Today?
He would not have been much older than Mr. Visconti.
Be kind to her all the same, Aunt Augusta.
I shall be as sweet as sugar, my aunt promised.
And that afternoon I could tell that she was really trying to hide her irritation at Miss Patersons mannerisms, of which there were many besides her habit of repeating words. She had, for example, a twitch in her right foot (the first time it happened I really thought that Aunt Augusta had kicked her), and, when she had been silent a little while and her mind wandered, her teeth began to click as though she were manipulating a pair of false dentures. We had tea in my aunts room, for there was no proper lounge in the square miniature skyscraper which sat between two identical others on the quay.
You must forgive us, my aunt said, they have only Liptons Indian.
Oh, but I like Liptons, Miss Paterson said, with one little little lump.
Did you come via[194] Calais? my aunt asked, making polite conversation. We came that way yesterday. Or by the ferry?
Oh no, Miss Paterson said, you see, I live here. I have always lived here, that is to say since Richard died.
She gave a scared glance at me and said, Mr. Pulling, I mean.
Even during the war? my aunt asked with a touch of suspicion. She would have been glad, I think, to have found a chink in Miss Patersons integrity, if only a small error of fact.
It was a time of some privation, Miss Paterson said.
Perhaps the bombardments seemed less terrible to me because I had my children to think of.
Your children? my aunt exclaimed. Surely Richard
Oh no, no, no, Miss Paterson said, I refer only to the children whom I taught. I taught English in the ycée.
Didnt the Germans intern you?
The people here were very good to me. I was protected. The mayor provided me with an identity card. Miss Patersons leg jumped. After the war they even gave me a medal.
A medal for teaching English? my aunt asked incredulously.
And other things, Miss Paterson said. She leant back in her chair and her teeth began to click. Her thoughts were far away.
Tell me about my father, I told her. What brought him to Boulogne?
He wanted to give me a holiday, Miss Paterson said. He was worried about my health. He said I needed sea air. My aunt rattled her spoon and I feared for her patience. Just a day trip you know. We took the boat like you to Calais, for he wanted to show me where the burghers came from, and then we took a bus here to see the Napoleon column he had just read his biography by Sir Walter Scott and we found there was no boat back from Boulogne.
That came as a surprise to him, I suppose? my aunt asked with an irony which was obvious to me but not to Miss Paterson.
Yes, Miss Paterson said. He was very apologetic for his lack of forethought[195]. However, we found two clean rooms in a little little inn up in the high town in the square by the mairie[196].
Adjoining rooms, I assume, my aunt said. I couldnt understand why she was so severe.
Yes, Miss Paterson said, because I was frightened.
Of what?
I had never been abroad before, nor had Mr. Pulling. I had to translate for both of us.
You knew French?
I had taken a course at the Berlitz.
You mustnt mind our interest[197], Miss Paterson, I said. You see, I have never heard any details of my fathers death my mother never spoke of it. She always shut me up when I asked questions. She told me he had died on a business trip, and somehow I always assumed that he had died at Wolverhampton he often went to Wolverhampton.
When did you meet my brother-in-law? Aunt Augusta asked. May I pour you another cup of tea?
Yes, please. A little bit weaker if it would not be a trouble to you. We met on the top of a forty-nine bus.
My aunt paused with a lump of sugar in mid-air. A forty-nine bus? she repeated.
Yes, you see, I had heard him ask for his ticket, and when his destination came he was fast asleep, so I woke him up, but it was too late. It was a request stop[198]. He was very grateful and came all the way to Chelsea Town Hall with me. I had a basement room then in Oakley Street and he walked back to the house with me. I remember it all so clearly, so clearly, Miss Paterson said, as though it were only yesterday. We found many things in common. Her foot gave a kick again.
That surprises me, my aunt said.
Oh, how we talked that day!
What about?
Mainly I think about Sir Walter Scott. I knew Marmion and little else, but he knew everything that Sir Walter had ever written. He could quote He had a wonderful memory for poetry. She whispered as though to herself:
Where shall the traitor rest,
He the deceiver,
Who could win maidens breast,
Ruin and leave her?
In the last battle
And so it all began, my aunt interrupted in a tone of impatience. And the traitor rests in Boulogne.
Miss Paterson coiled up in her chair and kicked her foot vigorously.
Nothing began in the way you mean, she said. In the night I heard him knock on the door and call Dolly!
Dolly! my aunt repeated with distaste as though Dolly were an unmentionable word.
Yes. That was what he called me. My name is Dorothy.