Hungarian forces, this battle was fought along Banjšice Plateau." Other headlines declared that BEF forces were still at Ypres, and counterattacks by French forces, towards German lines at Verdun, at Meuse, still continue." Restless but grateful, Nan clutched Jerry's ruby, for there was no mention of CEF forces, where they were, where were they being moved? Were they safe? Canadian troops had been mentioned last time in connection with Hill 70, but that had been in August, and now it was September, again. The CEF and I Anzack Corps were there somewhere. Light footsteps were heard on the stairs and Nan turned, and met Di's shadowy gray-green gaze, as she tried to say lightly, "There's nothing about CEF troops in the newspapers, thank God!"
A faint, narrow smile lit up Di's eyes, and she said quietly, "Good, but it's still autumn, and hopefully we'll be spared the next Courcelette. It's so hard to know what's happening on the Western Front, even with the newspaper headlines reporting troop movements and battles. At times like these I understand Persis's frustration with the press, because she knows how variable the printed word can be. Fortunately, the latest high technology is harnessed to serve this war, but so is the other side, telephone connections, telegram messages, reconnaissance flights, and so on. We here on the home front try to live our everyday life, but sometimes it's so hard."
Nan said gently, "Did you get any sleep, you seem tired?" Di, rubbed her temples, and poured tea into a teacup, the steam rising from it, shadowed her features, as Di shook her head, and said, "Not much, well I had a lot to think about and reflect on." Nan's hazel eyes twinkled softly as she inquired, "Don't get too caught up in your own head, a worry shared is always a worry halved."
A small smile appeared on Di's lips, and she raised her teacup, as a salute, which Nan, mirrored back, and laughed mirthfully.
Soft, footsteps sounded on the stairs, as Alice appeared in the living room, she was dressed in her old blue-striped cotton dress with a narrow gray belt and sailor-style collar. Alice, took one step towards Di, but then she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, lightly, clearly unsure. Di, purposefully, paid no attention to Alice, Nan noticed that her twin's mouth had tightened slightly. The atmosphere in the living room was extremely uncomfortable, freezing silence seemed almost to ring. Then, Di, got up, suddenly, she grabbed the nearest book from the bookshelf, it was The Figure in the Carpet, a short story by Henry James. Nan remembered its plot revolving around a literary mystery. Di, was sharply engrossed in James's world, as Alice, sat down in her usual place.
Nan were watching the blonde girl out of the corner of her eye, while knitting a stocking. Alice, pale and wan, drank two cups of tea, and crunched her toast in half. Then she got up, and passed tall redheaded figure huddled in an armchair, for a little while Nan was sure Alice would say something to Di, but Alice only straightened her belt and grabbed her bag and coat from the coat rack and slipped out. The closing of the door sounded like a small complaint.
Nan raised her eyes, towards Di and said a little pointedly, yet gently. " You can stop your imaginary reading, I'm sure you didn't absorb a single sentence, she has gone, now. You might have fooled her, but you didn't fool me. You used to do that back in the day when you didn't know what to do. Whatever has driven you apart, I point out, we live together, and the kind of atmosphere that prevailed here just now is quite straining in the long run, but very effective, the idea of freezing right at breakfast is not pleasant, so if this continues for a long time, one solution is to implement separate breakfast shifts, preferably before we are further into this academic term."
Di, looked up, and laid the pale blue novel on her knees, Nan trembled, for Di's gaze was inward, but it had the same kind of spark that Mumsy sometimes had when her temper was rising. Nan, conciliatoryly, charmingly making use of her lively Blythe charm, said, "Di, dear, will you have more toast, or would you like porridge, a good breakfast always sets things right, as Susan says." An impish glint came into Di's eyes, as she said, "You don't have to manage me, Nanlet. I just need some time, that's all, I'll talk to Alice, but not quite yet. I wrote this. It is a little piece, and I'd like your opinion on it, if you care to give it."
With extreme interest, Nan watched as Di opened a thin notebook with a pink silk ribbon as a bookmark and held it out. Di's handwriting was a bit messy, it was clearly a draft, cross-outs, and word choices written in the margin, as Nan silently read the next lines.
