The Beautiful Visit Read Online Free Page B

jug from the cold tap in the scullery which roared out in an angry gush, leaving me
with little round cold drops on my arms and chin; wiped the jug with a cloth; and carried it into the dining-room, where it left a little dim damp rim afterwards hidden by a cork mat. I edged the
blue glass mustard pot out of its silver frame, rinsed the malevolent brown crust with my fingers, half expecting it to sting; and mixed the fresh yellow powder to an appealing cream. Then I shook
the leather strap on which hung an assortment of Swiss cow bells, which wrangled among themselves, dreary and at the same time fierce, dying away into one surprisingly clear sweet note as they
settled into a trembling silence.
    There was only just time to tear with a comb at my hair before we sat down. They wanted to know all about him. How I had found him. Where he lived, what his father did, and whether he had any
brothers or sisters. The worst of it was that they behaved quite nicely, especially my father, whose comments on his intelligence were unbarbed with sarcasm. I was surprised to find how little I
knew of Michael, but I took a secretly spiteful delight in evading any question the answer to which I knew. They asked if he was coming again, and I realized that unless I went to watch his kite
tomorrow I could not secure him. I said I didn’t know and the talk frittered away to our usual subjects.
    I was not alone until I went to bed, and by then I did not want to cry, I did not even feel sad; there was only an exhausted irritation about the whole episode culminating in a dreary
uncertainty about whether to see him tomorrow. I had wanted him so desperately to bring his life to me, and he had identified himself with mine; I had thought he would bring a new air into the
house, and he had merged with my family until I was again alone.
    ‘I won’t go tomorrow.’ The thought gave me a queer little tinge of pride. ‘He may come again by himself. Or he may not.’
    Two tears came out of my eyes. I fell asleep and dreamed that I was having tea at Michael’s house, which had pink and yellow walls. His father wrote me two hundred prescriptions in very
slanty handwriting, which we administered to an enormous shy man and I kept putting my tongue out at Michael, until he burst into tears and washed all the bottles with a grey cloth.

 
    CHAPTER THREE
    Michael did not come again, and I had no chance to mind, or to renew my search for anyone else, because a week later I was asked, or rather my sister was asked, to stay with a
family who were spending the Christmas holidays at their home in the country. The family were some distant connection of my mother’s, and my sister did not want to go. My mother wrote
refusing for her, and received a telegram a day later which said: ‘Send another daughter.’ Telegrams in my family meant that you had died or missed a train, so it caused a stir. My
father surprisingly decreed that I should go; so my mother worried over collars and stockings and my sister looked generously aloof. I was at first excited, and then appalled at the enormity of the
adventure, never having stayed anywhere by myself before. And now for a whole ten days I should be surrounded by people I did not know, with new rooms, food, furniture, and country. I knew guests
at parties had to do what was planned for them, although they were given the mockery of a choice; they had to pretend to enjoy it; their time was never their own until they were in bed in their new
room.
    Whenever I could consider the visit calmly, I realized, of course, that this was my chance, the chance for which I had longed; to get right away from my family and see new people and a different
life. I was to go in a week from the telegram. As the days fled by I was less and less able to think calmly about it, and prayed that something, anything would happen to prevent it.
    My mother took me shopping and bought me a red dress with black braid; a dark blouse; half a dozen