The Infinite Moment (12 page)

Frances kept her eyes down. The hand on her wrist twisted painfully.

"Look in the crystal!" commanded the Seora.

Unwillingly Frances lifted her head a little, and looked at it. It was a quite uninteresting lump of glass, showing a number of complicated and distorted reflections.

"This is silly," she said. "I can't see anything there. You've no right to"

"Be quiet! Jus" look!" snapped the Seora.

Frances went on looking, wondering at the same time how she was going to get herself out of this. Even if she were able to pull herself free, it was impossible in the small room for her to reach the door without coming within reach of the Seora's grasp againand there'd be delay in getting the door open, too. If Then her thoughts broke off as she noticed that the crystal was no longer clear. It seemed to have become fogged, rather as if it had been breathed upon. But the foggy look grew thicker as she watched until it was like smoke wreathing inside it. Queer! Some trick of the old woman's, of course... Some kind of hypnotic effect which made it seem to grow bigger and bigger... It appeared to widen out and out as she watched it until there was nothing at all anywhere but convolving whorls of fog...

Then, like a flash, it was gone, and she was sitting in her chair, looking at the clear crystal.

The grip on her arm was gone, too; and so, when she looked up, was the Seora...

Frances snatched up her bag, and made for the door. No sound came from the inner room as she tiptoed across. She opened the door carefully, closed it quietly behind her, and skipped swiftly away down the stairs.

A very unpleasant experience, Frances told herself, walking briskly away. In fact, being held there like that against her will was the sort of thing one ought to tell a policeman about; probably it ranked as assault, or something quite serious, really... Still not quite certain whether she was wanting to see a policeman or not, she emerged from her thoughts, and looked about her.

In the very first glance she made a discovery which drove such frivolous subjects as policemen right out of her mind. It was that everyone else in sight who had decided that the time for cotton had arrived was clad in a frock very much shorter and very much narrower than her own. She stared at them, bewildered. She must have had an inconceivable preoccupation with her own affairs not to have realised that there had been such a radical change of line. She paused for a moment in front of a shop window to observe the reflection of the blueandwhite striped cotton frock that she had thought good for another summer. It looked terrible; just as if she had been upholstered. Another glance from it to the other frocks made her go hot with embarrassment: they must all be thinking she had come out wrapped in a bedspread Clearly, there was one thing to be done about that, and done at once She started to walk hurriedly in the direction of Weilberg's Modes Frances reemerged into the street half an hour later, feeling considerably soothed. The congenial occupation of shopping, and the complete clearing of mental decks required for concentration on the choice of a creation in an amusing pattern of palmtrees and pineapples, had helped to put Sefiora Rosa into proper perspective. Considered calmly, over an icecreamsoda, the affair dwindled quite a lotand her own part in it came to seem curiously spineless. Her intention of informing the police faded. If there were a charge, and she had to give evidence, she would scarcely be able to help exhibiting herself first as a fool for having gone into the place at all, and then as a nitwit for staying when she did not want to. Moreover, it would very likely be reported in the papers, and she would hate thatso would Edward Which brought one back to thinking of Edward... And to wondering whether one had perhaps behaved like a silly little fool there, too. After all, he had known Mildred for years and yearsand just two or three dances... People said one ought to be careful about not feeling too possessive... All the same, just a few days after he had become engaged... No, it didn't do to look cheap, or easygoing, either... And yet... Really, life could be very difficult.

Though Frances decided that she would walk home, she did not consciously choose her route. That is to say, she did not tell herself: "I'll go by St. James's Avenue, past that house that we decided would just suit us." It simply was that her feet happened to carry her that way.

Coming nearer to the house, she walked more slowly. There was a moment when she almost decided to turn back and go round by another way. But she squashed that. One could not go about for ever avoiding every reminder: a person had to get used to things, sooner or later. She walked resolutely on. Presently she was able to see the upper floor of the house above the hedge. A comfortable, sensiblelooking, friendly house: not new, but modern, and without being moderne. It gave her a little knot high in her chest to see it again now. Then, as more of it came into view, the knot gave way to a feeling of dismay. There were curtains in the windows that had been blank, the hedges had been trimmed, the board which had announced "For Sale" was gone.