There is a place where customers sit in a cafe, with white tulle on the windows, and purple tiles on the counter, and mixed china-patterns, on small semi-circular tables. There are worn furniture, but what sets that little nameless place apart from the rest is the deep feeling of coming home that ignited in my heart when I went there, maybe I could do something useful there in the coming weeks.
This our everyday life, in this small cottage surrounded by a messy garden, it's like a worn sack with countless holes in it. We do what we can, and we wait, we wait, because there's no other option. We expect this to end, someday. That they would return home, but no one comes back the same as they left, for change is necessary, it is a condition of humanity, as is loneliness, loneliness, though I am not alone, I am never alone when I sit at my writingdesk, for words and worlds they build bring comfort. I once heard a piece of advice that said, "Only write books that you would want to read yourself." And now I have done so, but now I find that my words are no longer my own, as they belong to others, now. I noticed an interesting thing, namely, emotions require time, perhaps more than thoughts. Emotions storm, charm and attack and take over. After this sleepless night, I notice, again, that the body becomes heavy, and the senses are sharp, and a small layer of dust on the dresser, smells like Florence in a frost, that light, vanishingly sharp smell, and every sudden sound, has its own rainbow. Your absence is like a sudden darkening bruise that I poke and I feel it change color, from yellowish, to dark plum and back to blue-black.
And after that entry, Di had written some messy lines, which she had crossed out with blood-red ink, so that the pale paper had a bloody stain. Nan, put down the notebook and said casually, "Is that a sketch for some new story, or just scattered thoughts, perhaps? It might have the ingredients for something new. Write more about that cafe, because the place seems interesting. You must have invented it yourself, because why would any owner make a counter topped with pale lilac tiles, it's just too special and strange! But that image at the end about the absence. How could you fully describe my feelings towards Jerry's absence, I mean it's just that, my soul and heart is all over bruised."
Di, smiled, and glanced at the clock, which was creeping towards nine in the morning, and said quietly, "Thanks, that was just a bunch of thoughts that might lead to something at some point, but shouldn't we be going to lecture soon?" Startled, Nan, glanced at the clock, and ran upstairs, exclaiming lightly, "Go ahead, I've still got to collect my things, if you see Professor Milne, say I'll come to his Gaskell lecture, this afternoon, you didn't take it, or did you?" Di, exclaimed softly, "Will do, don't worry Nan. It's a good thing we're not always in the same classes."
A light, soft cloud cover covered the sky, and what little hazy light reflected through them, it was dim. The still strong, richly green Redmond campus lawn swayed in a slight breeze when, after the day's lectures, Di, cautiously walked towards the café. She had carefully taken a detour there.
Helene looked up, and nodded quietly to Di, and said, "What would you like? If you're looking for Madeleine, she won't be here today, but others, one can never be sure." Di, glanced at the menu, and ended up ordering a spiced tea blend made up of two separate black teas, Assam and Ceylon, with elderberry, quince and orange slices and dried thistle flowers in the tea, and a dash of gooseberry and plum cobbler.
Di, retreated to a corner table, and enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere, a few other customers talked in low voices, and slowly the hour passed, and Di, had already eaten her portion some time ago. Helene brought hot water at regular intervals, and once changed the tea leaves, without compensation, and when faced Di´s expressive look, Helene shrugged her shoulders gracefully, and said, "We're all one family here, besides, I remember seeing you at an acquaintance's house. It seems that you need a place where you can be at peace now. Please, come here every so often as you wish."
Moved, Di only nodded, and picked up her notebook, and began to write, today's lecture notes in a clearer order. That done she opened her second notebook, and began to write, hours passed quietly, as customers only occasionally changed. Helene hummed quietly, some unknown song across the counter, she had just taken a fresh cherry pie out of the oven, when Winne swept in, like a miniature whirlwind, and declared, " Luckily practice is over for the day, but the bad news is that Colin has caught his annual autumn flu, as if flat feet weren't enough, so I have no one for tonight. However, this piano, is hopeless, paint-stained and worn, and it barely stays in tune, and the second pedal doesn't work at all, so it may be that the evening will have to be canceled." Di, to her own surprise, remarked audibly, "If it's an accompaniment, and there are notes, I can play, and even sight-read, if there is need."
