first, and had even made jokes about it, referring to herself as “the iron maiden", but later she had observed and imposed silence on the subject. The only fact which Muriel knew about the corset was that, since Elizabeth felt more comfortable in trousers, she wore the “male version” of the corset, though what made it male had never become clear. Muriel often wondered whether she ought not to force Elizabeth to show her the thing. So much reticence might be somehow damaging to Elizabeth herself. However, she still hesitated to bully her now more formidable cousin in so delicate a matter. She only wished that she could in some way remove the trouble from her own mind.
As Muriel watched Elizabeth shifting restlessly upon the chaise-longue her gaze passed behind the bleached golden head to a point on the angle of the wall where a long crack had opened in the wallpaper. Elizabeth’s room, once much larger, had been rendered L-shaped by two hardboard partition walls which composed another little room, now opening separately on to the corridor, which had been designed as a linen room, and was already so employed by Pattie. Exploring the house soon after her arrival, Muriel had entered that room and has seen a chink of light in the corner where the two partition walls joined. Through this chink it should be possible to see into Elizabeth’s room and even, with the aid of the big French mirror, into the recess where Elizabeth slept. Muriel, amazed at the speed with which this idea had come to her on seeing the chink of light, had immediately left the room as if to avoid some appalling temptation. Of course she could not dream of thus spying on her cousin.
To take her attention off the still suggestive spy-hole Muriel turned round to face the mirror. The room appeared again, but altered, as if seen in water, a little darkened in a silver-gilded powdery haze. The mirror showed her her own head and just behind it the streaming hair of Elizabeth who had turned to pummel her cushions, and behind that a large part of Elizabeth’s bed, tousled and feathery, in the twilight behind the screen. Muriel now looked into her own eyes, bluer than Elizabeth’s but not so beautifully shaped. As she saw that her breath was blurring the glass she leaned closer and pressed her lips to the cold mirror. As she did so, and her mirrored lips moved to meet her, a memory came. She had once and only once kissed Elizabeth on the lips and then there had been a pane of glass between them. It was a sunny day and they had gazed at each other through the glass panel of the garden door and kissed. Elizabeth was fourteen. Muriel recalled the child’s figure flying then down the green garden, and the cold hardness of the glass to which her own lips had remained pressed.
She shifted now and quickly wiped the minutely textured cupid image from the surface. Elizabeth, finished with her cushions, turned and smiled at Muriel’s reflected face. Unsmiling Muriel still gazed into the mirror as into a magical archway in whose glossy depths one might see suddenly shimmering into form the apparition of a supernatural princess.
CHAPTER FIVE
“PATTIE.”
“Yes.”
“Shall I make the tea or will you?”
“You make it, please.”
Eugene Peshkov thrust his thick fingers into the tea-caddy. The tea was very fine, like sand, and ran through them. He closed his fingers tightly, making a little lump of tea, and transferred it to the pot. Only a few specks fell on to the furry green tablecloth.
Eugene was unhappy because he had just had a quarrel with his son. Eugene did not suffer much from anxiety. He had spent too long sitting at the bottom of the world and hoping for nothing to suffer from any precarious play of tempting aspirations and glimpses. No object lay just beyond his grasp since he had long ago ceased grasping. He had never ever been really anxious about Leo. But his son made him suffer, and
As Muriel watched Elizabeth shifting restlessly upon the chaise-longue her gaze passed behind the bleached golden head to a point on the angle of the wall where a long crack had opened in the wallpaper. Elizabeth’s room, once much larger, had been rendered L-shaped by two hardboard partition walls which composed another little room, now opening separately on to the corridor, which had been designed as a linen room, and was already so employed by Pattie. Exploring the house soon after her arrival, Muriel had entered that room and has seen a chink of light in the corner where the two partition walls joined. Through this chink it should be possible to see into Elizabeth’s room and even, with the aid of the big French mirror, into the recess where Elizabeth slept. Muriel, amazed at the speed with which this idea had come to her on seeing the chink of light, had immediately left the room as if to avoid some appalling temptation. Of course she could not dream of thus spying on her cousin.
To take her attention off the still suggestive spy-hole Muriel turned round to face the mirror. The room appeared again, but altered, as if seen in water, a little darkened in a silver-gilded powdery haze. The mirror showed her her own head and just behind it the streaming hair of Elizabeth who had turned to pummel her cushions, and behind that a large part of Elizabeth’s bed, tousled and feathery, in the twilight behind the screen. Muriel now looked into her own eyes, bluer than Elizabeth’s but not so beautifully shaped. As she saw that her breath was blurring the glass she leaned closer and pressed her lips to the cold mirror. As she did so, and her mirrored lips moved to meet her, a memory came. She had once and only once kissed Elizabeth on the lips and then there had been a pane of glass between them. It was a sunny day and they had gazed at each other through the glass panel of the garden door and kissed. Elizabeth was fourteen. Muriel recalled the child’s figure flying then down the green garden, and the cold hardness of the glass to which her own lips had remained pressed.
She shifted now and quickly wiped the minutely textured cupid image from the surface. Elizabeth, finished with her cushions, turned and smiled at Muriel’s reflected face. Unsmiling Muriel still gazed into the mirror as into a magical archway in whose glossy depths one might see suddenly shimmering into form the apparition of a supernatural princess.
CHAPTER FIVE
“PATTIE.”
“Yes.”
“Shall I make the tea or will you?”
“You make it, please.”
Eugene Peshkov thrust his thick fingers into the tea-caddy. The tea was very fine, like sand, and ran through them. He closed his fingers tightly, making a little lump of tea, and transferred it to the pot. Only a few specks fell on to the furry green tablecloth.
Eugene was unhappy because he had just had a quarrel with his son. Eugene did not suffer much from anxiety. He had spent too long sitting at the bottom of the world and hoping for nothing to suffer from any precarious play of tempting aspirations and glimpses. No object lay just beyond his grasp since he had long ago ceased grasping. He had never ever been really anxious about Leo. But his son made him suffer, and
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