Did she ever think about Manderley? Did she remember sitting at the dining room table, where I sat? Did she too have tea under the chestnut tree? Or was it all forgotten and laid aside, and was there nothing left behind that calm, pale face of hers but little aches and little strange discomforts, a blurred thankfulness when the sun shone, a tremor when the wind blew cold?
I wished that I could lay my hands upon her face and take the years away. I wished I could see her young, as she was once, with color in her cheeks and chestnut hair, alert and active as Beatrice by her side, talking as she did about hunting, hounds, and horses. Not sitting there with her eyes closed while the nurse thumped the pillows behind her head.
“We’ve got a treat today, you know,” said the nurse, “watercress sandwiches for tea. We love watercress, don’t we?”
“Is it watercress day?” said Maxim’s grandmother, raising her head from the pillows, and looking towards the door. “You did not tell me that. Why does not Norah bring in the tea?”
“I wouldn’t have your job, Sister, for a thousand a day,” said Beatrice sotto voce to the nurse.
“Oh, I’m used to it, Mrs. Lacy,” smiled the nurse; “it’s very comfortable here, you know. Of course we have our bad days but they might be a great deal worse. She’s very easy, not like some patients. The staff are obliging too, that’s really the main thing. Here comes Norah.”
The parlor-maid brought out a little gate-legged table and a snowy cloth.
“What a time you’ve been, Norah,” grumbled the old lady.
“It’s only just turned the half hour, Madam,” said Norah in a special voice, bright and cheerful like the nurse. I wondered if Maxim’s grandmother realized that people spoke to her in this way. I wondered when they had done so for the first time, and if she had noticed then. Perhaps she had said to herself, “They think I’m getting old, how very ridiculous,” and then little by little she had become accustomed to it, and now it was as though they had always done so, it was part of her background. But the young woman with the chestnut hair and the narrow waist who gave sugar to the horses, where was she?
We drew our chairs to the gate-legged table and began to eat the watercress sandwiches. The nurse prepared special ones for the old lady.
“There, now, isn’t that a treat?” she said.
I saw a slow smile pass over the calm, placid face. “I like watercress day,” she said.
The tea was scalding, much too hot to drink. The nurse drank hers in tiny sips.
“Boiling water today,” she said, nodding at Beatrice. “I have such trouble about it. They will let the tea stew. I’ve told them time and time again about it. They will not listen.”
“Oh, they’re all the same,” said Beatrice. “I’ve given it up as a bad job.” The old lady stirred hers with a spoon, her eyes very far and distant. I wished I knew what she was thinking about.
“Did you have fine weather in Italy?” said the nurse.
“Yes, it was very warm,” I said.
Beatrice turned to her grandmother. “They had lovely weather in Italy for their honeymoon, she says. Maxim got quite sunburnt.”
“Why isn’t Maxim here today?” said the old lady.
“We told you, darling, Maxim had to go to London,” said Beatrice impatiently. “Some dinner, you know. Giles went too.”
“Oh, I see. Why did you say Maxim was in Italy?”
“He was in Italy, Gran. In April. They’re back at Manderley now.” She glanced at the nurse, shrugging her shoulders.
“Mr. and Mrs. de Winter are in Manderley now,” repeated the nurse.
“It’s been lovely there this month,” I said, drawing nearer to Maxim’s grandmother. “The roses are in bloom now. I wish I had brought you some.”
“Yes, I like roses,” she said vaguely, and then peering closer at me with her dim blue eyes. “Are you staying at Manderley too?”
I swallowed. There was a slight pause. Then Beatrice broke in with her loud, impatient voice, “Gran, darling, you know perfectly well she lives there now. She and Maxim are married.”
I noticed the nurse put down her cup of tea and glance swiftly at the old lady. She had relaxed against the pillows, plucking at her shawl, and her mouth began to tremble. “You talk too much, all of you. I don’t understand.” Then she looked across at me, a frown on her face, and began shaking her head. “Who are you, my dear, I haven’t seen you before? I don’t know your face. I don’t remember you at Manderley. Bee, who is this child? Why did not Maxim bring Rebecca? I’m so fond of Rebecca. Where is dear Rebecca?”