The Complete Short Stories by Muriel Spark Read Free Book Online Page B

it.’
     
    In the spring of 1947 Linda died of a
disease of the blood. At the funeral a short man of about forty-five introduced
himself to Daphne. He was Martin Grindy, the barrister who had been Linda’s
lover.
    He gave Daphne his card.
‘Would you come some time and talk about Linda?’
    ‘Yes, of course.
    ‘Next week?’
    ‘Well, I’m teaching. But
when school breaks up I’ll write to you.’ She wrote during the Easter holidays,
and met him for lunch a few days later.
    He said, ‘I miss Linda.’
    ‘Yes, I’m sure you must.
    ‘The trouble is, you
see, I’m a married man.’
    She thought him
attractive and understood why Linda had always felt urgently about keeping her
appointments with him.
    In the summer she
started to replace Linda as Martin’s lover. They met in London at weekends and
more frequently in the summer holidays.
    Daphne was teaching at a
private school in Henley. She lived with Pooh-bah and a middle-aged housekeeper
whom they had persuaded into service, the old servant, Clara, having died, and
Aunt Sarah having been removed to a nursing home.
    Mole had married, and
Daphne missed his frequent visits, and the long drives in his car. Until she
met Martin Grindy her life was enlivened only by the visiting art master at the
school, who came down twice a week.
    Martin’s wife, several
years older than he, lived in Surrey and was always ill with a nervous
complaint.
    ‘There’s no question of
a divorce,’ Martin said. ‘My wife’s against it on religious grounds, and though
I myself don’t share these principles I feel a personal obligation towards her.’
    ‘Oh, I see.’
    They spent their time in
his flat in Kensington. There was a heatwave. They bathed in the Serpentine.
    Sometimes, if his wife
was specially ill, he would be summoned to the country. Daphne stayed alone in
the flat or wandered round the shops.
    ‘This year,’ said
Martin, ‘she has been more ill than usual. But next year, if she’s better, I
hope to take you to Austria.’
    ‘Next year,’ she said, ‘I
am supposed to be returning to Africa.’
    Earlier Chakata had
written, ‘Old Tuys has had a stroke. He is up now, but very feeble in his mind.’
Since then, he had seemed less keen on Daphne’s return. Daphne thought this
odd, for previously he had been wont to write when sending her news of the
farm, ‘You will see many changes when you return,’ or, when mentioning affairs
at the dorp, ‘There’s a new doctor. You’ll like him.’ But in his last letter he
said, ‘There have been changes in the educational system. You will find many
changes if you return.’ Sometimes she thought Chakata was merely becoming
forgetful. ‘I’m trying to make the most of my stay in England,’ she wrote, ‘but
travelling is very expensive. I doubt if I shall see anything of Europe before
my return.’ Chakata, in his next letter, did not touch on the question. He
said, ‘Old Tuys just sits about on the stoep. Poor old chap, he is incapable of
harm now. He is rather pathetic on the whole.’
    At the end of the summer
Daphne’s lover took his wife to Torquay. Daphne wandered about Kensington alone
for a few days, then went back to Pooh-bah. She took him for walks. She asked
him to lend her some money so that she might spend a week in Paris. He replied
that he didn’t really see the necessity. Next day the housekeeper told her of a
man in the village who would give her thirty pounds for the poodle. Daphne had
grown fond of the dog. She refused the offer, then wrote to her lover in
Torquay to ask him to lend her the money to go to Paris. She received a
postcard from Martin, with no mention of her request. ‘Will be back in London
1st week October,’ he wrote on the card.
    Term started at the
beginning of October. That week Martin’s wife turned up and demanded of Pooh-bah
Daphne’s whereabouts. She was directed to the school, and on confronting Daphne
there, made a scene.
    Later, the headmistress
was highly offensive to