Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle

back to me.

"Are you sure you want me to take this job if I can get it?" he asked.

I said of course I was, and that we should all be very proud of him.

"All right- if you're sure his As I watched him racing back to the car I had a wrongful feeling of pride--not so much because he was devoted to me as at the thought of Leda having to realize it.

I spent the afternoon in the drawing-room of the flat. I read a

little--there were some very serious American magazines, not bit like the ones Miss Marcy had. But most of the time, I thought. And what I

thought about most was luxury. I had realized before that it is more

than just having things; it makes very air feel different. And I felt different, breathing that air: relaxed lazy, still sad but with the

edge taken off the sadness.

Perhaps the effect wears off in time, or perhaps you don't notice you are born to it, but it does seem to me that the climate of riches must always be a little dulling to the senses.

Perhaps it takes the edge off joy as well as off sorrow.

And though I cannot honestly say I would ever turn my back on any

luxury I could come by, I do feel there is something a bit in it.

Perhaps that makes it all the more enjoyable.

At five o'clock the kind maid brought iced tea and sandwiches--and

biscuits for Heloise, but she much preferred sandwiches. After that, I fell asleep on the sofa.

And suddenly they were all back--the room was full of laughing and

talking. All three of them were in black-apparently most smart London women wear black in hot weather; it seemed unsuitable, but they looked very nice in it.

And they so pleased to see me--Rose simply hugged me.

Everyone was determined that I should stay for the weekend.

Rose insisted her bed was big enough for two and when I said we should kick each other she said:

"All right--I'll sleep on the floor but stay you must."

"Yes, do, dear," said Mrs. Cotton.

"And then we can see about your bridesmaid's dress on Monday

morning."

"If only I'd known you were here, I'd have rushed home," cried Rose.

"We've been to the dullest matinee.

She was fanning herself with the program. Three months ago no matinee in the world would have been dull to her.

Topaz urged me to stay, but in the same breath asked if Father would be all right without me. I told her exactly what food I had left for him and Thomas.

"We'll call up Scoatney and have a cold roast of beef sent over,"" said Mrs. Cotton.

"They can eat their way through that."

Then Simon came in and just to see him again was so wonderful that I

suddenly felt quite happy.

"Yes, of course she must stay," he said, "and come out with us tonight."

Rose said she could lend me a dress.

"And you telephone Neil, Simon, and say he's to come and dance with her. You shall have a bath in my bathroom, Cassandra."

She put her arm round me and walked me along to her bedroom.

The quiet flat had come to life. Doors and windows were open, the maid was drawing up the sunbils, a cool breeze was blowing in from the Park, smelling of dry grass and petrol-- a most exciting, Londony smell-which mixed with a glorious smell of the dinner cooking.

"The kitchen door must have been left open," said Mrs. Cotton to the maid, quite crossly. As if anyone could mind the smell of a really

good dinner!

While I was in the bath, Rose telephoned the Fox-Cottons" house for me--I was afraid Leda would answer and I didn't fancy telling her

myself that I had changed my mind. Then I felt it would be most unkind not to ask Stephen how his interview had gone, so I yelled to Rose that I would like to talk to him.

"He's in the studio with Leda," Rose called back.

"Aubrey says he'll ask him to telephone you later."

After she had hung up she told me that Stephen had got the film job.

"Aubrey says Leda's terribly excited about it- Stephen's to have ten pounds a day for at least five days. He doesn't have to say

anything--just keep wandering about with some goats. It's symbolic or something."

"Gracious, fancy Stephen earning fifty pounds!"

"He'll earn more than that before Leda's finished with him," said.

Rose.

"She's crazy about him."

When I came back from the bath there was an evening dress:

laid out for me- again, the fashionable black!

Though it turned out that Rose had only chosen that dress for me

because it was her shortest. It fitted me very well, just clearing

the ground, and was utterly luxurious- though Rose said, "Oh, it's only one of the ready-made ones, bought to tide me over."

As I finished dressing, I heard Neil's voice in the hall.

"You're complimented," said Rose, "he hasn't been near us weeks. Dear me, I hope he won't put poison in my soup."

I said it was a pity they didn't get on with each other.

"Well, it's not my fault," said Rose.

"I'm perfectly willing to friends with him- for Simon's sake. I've tried again and again, I'll try tonight, just to show you. But it

won't be any good."

When she said "for Simon's sake" I thought: "Of course she loves him. I was an idiot to believe Thomas." Yet I went on feeling I kept saying to myself: "I've seen him- in a minute I shall see him again. That's almost enough."

Neil knocked on the bedroom door and called:

"Where's friend Cassandra?"

Rose wasn't quite ready so I went out to him alone.

I had forgotten how very nice he is. We went into the drawing-room and Simon said: "Why, she's grown up!"

"And grown up very prettily," said Mrs.

Cotton.

"We must go shopping next week, my dear."

I think I did look reasonably nice in Rose's dress.

