“Won’t you stay for tea? We always have it at quarter past.”
“No—No, really, thanks most awfully. I promised Maxim…” my sentence would go trailing off into nothing, but the meaning would be understood. We would both rise to our feet, both of us knowing I was not deceived about her offer to tea nor she in my mention of a promise to Maxim. I had sometimes wondered what would happen if convention were denied, if, having got into the car and waved a hand to my hostess on the doorstep, I suddenly opened it again, and said, “I don’t think I’ll go back after all. Let’s go to your drawing room again and sit down. I’ll stay to dinner if you like, or stop the night.”
I used to wonder if convention and good county manners would brave the surprise, and whether a smile of welcome would be summoned to the frozen face, “But of course! How very delightful of you to suggest it.” I used to wish I had the courage to try. But instead the door would slam, the car would go bowling away down the smooth gravel drive, and my late hostess would wander back to her room with a sigh of relief and become herself again. It was the wife of the bishop in the neighboring cathedral town who said to me, “Will your husband revive the Manderley Fancy Dress ball, do you suppose? Such a lovely sight always; I shall never forget it.”
I had to smile as though I knew all about it and say, “We have not decided. There have been so many things to do and to discuss.”
“Yes, I suppose so. But I do hope it won’t be dropped. You must use your influence with him. There was not one last year of course. But I remember two years ago, the bishop and I went, and it was quite enchanting. Manderley so lends itself to anything like that. The hall looked wonderful. They danced there, and had the music in the gallery; it was all so in keeping. A tremendous thing to organize, but everybody appreciated it so.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I must ask Maxim about it.”
I thought of the docketed pigeonhole in the desk in the morning room, I pictured the stack upon stack of invitation cards, the long list of names, the addresses, and I could see a woman sitting there at the desk and putting a V beside the names she wanted, and reaching for the invitation cards, dipping her pen in the ink, writing upon them swift and sure in that long, slanting hand.
“There was a garden party, too, we went to one summer,” said the bishop’s wife. “Everything always so beautifully done. The flowers at their best. A glorious day, I remember. Tea was served at little tables in the rose garden; such an attractive original idea. Of course, she was so clever…”
She stopped, turning a little pink, fearing a loss of tact; but I agreed with her at once to save embarrassment, and I heard myself saying boldly, brazenly, “Rebecca must have been a wonderful person.”
I could not believe that I had said the name at last. I waited, wondering what would happen. I had said the name. I had said the word Rebecca aloud. It was a tremendous relief. It was as though I had taken a purge and rid myself of an intolerable pain. Rebecca. I had said it aloud.
I wondered if the bishop’s wife saw the flush on my face, but she went on smoothly with the conversation, and I listened to her greedily, like an eavesdropper at a shuttered window.
“You never met her then?” she asked, and when I shook my head she hesitated a moment, a little uncertain of her ground. “We never knew her well personally, you know: the bishop was only inducted here four years ago, but of course she received us when we went to the ball and the garden party. We dined there, too, one winter. Yes, she was a very lovely creature. So full of life.”
“She seems to have been so good at everything too,” I said, my voice just careless enough to show I did not mind, while I played with the fringe of my glove. “It’s not often you get someone who is clever and beautiful and fond of sport.”
“No, I suppose you don’t,” said the bishop’s wife. “She was certainly very gifted. I can see her now, standing at the foot of the stairs on the night of the ball, shaking hands with everybody, that cloud of dark hair against the very white skin, and her costume suited her so. Yes, she was very beautiful.”
“She ran the house herself, too,” I said, smiling, as if to say, “I am quite at my ease, I often discuss her.” “It must have taken a lot of time and thought. I’m afraid I leave it to the housekeeper.”
“Oh, well, we can’t all do everything. And you are very young, aren’t you? No doubt in time, when you have settled down. Besides, you have your own hobby, haven’t you? Someone told me you were fond of sketching.”