Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle

from the bathroom. We were laughing all the time but there was a

queer, exciting feeling and I had to keep stopping him from kissing me.

He had an awful job with the shave and I suddenly went embarrassed and wished I'd never made him start. I could tell he was furious.

And heavens, he was a sight after he chopped off the long hair with the scissors! I bet I looked horrified because he shouted:

"Go away--go away! Stop watching me!" I went and sat on the window-seat and prayed--I mean I kept thinking "Please God, please God--"' without getting any further. It seemed ages before Simon dried his face and turned round. He said: "Now you know the worst," in a funny, rueful sort of voice; I could see he wasn't angry any more, he looked humble and touching, somehow--and so handsome! Don't you think he's handsome now, Cassandra?"

"Yes, very handsome. What happened next?"

"I said: "That's wonderful, Simon. I like you a thousand times better.

Thank you very, very much for doing it for me."

And then he asked me to marry him."

I didn't tell her I'd heard. I shouldn't like anyone to hear me being proposed to.

She went on: "Then--it was queer, really, because I'm sure I didn't hear you in the tower--I suddenly thought of you. I remembered your

saying I wouldn't know how I felt about him until I'd let him kiss me.

And you were right--oh, I knew that I liked him and admired him, but I still didn't know if I was in love. And there was my chance to find

out with the proposal safe in advance! So I asked him to kiss me. And it was wonderful--as wonderful as--" Her voice dwindled away. I

guessed she was re-living it and gave her a minute or so.

"Well, go on," I urged her at last, "as wonderful as what ?"

"Oh, as ever it could be. Heavens, I can't describe it! It was all right, anyway--I'm in love and I'm terribly happy. And I'm going to

make things splendid for you, too. You'll come and stay with us and

marry someone yourself. Perhaps you'll marry Neil."

"I thought you hated him."

"I don't hate anyone tonight. Oh, the relief -the relief of finding I'm in love with Simon!"

I said: "Supposing you hadn't found it, would you have refused him

?"

She was a long time before she answered, then her tone was defiant:

"No, I wouldn't. Just before he kissed me I said to myself:

"You'll marry him anyway, my girl." And do you know what made me say it his Beyond him, on the dressing table, I could see my towel I'd lent him for the shave- all thin and frayed and awful. Not one spare towel have we in this house--" "Don't I know it ?" I interrupted with feeling.

"I won't live like that. I won't, I won't!"

"Well, you'll be able to have all the towels you want now," said Miss Blossom's voice.

"Ever such congratulations, Rosie dear."

"And all the clothes I want," said Rose.

"I'm going to think about them until I fall asleep."

"Would you like the four-poster so that you can gloat in style?" I offered.

But she couldn't be bothered to change.

While I was lying awake re-swimming the moat I noticed my enamel jug

and basin silhouetted against the window; it was queer to think they

had played a part in Simon's shave.

I kept seeing him with two faces--with the beard and without. Then it came to me that there was some famous person who shaved because of a

woman.

I tried and tried to think who it was but I fell asleep without

remembering.

In the very early morning I woke up and thought "Samson and

Delilah"--it was as if someone had spoken the words in my ear.

Of course, it was Samson's hair that got cut, not his beard, so the

story didn't quite fit. But I did think Rose would rather fancy her

self as Delilah.

I sat up and peered across at her, wondering what she was dreaming.

While I watched, it grew light enough to see her bright hair stretched across the pillow and the faint pink flush on her cheeks.

She was looking particularly beautiful--though no one could say Aunt

Millicent's nightgown was becoming. It's strange how different Rose

seems with her eyes closed--much more childish and gentle and serene. I felt so very fond of her. She was sleeping deeply and peacefully,

though in a most uncomfortable position with one limp arm hanging out of the iron bedstead- you have to lie on the extreme outside to avoid the worst lumps in the mattress. I thought what a different bed she

was certain to come by. I was terribly happy for her.

XII am sitting on the ruins beyond the kitchen-where I sat with Neil, three weeks ago all but a day, after swimming the moat. How different it is now, in the hot sunshine! Bees are humming, a dove is cooing,

the moat is full of sky. Heloise has just gone down to take a drink

and a swan is giving her a glance of utter disdain.

Abelard went into the tall green wheat a few minutes ago, looking

rather like a lion entering the jungle.

This is the first time I have used the beautiful manuscript book Simon gave me- and the fountain pen which came from him yesterday.

A scarlet pen and a blue and gold leather-bound book-what could be more inspiring? But I seemed to get on better with a stump of pencil and

Stephen's fat, shilling exercise book .... I keep closing my eyes and basking--that is, my body basks; my mind is restless. I go backwards

and forwards, recapturing the past, wondering about the future--and,

most unreasonably, I find myself longing for the past more than for the future. I remind myself of how often we were cold and hungry with

barely a rag to our backs, and then I count the blessings that have

descended on us; but I still seem to fancy the past most. This is

ridiculous. And it is ridiculous that I should have this dull, heavy, not exactly unhappy but--well, no kind of feeling when I ought to be

blissfully happy.

Perhaps if I make myself write I shall find out what is wrong with

me.

It is just a week since Rose and Topaz went to London. Mrs.

Cotton asked me, too--they are staying at her Park Lane flat-but

someone had to be here to look after Father and Thomas and Stephen;

besides, if I had accepted she might have felt she had to buy clothes for me, as well as give Rose her trousseau. She is wonderfully

generous and wonderfully tactful. Instead of pressing money on us to

pay our way here, she insisted on buying the beaver-lined coat for two hundred pounds.

As for the trousseau, she said to Rose: "My dear, I always longed for a daughter to dress- let me have my share of your happiness."

I was rather surprised that Topaz agreed to go to London, but the night before they left we had an illuminating talk. I came up from the

kitchen with some things I had been ironing for her and found her

sitting on her bed beside a half-filled suitcase, staring at nothing.

"I'm not going," she said, her voice quite baritone with tragedy.

"Good heavens, why not?" I asked.

"Because my motives are all wrong. I've been telling myself that it'd be good for Mortmain to be here without me for a bit, and that I ought to see some of my friends- renew my artistic interests, make myself

more stimulating. But the real truth is that I want to keep an eye on that woman and be sure she doesn't see him when he comes up to London.

And that's despicable. Of course I'm not going."

"Well, I don't see how you can cry off now," I told her.

"And you can always put things straight with your conscience by not keeping an eye on Mrs. Cotton. Topaz, do you really think that

Father's in love with her his You haven't a scrap of evidence."

"I've the evidence of my eyes and ears. Have you watched them together his He listens to her as if he liked it, and he not only listens, he