The old lady turned her head with difficulty and looked at Virginia, who smirked again.
“My dear Miss Prim, if you reflected a little more deeply you’d realize that you can only admire that which you do not possess. You do not admire in another a quality you have yourself, you admire what you don’t have and which you see shining in another in all its splendor. Do you follow me?”
“We follow you, Lulu,” said Herminia, and the other ladies nodded.
“Well, good. And this isn’t wisdom, it’s basic logic. If two people admire each other, they’re not equals. If they were, they wouldn’t admire each other. They’re different, as each admires in the other what they don’t find in themselves. It’s difference, not similarity, that fosters admiration between two people. Similarity has no place in a good marriage. Difference does. Claiming otherwise is pure foolishness, which is so prevalent nowadays and typical of people who haven’t been taught to reason.”
Miss Prim lowered her head, meekly accepting the scolding.
“In any case, Lulu,” Virginia’s adamantine voice filled the sitting room, “what Miss Prim wants is our view of her present situation with her employer and her attraction to him.”
“Do you admire him, child?” asked the old lady, suddenly less severe.
“In many ways I suppose I do, but in others I detest him deeply.”
“Ah, that’s no impediment, not in the least. I detested all my husbands intensely and it didn’t stop me loving all three very much.”
Herminia cleared her throat discreetly, and Miss Prim turned to her. Meanwhile Lulu leaned back in her armchair and closed her eyes.
“Prudencia,” said Herminia, “I’d like to say something. I’ve observed you more than once with your employer and I think it’s more than possible that the attraction is mutual. I truly believe it.”
Miss Prim slowly picked up a lemon biscuit and leaned forward as if the better to hear.
“Do you mean it?” she asked. “I know you and he are close friends.”
Lulu opened her eyes and coughed loudly. At this, her hostess rose quickly and fetched her a glass of water from the kitchen.
“We are, now. But years ago we were considerably more than friends,” said Herminia.
Miss Prim tensed, gritting her teeth.
“Oh!”
“It was a long time ago, of course. It’s all over now.”
“Oh!” she said again. And, making a huge effort to control her uneasiness, she asked: “What happened?”
Herminia drew her chair up to the fire and, after a pause, as if weighing each word, she began.
“I won’t go into the details of our relationship because it’s not relevant, but I think you should know why we parted. We spent a wonderful time together, but then the man I was in love with turned into the man you know now, and everything changed.”
“You left him?”
“He left me.”
Miss Prim gave an almost imperceptible sigh of relief.
“You shouldn’t feel relieved,” declared the queen bee, who did not miss a thing. “If you had a little more sense you’d ask Herminia why he left her.”
“Why did he leave you?” she asked obediently.
Just then, the door opened with a creak and they turned their heads toward the noise, all except Lulu, whose arthritis obliged her to maintain a rigid posture. An enormous long-haired gray cat sauntered in, approached the table and leapt onto its mistress’s lap. Hortensia smiled fondly and began stroking the animal. Herminia went on, her voice seeming to Miss Prim to come from a great distance, as if in a dream.
“Because I didn’t believe what he started to believe.”
For a few moments nobody spoke. All that could be heard in the room was the measured ticking of the clock unhurriedly marking the progress of the afternoon’s events in Hortensia Oeillet’s sitting room. Outside, the snow was falling more lightly now. The flakes were smaller, and they seemed to flutter erratically in the icy February wind.
“But I can’t believe that was the reason,” stammered Prudencia at last. “Do you mean he left the woman he loved just because of that?”
“I mean that when that door opened, the ties that bound us were broken. It changed his life, and I could not, or maybe would not, share in it. Oh, of course, we tried, Prudencia, I can assure you. But it was obvious that he was living in one world and I in another, that he was speaking one language and I another, that he could see—”
“Oh, please,” interrupted Miss Prim, irritably. “Don’t give me all that business about him seeing things that others can’t.”
“Not in the physical sense, definitely not,” said Herminia cautiously. “What I’m simply trying to say is that we reached a point where if he hadn’t left me, I would probably have left him.”
Prudencia stood up and leaned over to stoke the fire. As she did so she felt the other women staring at her back. Only Lulu Thiberville, reclining in her armchair with eyes closed, seemed indifferent to the conversation.
“So what you’re telling me is, the fact that I don’t believe what he believes will prevent me from truly falling in love with him?”
Herminia reached out and stroked the cat gently before replying.
“No, my dear, no. What I’m telling you is the fact that you don’t believe what he believes means he will never, ever consent truly to fall in love with you.”
2
It can’t be, murmured Miss Prim under her breath as she hurried away from Hortensia Oeillet’s house. The afternoon had ended unpleasantly. It was obvious that all the women, except old Lulu Thiberville, pitied her. It was also obvious that they believed Herminia’s story implicitly. But she herself did not. She refused to accept that an intelligent, erudite man could permit his ideas to drive him away from the woman he loved. But as she trudged through the snow, it dawned on her that she had a more pressing problem. How was she going to get back to the house in this weather? Her hostess had entreated her to call someone to pick her up, but Miss Prim had expressed her determination not to. Now she saw that she’d been foolish. She should have waited for Lulu Thiberville’s gardener, who was due to collect the old lady at eight.
