I wanted to go on sitting there, not talking, not listening to the others, keeping the moment precious for all time, because we were peaceful, all of us, we were content and drowsy even as the bee who droned above our heads. In a little while it would be different, there would come tomorrow, and the next day, and another year. And we would be changed perhaps, never sitting quite like this again. Some of us would go away, or suffer, or die; the future stretched away in front of us, unknown, unseen, not perhaps what we wanted, not what we planned. This moment was safe though, this could not be touched. Here we sat together, Maxim and I, hand-in-hand, and the past and the future mattered not at all. This was secure, this funny fragment of time he would never remember, never think about again. He would not hold it sacred; he was talking about cutting away some of the undergrowth in the drive, and Beatrice agreed, interrupting with some suggestion of her own, and throwing a piece of grass at Giles at the same time. For them it was just after lunch, quarter past three on a haphazard afternoon, like any hour, like any day. They did not want to hold it close, imprisoned and secure, as I did. They were not afraid.
“Well, I suppose we ought to be off,” said Beatrice, brushing the grass from her skirt; “I don’t want to be late, we’ve got the Cartrights dining.”
“How is old Vera?” asked Maxim.
“Oh, same as ever, always talking about her health. He’s getting very old. They’re sure to ask all about you both.”
“Give them my love,” said Maxim.
We got up. Giles shook the dust off his hat. Maxim yawned and stretched. The sun went in. I looked up at the sky. It had changed already, a mackerel sky. Little clouds scurrying in formation, line upon line.
“Wind’s backing,” said Maxim.
“I hope we don’t run into rain,” said Giles.
“I’m afraid we’ve had the best of the day,” said Beatrice.
We wandered slowly towards the drive and the waiting car.
“You haven’t seen what’s been done to the east wing,” said Maxim.
“Come upstairs,” I suggested; “it won’t take a minute.”
We went into the hall, and up the big staircase, the men following behind.
It seemed strange that Beatrice had lived here for so many years. She had run down these same stairs as a little girl, with her nurse. She had been born here, bred here; she knew it all, she belonged here more than I should ever do. She must have many memories locked inside her heart. I wondered if she ever thought about the days that were gone, ever remembered the lanky pigtailed child that she had been once, so different from the woman she had become, forty-five now, vigorous and settled in her ways, another person…
We came to the rooms, and Giles, stooping under the low doorway, said, “How very jolly; this is a great improvement, isn’t it, Bee?” and “I say, old boy, you have spread yourself,” said Beatrice: “new curtains, new beds, new everything. You remember, Giles, we had this room that time you were laid up with your leg? It was very dingy then. Of course Mother never had much idea of comfort. And then, you never put people here, did you, Maxim? Except when there was an overflow. The bachelors were always dumped here. Well, it’s charming, I must say. Looks over the rose garden too, which was always an advantage. May I powder my nose?”
The men went downstairs, and Beatrice peered in the mirror.
“Did old Danvers do all this for you?” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “I think she’s done it very well.”
“So she should, with her training,” said Beatrice. “I wonder what on earth it cost. A pretty packet, I bet. Did you ask?”
“No, I’m afraid I did not,” I said.
“I don’t suppose it worried Mrs. Danvers,” said Beatrice. “Do you mind if I use your comb? These are nice brushes. Wedding present?”
“Maxim gave them to me.”
“H’m. I like them. We must give you something of course. What do you want?”
“Oh, I don’t really know. You mustn’t bother,” I said.
“My dear, don’t be absurd. I’m not one to grudge you a present, even though we weren’t asked to your wedding!”
“I hope you did not mind about that. Maxim wanted it to be abroad.”
“Of course not. Very sensible of you both. After all, it wasn’t as though…” she stopped in the middle of her sentence, and dropped her bag. “Damn, have I broken the catch? No, all is well. What was I saying? I can’t remember. Oh, yes, wedding presents. We must think of something. You probably don’t care for jewelry.”