The Finishing Touch Read Online Free Page A

prickled with the question , brown or blue ?)
    (‘She thought’, Sylvie Plash was explaining, ‘I was crying because I was sorry.’)
    Such a lesson, the bloomy skin, Antonia thought, for the Poggibonsian Abbess with her sallowness. But would she, in that intimate proximity behind the asparagus trench into which she was even now sinking, learn it? Would she even carry away, on her sallowness, the faintest brushing of the dusting powder? The Poggibonsian shoulders, so tightly buttoned into the white sailcloth, and buttoned, of course,down the back, disappeared; and next the white, tight Poggibonsian bottom, also buttoned down the back; so suggestive of the girl, Antonia thought, if all her clothes back-buttoned (as they well might): and also, surely?, agony to sit on buttons; or even, behind an asparagus trench, recline on buttons …
    Horrible, square-necked white sailcloth blouse; Antonia was glad it was removed from her sight (only a white plastic daisy protruded a-botanically through the fern): a sleeveless blouse, of course: could Antonia ask Hetty to murmur to the squat little Abbess about possible treatments for ses dessous de bras? (Hetty’s moment of embarrassment with the plumber du midi was surely sufficient years ago, sufficiently lived down …?)
    Miss Jones, the Monacan heiress (but not nun-like ), Antonia observed, was already in her bikini again. The child was barely out of church …
    Surely Hetty must be returning soon? It could not be that Antonia’s ease of temper was going to be spoilt by— hunger ?
    Sunday morning was, for Hetty, a succession of drives, with diminishing numbers of charges. First, most sensible, most straightforward, the Catholic girls, the largest flock (quite half the pupils), with Hetty their—no, Antonia checked her fancy-rioting vision, not even the eye ofaffection could see in Hetty a shepherdess; but their sheepdog, sturdy, reliable, brisk: the Catholic girls, in—to the town; in—to the Catholic église; out; back to the School: such a sensible, quick religion Antonia thought it, and Mass at such a sensible hour, too, before the sun had reached its consuming height and while a little darkening dew still lay moist on the foliage. And then, while the sun did reach its height, the Catholic girls could withdraw, already conscience-eased before the week was well begun, to write the Sunday letter home, each with a duty sensibly discharged to report, making agreeable reading for the parents. (In theory none of the Catholic girls should have been burdened with two letters home to write; in practice it was surprising how many of them were.)
    Not that the Catholic devoirs had always been so straightforward for Hetty to discharge. In early days, the Catholic girls had expected to be shepherded—sheepdogged—into Nice on Saturday evenings as well, to make their confessions. The parish priest had absolutely declined Antonia’s blanket assurance—even though it had been a written assurance, which surely made it official?—that none of her girls had anything to confess. Hetty had protested she could support the burden, but Antonia was determined to spare her, marbled churchesstriking such a dangerously sudden chill on summer evenings. Besides, Antonia was not quite secure in her mind … Hetty was indefatigably watchful, of course, and, surely, after these years, up to whatever the girls might devise. And yet: no city of the seaboard could be an easy place in which to shepherd, in which to chaperone, thirteen girls in Saturday dusk. To some of the thirteen, it was true, temptation would hardly come: ‘I quite understand’, Antonia had said about one of these, ‘if she feels impelled to implore forgiveness for her shins’. But for the others—alas if, while waiting to do so, they should acquire something to confess. And the Catholic religion was so peculiarly set against precautionary steps. There were, it was true, ‘natural’ and rhythmical methods permitted , and yet rhythm