But, Julia; but, Julia... Julia did not turn around, and Sylvia ran down the stairs, flung herself on her bed, and cried so loudly that Andrew heard and went to her. She told him her story and he said, Now stop. There is no point in that. I'll go up to grandmother and talk to her. '
He did.
And who is this man? Why did Frances let him in?'
'But you talk as if he's a thief or a conman.'
' A conman is what he is. He has conned poor Sylvia out of her senses. '
You know, grandmother, this kind of thing, the Yoga and all that, it's around you lead a bit of a sheltered life, or you' d know that.' He spoke whimsically, but was dismayed by the old unhappy face. He knew very well what the real trouble was, but decided to persist on the level of simple causes. 'She's bound to come up against this sort of thing at school, you can't protect her from it. And meanwhile Andrew was thinking that he read his horoscope every morning, though of course he didn't believe in it, and had toyed with the idea of having his fortune told. I think you are making too much of it, ' he dared to say, and saw her at last nod, and then sigh.
' Very well, she said. But how is it that this... this... disgraceful thing is everywhere suddenly?'
' A good question, said Andrew, embracing her, but she was a lump in his arms.
Julia and Sylvia made it up. We've made it up, ' the girl told Andrew, as if a heavy unhappy thing had become light and harmless.
But Julia would not listen to Sylvia's new discoveries, would not throw the stalks for the I-Ching, nor talk about Buddhism, and so their perfect intimacy, the intimacy possible only between an adult and a child, confiding and trustful, and as easy as breathing, had come to an end. It has to end, for this young one to grow up, but even when the adult knows this and expects it, hearts must bleed and break. But Julia had never had this kind of love with a child, certainly not with Johnny, did not know that a child growing and Sylvia had gone through a rapid process of growing up, with her would become a stranger. Sylvia, suddenly, was no longer the maiden trotting happily around after Julia and afraid to be out of her sight. She was mature enough to interpret the yarrow stalks which had been asked for advice to mean that she must go and see her mother. She did, by herself, and found Phyllida not shrieking and hysterical, but calm, withdrawn and even dignified. She was alone: Johnny was at a meeting.
But Julia would not listen to Sylvia's new discoveries, would not throw the stalks for the I-Ching, nor talk about Buddhism, and so their perfect intimacy, the intimacy possible only between an adult and a child, confiding and trustful, and as easy as breathing, had come to an end. It has to end, for this young one to grow up, but even when the adult knows this and expects it, hearts must bleed and break. But Julia had never had this kind of love with a child, certainly not with Johnny, did not know that a child growing and Sylvia had gone through a rapid process of growing up, with her would become a stranger. Sylvia, suddenly, was no longer the maiden trotting happily around after Julia and afraid to be out of her sight. She was mature enough to interpret the yarrow stalks which had been asked for advice to mean that she must go and see her mother. She did, by herself, and found Phyllida not shrieking and hysterical, but calm, withdrawn and even dignified. She was alone: Johnny was at a meeting.
Sylvia was waiting for the reproaches and accusations she could not bear: she knew she would have to run away, but Phyllida said, You must do what you think is best. I know it must be better for you there, with other young people. And your grandmother has taken to you, so I hear.'
'Yes. I love her,' said the girl simply, and then trembled for fear of her mother's jealousy.
' Love is easy enough if you' re rich, said Phyllida, but that was the nearest she got to criticism. Her determination to behave well, not let loose the demons that tore and howled inside her, made her slow and apparently stupid. She repeated: ' It's better for you, I know that.And, 'You must decide for yourself.' As if it had not all been decided long ago. She did not offer the girl tea, or a soft drink, but sat clutching the arms of a chair and staring at her daughter, blinking unevenly, and then, when it was all going to explode out of her, she said hurriedly, You' d better run along, Tilly. Yes, I know you' re Sylvia now but you' re Tilly to me.'
And Sylvia went off, knowing it had been touch and go whether she was screamed at.
Colin returned first: he said it had been great, and that was all he said. He was a good deal in his room, reading.
Sophie came to say she was starting at her acting school, and would make her home her base, because her mother still needed her. 'But please can I come often I do so love our suppers, Frances, I do so love our evenings. ' Frances reassured her, embraced her and knew from that touch the girl was troubled.
'What's wrong?' she asked. 'Is it Roland? Didn't you have a good time with him?'