She paused at the front gate. An astonishing amount had been done to the place in the few days since she had last seen it. It looked altogether fresher. The flowerbeds in the front garden were bright with tulips, the figtree against the side wall had been cut and tied back, the windows shone. The doors of the garage were open, and a comfortablelooking car stood on the concrete apron in front. The lawn had been closely mown. On it, a little girl of four or so, dressed in a blue frock, was conducting a teaparty with earnest admonitions to the guests who consisted of three sizes of teddybear and a golliwog.

Frances was filled with a sharp indignation. The house had been almost hers: she had quite decided that it was the one that her father was going to give them for a weddingpresentand now it had been snatched away without a word of warning. It might not have been so bad if it had not somehow contrived already to look so aggressively settled... Not that it actually mattered, of course, now that she had finished with Edward... All the same, there was a feeling of having been cheated in some way that one did not quite understand The little girl on the lawn became aware of someone at the gate. She broke off scolding the golliwog to look up. She dropped the miniature cup and saucer that she was holding, and started to run towards Frances.

"Mummy!" she called.

Frances looked around and behind her. There was no one there. Then she bent down instinctively as the small figure hurtled itself toward her. The little girl flung her arms round her neck.

"Mummy," she said, with breathy intensity. "Mummy, you must come and tell Golly not to. He will talk with his mouth full."

"Er" said Frances, out of the sudden stranglehold. "IeryouI mean"

"Oh, do come along, Mummy," she said. "He's "veloping bad habits."

Dazedly, Frances allowed herself to be led across the lawn to the teaparty. The little girl improved the dissolutelooking golliwog by propping him into a sitting position.

"There," she told him. "Now Mummy's here you'll have to behave. Tell him, Mummy." She looked at Frances expectantly.

"Ierurnyou" Frances began, confusedly.

The child looked up at her, puzzled.

"What's the matter, Mummy?" she asked Frances stared back at her, recollecting photographs of herself at about the same age. A peculiar feeling began to come over her. The small earnest face seemed to swim slightly as she looked at it. Its expression grew concerned.

"Aren't you feeling well, Mummy?"

Frances pulled herself together.

"I'mI'm all righterdarling," she said, unsteadily. "Then do tell Golly he mustn't. It's awfly rude."

Frances went down on her knees. She was glad to: the ground felt more solid that way. She leaned towards the offending golliwog who promptly fell flat on his face and was hastily propped up again by his mistress.

"ErGolly," Frances told him. "Golly, I'm very shocked indeed to hear this about you. People who are invited to parties..."

So real..! All of it..!

Now that the lump in her chest which wasn't quite panic or scare, but a bit like both, had subsided, Frances found herself able to regard the situation a little more calmly. The classic certificate was to be obtained by pinching oneself; she had done that, sharply, but without changing any of it a bit. She looked at her hand, flexed it; it was her perfectly familiar hand. She plucked a little grass from the lawn beside her; real grass, beyond doubt. She listened to the sounds about her; they had an authentic quality difficult to deny. She picked up the nearest teddybear, and examyined it; no dream ever finished anything with that amount of detail. She sat back on her heels, looking up at the house, noticing the striped chairs on the porch, the patterns of the curtains, the recent painting... One had always thought that hallucinations must be vague, misty experiences... All this had a solidity that was rather frightening...

"Mummy," said the little girl, turning away from her teaparty, and standing up.

Frances" heart jumped slightly.

"Yes, dear?" she said.

"Important business. Will you see that Golly behaves himself?"

"II think he understands now, dear," Frances told her.

The small face in its frame of fair hair looked doubtful.

"P'raps. He's rather wicked, though. Back soon. "Mportant."

Frances watched the blue frock vanish as the child scampered away round the corner of the house on her mysterious errand. She felt suddenly forlorn. For some moments she remained on her knees, returning the bootbutton stare of the teddybear in her hands. Then the absurdity of the whole thing flooded over her. She dropped the bear, and got to her feet. At just that moment a man emerged from the front of the house on to the porch.

