Louis de Bernières - The Dust That Falls From Dreams

As for Daniel and Rosie, the case was altogether different. They had not dived into natural bliss like Sophie and Fairhead, and they had not glided down into the mutual tolerance and respect that occurs as a marriage transmogrifies passion into friendship. From early on it had been clear that Daniel had been angry and confused, and that Rosie had often closed herself up, finding her consolation and satisfaction in Esther. Daniel, too, had only been coming home to be with Esther, pointedly embracing the child rather than his wife whenever he returned.

Lately, however, things seemed to have changed very much for the better. Rosie had at last become openly affectionate with her husband, and had apparently changed her mind about never wanting to leave the parental home. Ottilie knew that Rosie was obstinate enough to resist the pressure that she had been receiving from everyone except her mother, and now she could clearly see that Rosie was not behaving like someone who has been browbeaten or defeated. She was behaving like someone who has had a small revelation perhaps, or someone who has at last made the right decision and is proud of herself on that account. Her step was light, and she sometimes laughed as she once did before Ash was killed. A few days before Rosie’s departure, Ottilie knocked on the door of her room and came in.

‘It’s goodbye soon,’ said Ottilie. ‘I’m going to miss you most awfully.’

‘I expect we’ll be coming back once a year,’ said Rosie. ‘A lot of people do.’

‘Oh, but I might have absconded,’ replied Ottilie. ‘Who knows? I might meet an American millionaire and go to live in Guernsey.’ She sat on the bed. ‘Dearest, I want to say a few things to you.’

‘Do you? Should I be worried?’

‘Silly! Of course not.’

‘Well, what do you want to say?’

‘I just wanted to say that Daniel is a very fine man.’

‘I know he is. Of course I know he is.’

‘I want you to know it properly.’

‘Properly?’

‘Yes, really and truly properly with brass knobs on, and pink ribbons and silver bells.’ Rosie laughed and Ottilie continued. ‘I know … we all know … that … there are things … I mean, we all know that you can’t get over Ash. I think … even all your religiousness is to do with Ash.’

Rosie bridled. ‘No, it isn’t. Without my faith I’d die of loneliness. And despair. And fright.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ said Ottilie quickly. ‘What matters is that Daniel is a very fine man, and that now you’ve got the chance to make a new start.’

‘I know. That’s why I’m going. To make a new start.’

‘You’ve got to throw yourself into it,’ said Ottilie, ‘you really have. No half-measures.’

‘It isn’t so easy,’ said Rosie. ‘I have … you know … because of Ash … How shall I put it? I’ve been suffering from a disengaged heart. I’ve often thought that I shouldn’t have married poor Daniel.’

‘Am I right in thinking that, when you married Daniel, you were only … how shall I put it? … demi-vierge ?’

‘Ottilie! Why do you say that?’

‘I’m not condemning you or criticising. I know you were promised to each other absolutely. In your minds, in everybody’s minds, you were married already, weren’t you?’

‘We didn’t … you know we didn’t …’

‘Go all the way? Well, I’m sure you were sensible.’

‘And obedient. It was obedience, that’s all.’

‘Obedient?’

‘God’s law.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Ottilie paused. ‘But that didn’t stop you knowing … many pleasures, did it? You did manage to be alone together an awful lot.’

‘What’s this got to do with anything, Ottie? Why are you questioning me?’

‘Well, I’ve heard it said, and I expect it’s true, that a woman gets terribly attached to the first man who, well, you know … and I’m sure that must have made it most awfully difficult with Daniel. Does he know about you … being a demi-vierge ?’

‘He hasn’t said anything.’

‘Let me tell you something,’ said Ottilie, putting her hand on her sister’s arm. ‘When I was at Brighton, at the Pavilion, with all those Mahommedans and Hindus and Sikhs, well, just about all of them have arranged marriages. You know, Mummy and daddy arrange for someone suitable. None of them marries for love, Rosie, but do you know what? You know how wounded men talk, late at night, when they are in too much pain to sleep, and someone is having a nightmare and yelling? And all you can do is hold a man’s hand and listen?’

Rosie nodded. She knew it as if it were engraved upon her psyche.

‘Well,’ said Ottilie, ‘those men, who didn’t marry for love, it’s obvious that when they talk about their wives, they do love them, they really do. Rosie dearest, you don’t have to love the man you marry. You can marry and the love comes later. It truly can. It does. I know it. I learned it from those poor wounded Indians.’

‘I know what you’re saying,’ said Rosie, ‘but it’s not as bad as you think.’

‘I know it’s specially difficult for you,’ said Ottilie, ‘I really do know that it is. We all do. Even Daniel knows. All I’m asking is, do try properly.’

‘Properly with brass knobs on, and pink ribbons?’

‘And silver bells.’

The sisters laughed, and Ottilie said, ‘I wouldn’t ask, but Daniel really is a good catch. I wouldn’t ask you if he was a bounder. And I think he probably still loves you.’

‘I’m sure he does,’ replied Rosie, ‘and things have already begun to get better. They really have. You didn’t have to talk to me about this at all. What about you, Ottie? What’s going to happen with you?’

‘ Moi? I shall be deliriously happy, you wait and see.’

‘What about Archie?’

‘Not to be, I don’t think. He’s not here any more, is he? And when he is here, he’s just desperate to get back to the North-West Frontier. And it’s you he loves, not me. That’s why he’s such a sad man who can’t wait to go. Not a hope for me, I’m afraid. I’ve just got to bear up and see what’s round the corner. I did take a little fancy to Fluke, between you and me, but he’s already spoken for. Two children, I believe. And gone to South America. And let’s face it, he’s an aviator. They don’t last much longer than a meteorite, do they? That’s what they are, meteorites waiting to hit the ground. Aviators are born to become a beautiful memory, like a poppy whose petals are ripped away in a storm.’

‘Daniel’s an aviator,’ said Rosie. She looked at Ottilie, taking her in now that it was almost time to part. Ottilie was quite short, and even dumpy if one were to be uncharitable. She wore her black shiny hair in a simple bob, and her large oval face seemed little more than a neutral setting for her enormous dark brown eyes. Rosie thought, ‘How many ways there are of being beautiful!’

Ottilie said, ‘I want to give you a hug, like when we were little.’

After a while, Rosie said, ‘Ottie, I’m so sad. I feel I hardly know you.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ murmured Ottilie. ‘I’m the quiet one. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I know you right down to the last drop.’

‘Dear Ottie,’ said Rosie. ‘Please look after Daddy, won’t you? If anything happens send me a telegram and I’ll come straight back. I know you don’t entirely agree with me, but I really do think there’s something wrong with his heart.’

‘I’ll keep Daddy wrapped up in cotton wool,’ said Ottilie.

ONE SUNDAY AFTER church (which he endured patiently for the sake of the family’s respectability) Daniel came down the front steps of the house and found Mr Wragge in his Sunday best, gazing at the AC with a worried look on his face.