“Don’t forget, you’re dining with us on the fourteenth of next month.”
“Oh, are we?” I stared at him blankly.
“Yes, we’ve got your sister-in-law to promise too.”
“Oh. Oh, what fun.”
“Eight-thirty, and black tie. So looking forward to seeing you.”
“Yes. Yes, rather.”
People began to form up in queues to say goodbye. Maxim was at the other side of the room. I put on my smile again, which had worn thin after Auld Lang Syne.
“The best evening I’ve spent for a long time.”
“I’m so glad.”
“Many thanks for a grand party.”
“I’m so glad.”
“Here we are, you see, staying to the bitter end.”
“Yes, I’m so glad.”
Was there no other sentence in the English language? I bowed and smiled like a dummy, my eyes searching for Maxim above their heads. He was caught up in a knot of people by the library. Beatrice too was surrounded, and Giles had led a team of stragglers to the buffet table in the drawing room. Frank was out in the drive seeing that people got their cars. I was hemmed in by strangers.
“Goodbye, and thanks tremendously.”
“I’m so glad.”
The great hall began to empty. Already it wore that drab deserted air of a vanished evening and the dawn of a tired day. There was a gray light on the terrace, I could see the shapes of the blown firework stands taking form on the lawns.
“Goodbye; a wonderful party.”
“I’m so glad.”
Maxim had gone out to join Frank in the drive. Beatrice came up to me, pulling off her jangling bracelets. “I can’t stand these things a moment longer. Heavens, I’m dead beat. I don’t believe I’ve missed a dance. Anyway, it was a tremendous success.”
“Was it?” I said.
“My dear, hadn’t you better go to bed? You look worn out. You’ve been standing nearly all the evening. Where are the men?”
“Out on the drive.”
“I shall have some coffee, and eggs and bacon. What about you?”
“No, Beatrice, I don’t think I will.”
“You looked very charming in your blue. Everyone said so. And nobody had an inkling about—about the other things, so you mustn’t worry.”
“No.”
“If I were you I should have a good long lie tomorrow morning. Don’t attempt to get up. Have your breakfast in bed.”
“Yes, perhaps.”
“I’ll tell Maxim you’ve gone up, shall I?”
“Please, Beatrice.”
“All right, my dear. Sleep well.” She kissed me swiftly, patting my shoulder at the same time, and then went off to find Giles in the supper room. I walked slowly up the stairs, one step at a time. The band had turned the lights off in the gallery, and had gone down to have eggs and bacon too. Pieces of music lay about the floor. One chair had been upturned. There was an ashtray full of the stubs of their cigarettes. The aftermath of the party. I went along the corridor to my room. It was getting lighter every moment, and the birds had started singing. I did not have to turn on the light to undress. A little chill wind blew in from the open window. It was rather cold. Many people must have used the rose garden during the evening, for all the chairs were moved, and dragged from their places. There was a tray of empty glasses on one of the tables. Someone had left a bag behind on a chair. I pulled the curtain to darken the room, but the gray morning light found its way through the gaps at the side.
I got into bed, my legs very weary, a niggling pain in the small of my back. I lay back and closed my eyes, thankful for the cool white comfort of clean sheets. I wished my mind would rest like my body, relax, and pass to sleep. Not hum round in the way it did, jigging to music, whirling in a sea of faces. I pressed my hands over my eyes but they would not go.
I wondered how long Maxim would be. The bed beside me looked stark and cold. Soon there would be no shadows in the room at all, the walls and the ceiling and the floor would be white with the morning. The birds would sing their songs, louder, gayer, less subdued. The sun would make a yellow pattern on the curtain. My little bedside clock ticked out the minutes one by one. The hand moved round the dial. I lay on my side watching it. It came to the hour and passed it again. It started afresh on its journey. But Maxim did not come.
18
I think I fell asleep a little after seven. It was broad daylight, I remember, there was no longer any pretence that the drawn curtains hid the sun. The light streamed in at the open window and made patterns on the wall. I heard the men below in the rose garden clearing away the tables and the chairs, and taking down the chain of fairy lights. Maxim’s bed was still bare and empty. I lay across my bed, my arms over my eyes, a strange, mad position and the least likely to bring sleep, but I drifted to the border-line of the unconscious and slipped over it at last. When I awoke it was past eleven, and Clarice must have come in and brought me my tea without my hearing her, for there was a tray by my side, and a stone-cold teapot, and my clothes had been tidied, my blue frock put away in the wardrobe.