Vanessa and Her Sister by Priya Parmar Read Free Book Online Page A

Perhaps he has forgotten?

Sunday 9 July 1905
Dearest Snow ,
A dull week. My painting feels flat and obvious, the brush leaden, the paint slushy and thick. The rich colours of the square turn muddy and pedantic on my canvas. I am waiting for something.
I am thinking about starting a Friday evening club for artists. Much like Thoby’s Thursdays, but I am hoping we can show our work as well. What do you think? Who from the Academy and the Slade would you suggest? I am sure many of Thoby’s Thursday evening guests would be happy to reappear on Friday. It could begin when we return from Cornwall.
Would it draw you to London?
Yours ,  
Vanessa
    10 July 1905—46 Gordon Square
    Luncheon at Rules with Thoby (who had to leave early), Violet Dickinson, and Virginia. I always forget how very tall Violet is. She is at least six feet and sturdily built but so rooted in herself. Her gestures are large, and her gait has a musical swing. Although she is well past forty, people turn to watch her when she walks through a room.
    Violet was able to fix Virginia’s twisted spectacles and then took her off to the powder room to reassemble her messy hair. Thoby and I were left at the table awash in a rare moment of comfortable sibling quiet. I love this restaurant. I love its bookish history and practised indifference. Thoby says that Dickens, Thackeray, and Henry Irving all came here. Knowing that makes a room more fun.
    But lunch on the whole was not fun. It was trying. When with Violet, Virginia tends toward baby talk. Virginia has pet names for everyone, but then I do that too. I am her Dolphin, her Maria, her Nessa, and she is my Goat, my William, my Billy, my Apes. While my pet names can be taken or left, Virginia’s are serious. It is her way of making herself singular, memorable, lovable.
    It was a tricky atmosphere. Virginia sulked over Violet’s impending trip around the world. Panic skipped through the conversation. Violet settles her so much better than I do. Sometimes even better than Thoby can. But then Violet has had so much practise. Virginia’s vitriol towards me during her terrible breakdown last year was more than I could manage, but I still regret packing her off to Violet. I know Violet’s big-bodied reassurance sets Virginia on her feet while my frantic flappings knock her flat, but to think of that time makes me twist in discomfort. Remembering how I palmed her off like a library book, or a fish, unhooked and thrown back into the lake. I was relieved to be unburdened of Virginia and able to get on with the business of moving into the new house—horrible of me. Virginia sensed my relief and took to shrieking unflattering things about me from her bedroom window. Now when I am with Violet, I suffer waves of embarrassment thinking of all she has heard of me.
    Virginia feels no such discomfort. Her breakdown was medical and her ranting unavoidable and so not shameful. I watch the easy way Violet talks with her—without fear of misstep.

11 July 1905
Jaffna, Ceylon
Lytton ,
I was promoted to Assistant Government Agent of the Hambantota District. Charlie-the-dog is pleased. I am no longer a lowly cadet and can afford to buy him better cuts of meat. I thought I would be happier. Instead I am still waiting for the puzzle pieces to fit. For a sense of achievement and commencement. I lack the feeling of rightness we enjoyed at Cambridge. Right place. Right purpose. I am increasingly certain that my life here lacks (among many glorious, modern, and convenient other things) a rightness. I have realised that it is possible—without misery or alarm—to lead the wrong life and allow the right one to live somewhere else. This letter may not make it past the censors. My apologies to all unexpected readers.
Yours ,  
Leonard
HRH KING EDWARD VII POSTAL STATIONERY
    13 July 1905—46 Gordon Square
    “When do we leave, Nessa?” asked Virginia. We were sitting in the garden in the late afternoon summer sunshine.
    “Tenth of