Winnie, turned, and eyed Di appraisingly from head to foot, the look in those dark eyes were intense, but warm, and focused, and she said quietly, emphatically, in a light girlish way with a slight rasp, "Is it so, are you good enough, Miss Blythe, was it not so? You're not a sheep, according to our Maddie, but yes, you seem like a sheep to me, a little lost."
Helene, glanced censoriously towards Winnie and apologetically in Di's direction, and said suddenly, "Don't tease Winnie, Di, is not used to your sense of humor, so called, but to return to the matter, she really plays well. I heard her at party in the summer, where again you were not present, if you were you would know it yourself, she did accompaniment, to some blond slender thing, who sang usual frenchly operatic repertoire, and few others, in particular melting mezzo. " Helene, wiped her hands on a towel and since there were no customers in the cafe temporarily, she said, "Practice in peace, I'm closing the boutique temporarily, and I'll take care of a few things. Have fun, but remember Winnie, that Miss Blythe, is doing you a favor, so be gentle, and minimize your diva antics if you can, and take breaks, there's more pie in the back room, both savory and sweet, if you get hungry."
Winnie, stepped next to Di, and she, smiling lightly, said, "Well, shall we try?" The piano in the corner of the room was just as bumpy, and tattered, as Winnie had said, but eagerly, Di glanced at the notes, and soon sparkling, emotional, and playful vaudeville music shone, and Di, found herself grateful that Winnie's voice was not at all in the mezzo register. The songs changed, and everything went like a dance, until that one moment, when Di found herself concentrating on listening to a ballad, because the pure, raw, cutting emotion in Winnie's voice caused tears to flood her eyes, because that song seemed to say everything she experienced, recently, and she flubbed, certain fingering, but only for a moment. After the song ended, Winnie, walked up to Di, and said, "Very well done, Miss Diana, especially considering you're playing these for the first time, but now is time for a pie and tea. Let´s go to have a excavation of Helene´s treasures."
The scenery through the tulle-decorated glass looked dreamlike, as they dined on tea and dainties, in corner table. Di, glanced in Winnie's direction, she seemed pensive, as she said, "Music expresses feelings, sometimes too well, though Chopin is too worn for heartbreak, I find." Di, found herself blushing a little, as Winnie winked, mischievously as she said," Love troubles, then?"
Winnie leaned against the worn table, with lush confidence, of a born performer, and to her own surprise, Di said, "Perhaps, or maybe one conversation that just has to get through." Winnie, swept her hair into a carefree, unruly bun, as she said, in her warm way, " Well, give it time. Work and a little distance is the best medicine, I've at least noticed that myself, in my long years, in the limelight and shadows of my electic set. If you want, I can leave your name at the door of the theater in Kingsport, because sometimes I get free tickets to shows, so if you want to bring your friend or other acquaintances to the theater. My upcoming show may become a fall event, if it ever gets done. Our director is absolutely impossible, but I would not be doing anything else for the world."
The hours passed, as slowly the cafe filled up, again.
Then it was time to perform, and it went smoothly, Di, letting the melodies and Winnie's voice, flow over, shimmering, powerful and flowing, she was careful not to get too attached to the magic of the music, winding scales of the notes. Winnie was just a soft dark-clad shadow, a hint of lush pale skin that was completely flawless, and those red, overpowering curls, the sight of which created a strange sense of security that was hard to pin down, tinged with fiece gladness that her own red hair was not that curly.
Afterwards, after the audience had left, Helene said thoughtfully, "For an experiment, this was extremely successful. Di, if you want you are welcome to play here as often as you like." Winnie raised her glass of lemonade as she smiled and said, "Agreed, but of course you have to be compensated for your time, right, Lene?" Helene, laughed, with a light twinkle, and said, "Well, naturally, for a moment Miss Blythe must have imagined that she would have to work for free." Di, glanced at the jumble of china in the cupboard, the cozy and bumpy furniture, and the smells still wafting from the kitchen, and said, somewhat playfully, "I happen to know how to bake, too, and I have a few recipes that might work well here." Winne, laughed hoarsely, as she said, " And she bakes, it may be Helene that you must keep her."