She felt humiliated by Herminia’s revelation. It had been an unexpected confidence and in unaccountably poor taste. Miss Prim firmly believed that certain things in life should never be revealed. But in the event that it was necessary, wasn’t a private chat the best way? Wouldn’t her visit to the newspaper office have been a more appropriate time and place for the disclosure? Miss Prim had no doubts on the matter, or on the part her hostess should have played. Shouldn’t Hortensia have warned her, suggested she talk with Herminia in private? Miss Prim was convinced this would have been the proper course of action.
The whole business was ridiculous, she reflected as she struggled across the road. She couldn’t believe that her employer had ever behaved so despicably. He had never shown her any hostility over differences in belief. He had never given the slightest hint that this might be a problem. Though officially their relationship remained that of employer and employee, unofficially it had gone much further. The discussions and conversations, confidences and debates, all went beyond the boundaries of a contract of employment. And in all this time she’d never had any sense that he despised her or looked down on her because she didn’t share his religious beliefs.
Perhaps Herminia had been deceiving herself, she thought as she tried to shield herself from an icy gust of wind. Herminia was a refined, intelligent, sensitive woman but that was no defense against self-deception. Miss Prim had a theory about self-deception: the female sex seemed particularly and cruelly vulnerable to it. It wasn’t that men didn’t fall prey to this psychological mechanism, but in them its workings were much more superficial and considerably less elaborate. Self-deception in women, she mused as she tried not to slip on the sloping path, was a weapon of immense power and subtlety. Like a sea monster with enormous tentacles that stretched out over the years, poisoning n
ot only its victim but many of those close to her. Miss Prim herself could testify to it; she had experienced the process at first-hand. She’d seen the monster emerge from the depths of her mother’s mind and watched it wrap itself like a giant squid around her father’s life.
“Isn’t this an odd day to go rambling, my imprudent Prudencia?”
The librarian valued Horacio Delàs’s friendship, but she’d never realized quite how much until that evening.
“Horacio, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!”
Her friend laughed loudly and offered her his arm.
“I don’t usually take a stroll on evenings like this but Hortensia called me. She was worried you might be lying in a ditch by now.”
Miss Prim smiled with relief.
“It was very stupid of me.”
“And from what I hear, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”
“No,” she replied, lowering her head.
“Come now, cheer up, my dear. I can offer you a good fire and a hot meal. You know I don’t drive, so I can’t include a lift home afterward, but we can call the house and they can send the gardener to pick you up after dinner. For now you need to get warm, rest, and eat.”
Obediently, she let her friend guide her down the street to his house. He opened the gate to his large garden full of camellias, and steered his guest up the path to the stone house. Like the rest of San Ireneo, its windows were all lit up, as if inviting passersby to stop and visit. After tidying herself up, changing out of her boots into a pair of old slippers several sizes too big for her and eating an excellent dinner accompanied by a very good wine, Miss Prim was offered an armchair by the fire and a cup of tea.
“This is heaven, Horacio. I’m so comfortable, I could stay all night.”
Savoring a glass of whiskey, her host beamed with pleasure.
“You’d be very welcome, but I don’t think your employer would be too happy. He’s sending someone for you in an hour.”
“No, I don’t think he would be,” she replied, laughing. “How is it that everyone here is such a good host—always coming up with delicious sweets, cakes, and roast meats, a warm fire and good company?”
“Civilized pleasures from an earlier era, Prudencia.”
“I suppose so,” she sighed, slipping off the enormous slippers and moving her bare feet closer to the fire. Its crackling was the only sound in the room.
Outside the windows snow was still falling, muffling the few sounds that came from the village at that late hour. Miss Prim stared into the flames. She was starting to gauge the true significance of all she had thought, said, and heard during the day. And the conclusion did not please her.
“I think I did something very silly today,” she said, almost to herself.
“You mean trying to walk back? It all turned out all right in the end. It’s not worth worrying about.”
“I mean, confessing publicly that I’m attracted to the man I work for, when I’m not sure if it’s true.”
The librarian thought her host hadn’t heard, but then realized he had.
“I’ve been foolish, haven’t I?”
Horacio poured himself another couple of fingers of whiskey before replying.
“Naturally, I wouldn’t say foolish. A little rash, maybe.”
His guest smiled, eyes fixed on the fire.
“You’re so unlike him! He wouldn’t have shown me any mercy.”
“Of course he would, Prudencia, don’t be so hard on him. I know him—he’d never hurt you deliberately.”
“Is that a warning?” she asked stiffly.
“Not at all. Of course not. I don’t know what his feelings are, my dear; I can’t tell you whether he feels anything more for you than friendship or interest. But didn’t you just say yourself that you’re no longer sure if you feel the attraction you’ve mentioned?”
She averted her gaze.
“I see,” said her friend. “In that case, I’m afraid you’ll have to find out if your feelings are reciprocated.”
“Or whether any obstacle stands in the way of their being reciprocated.”
“Now I don’t follow you,” he said, looking at her with curiosity.