And he wasn't Edward... He wasn't a bit like him... He wasn't anybody she'd ever seen before in her life.

He was tall, rather thin, but broad in the shoulders. His dark hair curled a little, and there were slight flecks of grey over his ears. He had been making towards the car, but at the sight of her he stopped. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and seemed to light up.

"Back so early!" he said. "New frock, too! And looking like a schoolgirl in it. How do you manage it?"

"Uh!" gasped Frances, caught in a strong, and entirely unexpected embrace.

"Look, darling," he continued, without loosening his hold. "I simply must tear off now and see old Fanshawe. I won't be more than an hour."

His hug brought the rest of Frances" breath out in another involuntary "Uh!" He kissed her soundly, slapped her behind affectionately, and dashed for the car. A moment later it carried him out of her sight.

Frances stood getting her breath back, and staring after him. She found that she was shaking, and filled with a most odd sensation of weakness, particularly in the knees. She staggered over to one of the chairs on the porch, and subsided there. For a space she sat motionless, her eyes set glazedly on nothing. Then, not quite accountably, she burst into tears.

When emotion had declined to a sniffanddab stage, it was succeeded by misgivings about the orthodoxy of her situation. In whatever peculiar way it had come about, the fact remained that she had been "Mummy" to someone else's child, warmly embraced by someone else's husband, and now was sitting snivelling on someone else's porch. A convincing explanation of all this to the someone else looked like being so difficult that the best way out would be to get clear as soon as possible, and avoid it.

Frances gave a final dab, and got up with decision. She retrieved her bag from the medley of teddybears and teacups, and glanced at the mirror in the flap. She frowned at it, and burrowed for her compact. In the act of a preparatory scrub on the sieve, the sound of a step caused her to look up. A woman was coming in through the gateway. A moderately tall, nicelybuilt woman, dressed in a lightgreen linen suit, and carrying it well; a woman who was a few years older than herself but still... At that moment the woman turned so that Frances could see her face, and all coherent thought expired. Frances" jaw sagged. She gaped...

The other woman noticed her. She looked hard at her, but showed no great surprise. She turned off the path and approached across the grass. There was nothing alarming about her; indeed, she was wearing the trace of a smile.

"Hullo!" she said. "I was just thinking this morning that you must be due somewhere about now."

Frances" bag slipped out of her fingers, and spilt at her feet, but her eyes never left the other's face.

The woman's eyes were a little deeper and wiser than those she was wont to see in the mirror. There were the very faintest touches of shadows at their corners, and at the corners of the mouth. The lips favoured a shade of colour just a trace darker... Something as indescribable as the touch of dew had been exchanged for a breath of sophistication. But otherwise... otherwise...

Frances tried to speak, but all that came was a croak, strangled in rising panic.

"It's all right," said the other. "Nothing to be scared about." She linked her arm into Frances', and led her back to the porch. "Now sit down there and just relax. You don't need to worry a bit."

Frances sank unresistingly into the chair, and stared dumbly at her. Presently, the other opened her bag.

"Cigarette?" she suggested. "Oh, no. Of course. I didn't then." She took one for herself, and lit it. For what seemed a long time they surveyed one another through the smoke. It was the other who broke the silence. She said: "How prettyand charming! If I had only understood morestill, I suppose one could scarcely have had innocence and experience." She sighed, with a touch of wistfulness. Then she shook her head. "But no. No. Being young is very exhausting and unsatisfactory, reallyalthough it looks so nice."

"Er" said Frances. She swallowed with difficulty. "ErI think I must be going mad."

The other shook her head. "Oh, no you're not. Nothing like it. Just take it easy, and try to relax."

"But this? I mean, youmeas ifoh, I am going mad! I must be. It'sit's impossible!" Frances protested wildly. "Nobody can possibly be in two places at once. I mean, nobody can be twice in the same place at once. I mean, one person can't be two people, not at the same"