Je me suis trompé[190], our conductor said, turning sharply on his heel, and he led us back towards the grave where the old woman stood, apparently in prayer.
How odd! There seems to be another mourner, Aunt Augusta said, and sure enough, on the slab of marble lay a wreath twice as large as mine made of flowers twice as expensive from the hothouses of the south. I laid my own beside it. The headlines were hidden: there was only part of my fathers name sticking out like an exclamation: chard Pulling, and a date, October 2, 1923.
Je me suis trompé[190], our conductor said, turning sharply on his heel, and he led us back towards the grave where the old woman stood, apparently in prayer.
How odd! There seems to be another mourner, Aunt Augusta said, and sure enough, on the slab of marble lay a wreath twice as large as mine made of flowers twice as expensive from the hothouses of the south. I laid my own beside it. The headlines were hidden: there was only part of my fathers name sticking out like an exclamation: chard Pulling, and a date, October 2, 1923.
The little woman looked at us with astonishment. Qui êtes-vous? [191] she asked us.
Her accent was not quite French and my aunt replied as bluntly in English, Who are you?
Miss Paterson, the little woman replied with a hint of frightened defiance.
And what has this grave to do with you? my aunt demanded.
I have come here on this day for more than forty years, and I have never seen either of you here before.
Have you any rights over this grave? my aunt asked. Something in the womans manner had riled her perhaps it was her air of timid belligerence, for my aunt had little patience with weakness even when it was concealed.
The woman was cornered and showed fight. Ive never heard there are rights in a grave, she said.
A grave like a house has been paid for by someone.
And if a house is left abandoned for forty years, hasnt even a stranger the right?
Who are you? my aunt repeated.
I told you. I am Miss Paterson.
Did you know my brother-in-law?
Your brother-in-law! the old lady exclaimed. She looked at my wreath, she looked at me, she looked at my aunt.
And this, my good woman, is Richard Pullings son.
She said with dismay, The family, as though the word meant, the enemy.
So you see, my aunt said, we at any rate do have certain rights.
I couldnt understand my aunts harshness and I intervened. I think it is very kind of you, I said, to lay flowers on my fathers grave. It may seem strange to you that I have never been here before
It is quite typical of you all, Miss Paterson said, of you all. Your mother never even came to the funeral. I was the only one. I and the concierge of the hotel. A kind man. She added with tears in her eyes, It was a wet wet day, and he brought his big umbrella
Then you knew my father You were here?
He died gently gently in my arms, Miss Paterson said. She had a way of repeating words as though she were used to reading childrens books aloud.
It is very cold, my aunt interrupted. Henry, you have laid your wreath, I shall go back to the hotel. This is not a place for prolonged conversation. She began to walk away: it was almost like an admission of defeat, and she tried to carry it off with disdain, like a Great Dane[192]which turns its back on some small defenceless dog defiant in a corner and pretends it unworthy of its teeth.
I said to Miss Paterson, I must see my aunt home[193].
Couldnt you come and take a cup of tea with us this evening? I was only a small boy when my father died. I hardly knew him. I should have come here before, but, you know, I thought nobody cared any more about such things
I know I am old-fashioned, Miss Paterson said, so very old-fashioned.
But you will at least have tea with us? At the Meurice?
I will come, Miss Paterson said with frightened dignity. You must tell your aunt, however she is your aunt? that she mustnt take offence at me. He has been dead a long time. It is unfair of her to be jealous of me because I care so much, so much still.
I repeated the message to my aunt exactly, and she was astonished. Did she really believe me to be jealous? The only time I can remember being jealous was over Curran, and that experience taught me better. You know how little jealous I was even of Monsieur Dambreuse
You dont have to defend yourself to me, Aunt Augusta, I said.
Defend myself? I certainly have not fallen as low as that. I am trying to explain my feelings, that is all. The woman seemed to me totally inadequate to her grief. You cant pour a glass of wine into an after-dinner cup of coffee. She irritated me. To think that she was with your father when he died.
Presumably there was a doctor too.
He wouldnt have died if she had not been so feeble. I am convinced of that. Your father had to be shaken into action. The trouble with Richard was his appearance. He was strikingly good-looking. He never had to make an effort with a woman. And finally he was too lazy to struggle. If I had been with him I would have seen that he was alive today.