Briefly, Miss Prim recounted the events of the extraordinary conclave.
“Could it be true? And if it were, wouldn’t it be bigoted and fanatical? Could it be possible? You know him.”
“I do, but not so well as that, my dear. I’m afraid the only way of finding out is to ask him.”
“Ask him? Oh no, it would be the same as admitting my feelings. It’s out of the question.”
“Not so fast, Prudencia. Didn’t you say this was the reason he split up with Herminia?”
She nodded.
“Well, it’s Herminia you must mention, not yourself. It’s his relationship with her you’ve got to talk about. That’s the first step, and I think you should talk to him as soon as possible. You know I wish you all the luck in the world.”
Miss Prim remained lost in thought for a few moments before drawing her feet away from the fire and pulling her long socks and boots back on. She looked at her host solemnly.
“You have a wonderfully feminine mind, Horacio. No, don’t object, please. I know you don’t consider it a compliment. But I do. I consider it a great compliment.”
Before her friend could say anything, the doorbell rang. The gardener had arrived and the evening was at an end.
Miss Prim slept badly that night. How could she have been so impulsive? Confessing at last that she cared for her employer had brought no relief. Instead, she felt terribly agitated. Putting her feelings into words seemed to have magnified them excessively. The women of San Ireneo de Arnois, though well intentioned, had interpreted them as a declaration of love, almost a marriage proposal. Why else would an old lady like Lulu Thiberville have explained the principles of a successful union? Prudencia was worried that the ladies of San Ireneo would now start working on marrying her off to the Man in the Wing Chair. Had nobody ever told them that not all attractions between men and women led to a relationship? Did they not know by now that not all relationships ended in marriage? Miss Prim’s views on marital union had grown more moderate with time, but that didn’t mean she was a wholehearted supporter of it. And there were other factors to consider. What if her employer found out about the conclave at Hortensia’s? What if she was simply wrong and he had not the slightest interest in her?
Overwhelmed by these worries, she jumped out of bed, put on a coat over her dressing gown, and crept quietly out of her room. The house was completely still. She crossed the landing, tiptoeing past the children’s bedrooms, and went downstairs to the large hall on the ground floor. The front door was unlocked, as was the custom in San Ireneo. Locked doors were considered a snub to one’s neighbors.
As she entered the garden an icy blast of wind took her breath away. Shivering, she reckoned she could stay outside for about five minutes. It was something she’d done since she was a child. When she couldn’t sleep she got up in the middle of the night and went outside, remaining there until wind, rain, or heat made her miss the comfort of her bedroom. Then she’d go back in and sleep peacefully till morning.
“Prudencia, you have an odd habit of braving the cold in flimsy footwear. If I were you, I’d put on snow boots.”
Miss Prim turned with a start on hearing the voice of the Man in the Wing Chair.
“Did I wake you?” she asked. “I’m so sorry, I tried to be as quiet as possible.”
He smiled gently, drew his coat tightly around him, and blew on his hands to warm them.
“You didn’t; I’m always awake at this hour.”
“A real night owl,” said the librarian with a teasing grin.
“More like a sheepdog. Eksi has nightmares sometimes and wakes up crying at around two or three. She’s the most fragile lamb in my flock.”
“Really? I’ve never heard her.”
“She cries very quietly. You have to be awake to he
ar her.”
Miss Prim nodded thoughtfully before vigorously rubbing her hands.
“Why don’t we go back inside and have a hot drink? You’re frozen, Prudencia.”
“When you say a hot drink, do you mean a hot toddy?” she asked mischievously.
“I mean cocoa, chocolate, or hot milk with a dash of rum. Nothing that could go to your head.”
She laughed, and they went back into the house. The Man in the Wing Chair opened the door to the library, switched on a small lamp, and crouched in front of the fireplace to light a fire.
“There’s no need. It’s quite warm enough in here.”
“I know, but I just can’t conceive of a room in winter with an empty hearth. A fire is much more than heating, it’s the heart of a home.”
“I’m not going to argue,” she said with laughter in her voice. “Not at this time of night, and not if you’re offering to light it. Shall I make some cocoa?”
“That would be great,” he answered as he stoked the fire.
In the old kitchen, Miss Prim prepared the drinks. This was her chance to do as Horacio advised and ask her employer about his romantic history. As she slowly stirred the cocoa with a wooden spoon, she realized how very difficult this would be. How could she ask him about a relationship when, officially, she didn’t know about it? Of course, she reflected, there was really nothing out of the ordinary about her knowing. Not in a small place where everybody knew everybody else’s story.
When she returned to the library, a fire was blazing. She put the tray down on the tea table and settled herself in one of the armchairs, as did her employer. Then she poured two cups of cocoa, took a slice of cake, removed her slippers, and stretched her legs toward the fire.
“You’ve never told me that you and Herminia used to be a couple,” she said with studied nonchalance, not daring to look up from her cup.
He stirred his cocoa and took a sip before answering.
“There are lots of things about my life I haven’t told you. I didn’t realize I had to, but if it’s important to you I’m quite happy to start now.”
Awakening of Miss Prim Page 16