The bell over the door jingled, and Isabelle entered, in her burgundy dress, and she glanced around the small circle, and said in a low, frantic voice, "What exactly are you celebrating? Where's Colin? Winnie, can we talk, it's important."
Helene and Winnie looked at each other then, and Helene briefly recounted the events of the afternoon. Di got the impression that Isabelle was not quite listening, for she had poured salt instead of sugar into her Laidies of Langollen teacup.
Winne, smiled sweetly, and said to Di, "It's already late, go, you might already be missed, and sometimes it can be very benefical if one is indeed yearned over." Di, recognized the slight command, as she nodded to Helene, and collected her things, and curiously, at the door, she turned to look at the corner table, where Isabelle, seemed to be explaining something quite vehemently, to Winnie, for there were little red spots on her high cheekbones.
Madeleine, shelved the returned books, and organized the bills, and in the locked drawer of her desk was a small pile of letters that was still growing. The news in the newspapers was alarming, for it might be that Venice was in danger, though there was no sign of it in Claire's letters, the latest having arrived some two months ago. A little nervous, Madeleine, walked into her study and made tea, but for once that act did not calm her nerves, so, she decided to walk the corridors of the library, and check that the few, customers were happy. In the hall, she noticed that the door of the concert hall was half open, and that Bellini's touching, stunning, aria, Ah,non credea mirarti... Ah, non giunge, floated out, Madeleine hid her smile, because certain popular arias by Bellini and Donizetti and Mozart, in these corridors was a tradition every autumn.
Shrugging her shoulders, Madeline continued on her way, to the large reading rooms. Alice sat in her usual place, and upon meeting Madeleine's gaze, Alice nodded a little weakly, before focusing on her open book in front of her. With a sigh of relief, Madeline retreated back down the side corridors where almost no one ever passed.
A couple of hours later, about five o'clock in the evening, Madeline was walking, across the hall again, and she came across Alice at the door of the concert hall, she was leaning on it. Sympathetically, Madeline touched her shoulder, and said, "Tea, in my study, it might help because you look just like you passed some ordeal or other." After few minutes, Alice, stirred a dark, faintly minty tea in a translucent green porcelain cup, and said quietly, "The last few weeks have been quite varied, and exhausting, in different ways, although we last saw each other at Gardiner Hall." Madeline, glanced sharply at Alice and said, softly, "Remember not to overdo it, give yourself time, don't get too wrapped up in Di or your vocal studies, with Christine Stuart Dawson, however well they're going. I hope you've remembered my advice ."
Alice, flinched lightly, and Madeline, seeing that little gesture, said in her brisk way, "Try to stay true to yourself first and foremost." At that moment, when Madeline felt that Alice had something to say, perhaps something important, for her eyes, their color had never before looked so darkly violet, there came a sharp, commanding knock at her study door, and Madeline, raising her voice, and smiled reassuringly at Alice, as she said, "Come in, whoever you are."
Adeline Gardiner stood in the doorway, and in her gloved hand was a small folded paper with what appeared to be a whole set of official stamps. Adeline, sniffed, as she said, " Here is the coming half-yearly budget, from our trust. Roy asked me to say that he and Dorian would like to invite you to tea, in the Hall, because apparently news has arrived from the Italian front." Adeline glanced disdainfully at the little office, and then her dark blue gaze sharpened as it fell on Alice, as she, remarked, in her slyly offhand way, "Alice, Christine is obviously very pleased with your progress, and I have to admit that you performed beautifully, although your Italian pronunciation needs finishing, perhaps when the war is over you could go to Venice, to one of our relatives. Dear Dorian hasn't met them either, a couple of months there might be just what you need. I've noticed that my dearest friend can be very intense if someone piques her interest. Now I must move on, as I happen to have Kingsport Ladies' Luncheon Meeting in my almanac, and that particular crowd appreciates punctuality above all else."
