Providence by Anita Brookner Page B

her? The work of an instant, no more. No? Of course Louise was, well, a little tired, perhaps, but they were not so young, my darling, you must expect this. What was she going to eat, he asked, and waited for the answer, enthralled. Kitty, who intended to have something on toast, told him that she would have a chop and some salad. Never neglect the vegetables, said Vadim passionately. And the cheese. Not too much coffee. She agreed. ‘Can I say goodnight to Maman Louise?’ asked Kitty, to cut him short. There was a pause, the dropped telephone picking up the sounds more clearly, then a creaking of footsteps, heavy steps,then a heavy breathing. Well,
ma fille
, said Louise, a good day? A good day, said Kitty. You wore the blue? Yes, agreed Kitty, she had worn the blue. Hang it up immediately, advised Louise. With pleats one can never be too careful. And tissue paper in the shoes, of course. Always, Kitty said, don’t worry, I always do as you say. Louise let a pause elapse, pregnant with disbelief. Then, goodnight, my pigeon. Sleep well. Until tomorrow.
    When Kitty replaced the telephone the silence was complete. It was such a very quiet street, she thought. She had always disliked those stories which begin, ‘In the town of H——, in the province of O——’. They seemed to shut her out. The action of
Adolphe
takes place
‘dans la petite ville de D——
’. Such a refusal to give the story its usual complement of detail turns it into a sort of parable, makes one search for universal meanings which may not be there. She thought of her grandparents. Their love did not console her, was in fact a burden. She could never eat or wear enough to conciliate them with her way of life. Nor could she bring them any news that they would have wished to hear. She could not tell them what she had been doing, for in their eyes she had been doing nothing. The moral dilemmas of
Adolphe
would meet with total incomprehension, and she had the grace to spare them any self-important account of her success that afternoon, for it had been a success, she told herself. One always knew. Her landscape was as bare of imagery as
Adolphe
itself. She could not even tell Maurice, for his world was all of a piece; success in all one did was assumed without affectation. Besides, in his world, everyone was active and united. His mother sometimes came to his lectures, and was in the habit of driving off by herself to stay with friends in Scotland or Italy. People with houses.
    It was a question of conditioning, thought Kitty Maule, as she hung up her skirt. I function well in onesphere only, but all the others must be thought through, every day. Perhaps I will graft myself on to something native here, make a unity somehow. I can learn. I can understand. I can even criticize. What I cannot do is reconcile. I must work on that.
    Into her dreams that night came the unbidden words,
‘Mais quand on voit l’angoisse qui résulte de ces liens brisés …’
, but she could not remember the rest.

FIVE
    Kitty watched Maurice lower his spoon into his lemon pudding. She watched him until he had finished it, and as he helped himself to some more. He ate seriously, his eyes cast down.
    ‘Is it all right?’ she asked.
    ‘Everything you do is all right,’ he said, scraping his plate.
    She blushed with pleasure. He had never spoken to her in this way before.
    ‘No, I mean it,’ he said. ‘Redmile is astonishingly pleased with you. You seem to have done wonders with that group of his. He can’t get over it.’
    Kitty’s pleasure dimmed a little. Professional success seemed to her of little importance compared with the risks she took in trying to please him. And anyway, teaching was something she could do on her own, with no reference to Maurice, and no need for his help, either. But with an inward sigh she took her cue from him; it was what he wanted, and he was here, after all. That was what mattered.
    ‘They’re very easy to get along with,’ she said,