it was wartime, but Michael and she might as well live in the city for all the pulling of lavender he had proposed. She couldn’t offhand think of where it might grow locally. And why was it herbs that were suggested? What was wrong with flowers?
Then there was something called the Periodicity of Recurrence, a sort of graph showing how a woman’s desire came and went throughout the month. There were two charts, one showing the Curve of Normal Desire in Healthy Women, the second showing the Feeble and Transient Up-Welling in Women Suffering from Fatigue and Overwork. At the end of the second graph the Level of Potential Desire suddenly shot up and down like a Ping-Pong ball on a water fountain. A caption explained: “Shortly before and during the time of the crest d Alpine air restored the vitality of the subject.”
Finally, there was a piece of advice she noted in the section called Modesty and Romance. Be always escaping. Escape the lower, the trivial, the sordid. So far as possible ensure that you allow your husband to come upon you only when there is delight in the meeting. Whenever the finances allow, the husband and wife should have separate bedrooms, failing that they should have a curtain which can at will be drawn so as to divide the room they share.
When she next saw Michael she had three questions.
“What does morphologically mean?”
“Give up. Anything to do with sandwiches?”
“And do you ever want to go out and look for lavender and rosemary?”
He glanced across at her a bit more seriously. “Is the wind blowing from Colney Hatch or something?”
“And can we have separate rooms?”
“Isn’t this a bit sudden? I haven’t laid a finger on you yet, darling.”
“But you’re supposed to be the hunter who ever dreams of coming unawares upon Diana in the woodlands.”
“Gathering lavender and rosemary?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then I’d better go get me a hoss.” They laughed together, then Michael added, “And in any case, why should I want Diana in the woodlands when I’ve got Jean by the front hedge?”
That night, she put away the book. It was clearly rubbish. Three days later, Michael said casually, “Oh, by the way, I’ve made an appointment for you.”
“Who with?”
“In London. She’s very nice, apparently. So they tell me.”
“She’s … not a dentist?”
“No.” He looked away. “She’ll … sort of inspect you.”
“Do I need inspecting?” Jean felt surprised rather than offended. Presumably everyone had to be inspected. “Will you send me back if I’m defective?”
“No, no, of course not, darling.” He took her hand. “It’s just something that … women have to do. I mean, nowadays, they do.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone being sent off to London to get inspected,” said Jean, rather crossly. What had country people done before the railways?
“Oh, it’s not that, darling, not just that. It’s … things like babies.”
It was her turn to look away. Oh dear, she thought. But didn’t men take the responsibility for that? Isn’t that what responsibility meant in the book? Suddenly, she thought of other words: turgid , and the rift within the lute , and lubricated by mucus . The whole thing seemed an awful idea.
“Can’t we just be friends?” she asked.
“We are friends now. That’s why we’re getting married. When we’re married we’ll still be friends; but we’ll be … married. That’s what it’s about.”
“I see.” She didn’t really. She felt miserable.
“Will you take me off for some Alpine air if I’m defective?” she asked.
“Just as soon as Private Hitler allows,” he promised. “Just as soon as Private Hitler allows.”
Dr. Headley would have made an excellent dentist, Jean thought. She was bright in manner, professional, informative, articulate, friendly and utterly frightening. She wore a white coat open over a suit which might as well have been a uniform. She sat Jean on a couch and
Then there was something called the Periodicity of Recurrence, a sort of graph showing how a woman’s desire came and went throughout the month. There were two charts, one showing the Curve of Normal Desire in Healthy Women, the second showing the Feeble and Transient Up-Welling in Women Suffering from Fatigue and Overwork. At the end of the second graph the Level of Potential Desire suddenly shot up and down like a Ping-Pong ball on a water fountain. A caption explained: “Shortly before and during the time of the crest d Alpine air restored the vitality of the subject.”
Finally, there was a piece of advice she noted in the section called Modesty and Romance. Be always escaping. Escape the lower, the trivial, the sordid. So far as possible ensure that you allow your husband to come upon you only when there is delight in the meeting. Whenever the finances allow, the husband and wife should have separate bedrooms, failing that they should have a curtain which can at will be drawn so as to divide the room they share.
When she next saw Michael she had three questions.
“What does morphologically mean?”
“Give up. Anything to do with sandwiches?”
“And do you ever want to go out and look for lavender and rosemary?”
He glanced across at her a bit more seriously. “Is the wind blowing from Colney Hatch or something?”
“And can we have separate rooms?”
“Isn’t this a bit sudden? I haven’t laid a finger on you yet, darling.”
“But you’re supposed to be the hunter who ever dreams of coming unawares upon Diana in the woodlands.”
“Gathering lavender and rosemary?”
“I suppose so.”
“Then I’d better go get me a hoss.” They laughed together, then Michael added, “And in any case, why should I want Diana in the woodlands when I’ve got Jean by the front hedge?”
That night, she put away the book. It was clearly rubbish. Three days later, Michael said casually, “Oh, by the way, I’ve made an appointment for you.”
“Who with?”
“In London. She’s very nice, apparently. So they tell me.”
“She’s … not a dentist?”
“No.” He looked away. “She’ll … sort of inspect you.”
“Do I need inspecting?” Jean felt surprised rather than offended. Presumably everyone had to be inspected. “Will you send me back if I’m defective?”
“No, no, of course not, darling.” He took her hand. “It’s just something that … women have to do. I mean, nowadays, they do.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone being sent off to London to get inspected,” said Jean, rather crossly. What had country people done before the railways?
“Oh, it’s not that, darling, not just that. It’s … things like babies.”
It was her turn to look away. Oh dear, she thought. But didn’t men take the responsibility for that? Isn’t that what responsibility meant in the book? Suddenly, she thought of other words: turgid , and the rift within the lute , and lubricated by mucus . The whole thing seemed an awful idea.
“Can’t we just be friends?” she asked.
“We are friends now. That’s why we’re getting married. When we’re married we’ll still be friends; but we’ll be … married. That’s what it’s about.”
“I see.” She didn’t really. She felt miserable.
“Will you take me off for some Alpine air if I’m defective?” she asked.
“Just as soon as Private Hitler allows,” he promised. “Just as soon as Private Hitler allows.”
Dr. Headley would have made an excellent dentist, Jean thought. She was bright in manner, professional, informative, articulate, friendly and utterly frightening. She wore a white coat open over a suit which might as well have been a uniform. She sat Jean on a couch and
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