Everyone was wonderfully kind to me I perhaps they felt that I had been a bit neglected. When Rose came in she put her arm through mine and

said: "She must stay a long, long time, mustn't she? Father will just have to look after himself."

Topaz would never have passed that, but she had gone out with Aubrey

Fox-Cotton.

After dinner (four courses; the jellied soup was marvelous), they

decided where we should dance. Mrs. Cotton wouldn't come she said she was going to stay at home and reread Proust.

"I started last night," she told Simon, "and I'm longing to get back to him. This time I'm making notes--trying to keep track of my favorite

paragraphs, as you did."

Then they began a conversation about Proust that I longed to listen to, but Rose swept me out to her bedroom to get ready.

"The way those two talk about books!" she said.

"And without ever mentioning an author I've read a line of."

It was fascinating strolling along Park Lane to the hotel where the

dance was, with the sky deep blue beyond the street lamps. But after

the first few steps I realized that I was in for trouble with Rose's

satin shoes--they had seemed to fit quite well when I put them on, but I found that they slipped off when I walked unless I held my feet

stiffly. Dancing proved to be worse than walking- after one turn

around the room I knew it was hopeless.

"I shall just have to watch," I told Neil.

He said, "Not on your life," and then led me to a deserted corridor just off the ballroom. It must have been intended as a sitting-out

place--there were little alcoves let into the pink brocaded walls --but Neil said people hardly ever came there.

"Now take those darn shoes off," he told me, "and I'll take mine off, too, in case I step on you."

It was the queerest feeling, dancing or the thick carpet, but I quite enjoyed it. When the music stopped, we sat in one of the alcoves and

talked.

"I'm glad you came to London," he said.

"If you hadn't, I might not have seen you again. I'm going back home a week today."

I was most astonished.

"You mean California his Aren't you going to stay for the wedding his I thought you were to be best man."

"Simon will have to get someone else. I can't miss this chance.

I've been offered a partnership in a ranch--got the cable today.

They need me at once."

lust then we saw Rose and Simon coming out of the ballroom, obviously looking for us.

"Don't mention it, will you?" said Neil, quickly.

"I want to break it to Mother before I tell the others. She isn't going to be pleased."

The music started again soon after Rose and Simon joined us.

She turned to Neil and said in a really nice voice: "Will you dance this with me?"

I saw then that she had been right in thinking it was hopeless to be

friends with him--for a moment I thought he would actually refuse to

dance. But in the end he just said "Sure, if you want me to," quite politely but without the flicker of a smile, and they went off

together, leaving me alone with Simon.

We talked first about Rose; he was worried in case so much shopping had tired her.

"I wish we could be married at once and get out of London," he said.

"But both she and Mother insist on waiting for the trousseau."

I had thought myself that Rose seemed a little less alive than usual, but nothing like so tired as he, himself, did.

He was paler than usual and his manner was so quiet. It made me care

for him more than ever--I wanted so terribly to be good to him.

After we had taken a great interest in Rose for a very long time he

asked about Father and we discussed the possibility that he was doing some work and keeping it quiet.

"He was most odd when he stayed in the flat a few weeks ago," said Simon.

"Mother told me he went into the kitchen and borrowed all the cookery books."

I began to have a desperate feeling that time was rushing by and we

weren't talking about anything I could treasure for the future --he was being charming and kind, as he always is, but he hardly seemed to

notice me as a person. I longed to say something amusing but couldn't think of anything, so I tried to be intelligent.

"Do you think I ought to read Proust?" I asked.

Apparently that was more amusing than it was intelligent, because it

made him laugh.

"Well, I wouldn't say it was a duty," he said, "but you could have a shot at it. I'll send you Swann" Way."

Then I talked about his birthday present to me, and he said what a nice letter I had written to thank him.

"I hope you're borrowing all the records you want from Scoatney," he told me.

When he said that I suddenly saw the pavilion, lit by moonlight and

candlelight--and then, by the most cruel coincidence, the band, which had been playing a medley of tunes, began "Lover."

I felt myself blushing violently- never have I known such

embarrassment. I sprang up and ran towards a mirror, some way along

the corridor.

"What's the matter ?" Simon called after me.

"An eyelash in my eye," I called back.

He asked if he could help but I said I could manage, and fidgeted with my handkerchief until the blush died down--I don't believe he ever

noticed it. As I walked back to him he said:

"It's odd how that dress changes you. I don't know that I approve of your growing up. Oh, I shall get used to it." He smiled at me.

"But you were perfect as you were."

It was the funny little girl he had liked- the comic child playing at Midsummer rites; she was the one he kissed. Though I don't think I

shall ever quite know why he did it.

After that I talked easily enough, making him laugh quite a bit--I

could see he was liking me again. But it wasn't my present self

talking at all; I was giving an imitation of myself as I used to be. I was very "consciously naive." Never, never was I that with him before; however I may have sounded, I always felt perfectly natural. But I