After Adeline left, Alice noticed that Madeline's face had frozen, and she squeezed silvery teaspoon, so that the rose pattern was pressed into her palm, worried, Alice, touched Madeline's shoulder, and said, "Is everything all right, isn't that invitation a good thing?"
Madeline's face, turned just a degree paler, and she said nothing. Alice, poured plenty of sugar into Madeline's teacup, and made more tea, and slowly, Madeline, sighed, and muttered something in a half-inaudible voice, it might have been a prayer, or perhaps a curse, Alice, didn't know, but Madeline, looked up, as she said in a familiar tangy style that was difficult, or impossible, to resist, "My dear, I'd like to be in peace."
Glancing at Madeline once, Alice nodded and did as she was bid. She walked silent, corridors of library. Alice slipped into the concert hall and sat down at the piano, and looked at the shiny black piano, and lifted the lid and played, and sang Elgar, In Moonlight, and then, Quand nos bourgeons se rouvriront, which she transposed to her register, and lastly, After, and as always, remembered Walter's fluttering, brooding presence that song always evoked.
The scent of the autumn hydrangeas was intoxicating when Alice arrived in the garden of Primrose Hollow. Nan sat on the garden swing, and cast Alice a light, haughty glance, as she said quietly, " I knew you would bring sorrow to her. She has not told what has happened, but I am glad that you have now revealed your true nature. You are sly, and cold, and perhaps now Di can leave such unnaturalness behind. Perhaps it would be better if you lived elsewhere." Alice, felt a hot flush rise to her cheeks, and was about to answer sharply, when the gate of Primrose Hollow creaked, and a familiar silver voice hummed a revue song with a distinctly seductive note. Alice, turned and met Di's gaze, full-on, but Di did not look toward her, at all, she only nodded towards her twin, as they together went inside.
In royal blue suite of rooms, Christine Stuart Dawson, stretched with pleasure, as everything had gone quite well at the meeting today, as Addie hadn't gotten on very many people's nerves. Thoughtfully, Christine poured cocoa from a silver carafe into a small cup, and stirred it, the soft velvety sweetness of the cocoa was soothing. In the corner, a Victrola played, and the strains of Solveig´s Song from Peer Gynt pierced the silent room.
Andrew was traveling again, but he had said the dogs were doing well in Manitoba, with space and light to run wild in care with a friend. Suddenly Christine found herself missing them immensely, as she glanced at the silver-framed photograph of them posing, so very restrained, which was a front, because in reality they were full of explosive and sweet energy, and sticky, sometimes gnarly paws, and claws that scratched grooves in the parquet floors, and left hairs on the furniture.
Suddenly a knock, resounded at the door of the room, and Christine, amused, glanced at the clock, and wrapped herself in her blue robe francoise and flew to the door, and opened it, intending to say mirthfully, something a little angular, but behind the door was not Roy, in his cups, but Alice Parker . She clutched an extremely old-fashioned bag in her hands, and said, quietly, "Can I stay in the guest room, tonight?"
Christine, glanced inquisitively at Alice, as the girl seemed extremely tense, so she just opened the door, and said, "Of course, there's hot chocolate on the table, if you should desire it, as for else you know were everything is, please make yourself right at home here, however long as you need to." Alice, nodded faintly, and poured herself a little cup, of cocoa, Christine, smiled at her, and said, " Do you remember which De Laclos chapter we left last time? If you like, there is here also, few novels of Fanny Burney, all the usual De Sade, and Fanny Hill, as well as Pamela, and Crebillion's output, but that is hardly of interest to you. The collection is quite extensive, as I have developed an interest in 18th century literature over the years."
Alice, hummed in a thoughtful manner, and then she looked up from her cocoa, and nodded, at Victorla, that had only just stopped, last tunes of Peer Gynt, were flung into sudden stillness, as apparatus needle stuttered to stop, "No Bizet, to-night?" Christine, passed Alice, and as she passed swept a curl that had come out of the girl's hair into place, and she noticed how Alice flushed a little, and then Christine turned, and sat down, opposite Alice and raised her ankles on the little chair, as she hummed, in a soft voice, that gently evocative, sweeping aria, Mon cœur s'ouvre à ta voix.