Dodie Smith - I Capture the Castle

"You shall hear them all in time," Simon told me.

"I'd like to try some really modern stuff on you. What a pity Rose doesn't like music."

I turned to him in astonishment.

"But she does!

She plays much better than I do- she sings, too."

"All the same, she doesn't really like it," he said firmly.

"I took her to a concert and she looked quite wretched with boredom.

Ah, here's your supper."

It came on a silver tray, and the butler spread a lace cloth on a

little table for it. There was jellied soup, cold chicken (all

breast), fruit and wine--and lemonade in case I didn't like the wine

but I did.

Simon told the butler to light all the candles and he went round to the crystal wall-brackets with a taper in a long holder- it made me feel I was back in the eighteenth century.

"I'm determined not to have electricity in here," said Simon.

When the butler had poured out wine for us both, Simon told him he

needn't wait- I was glad because he would have made me feel I ought to bolt my supper. His name, by the way, is Graves, but I have never yet brought myself to call him by it in the nonchalant way one should.

Simon had found the record he wanted.

"But it must wait until afterwards- I'm not going to let you eat your way through Bach."

He put on some dance records and turned the gramophone very low; then came back and sat at the table with me.

"Tell me about Rose," I said--for it suddenly came to me that I had asked very little about her. I had been self-centered.

He talked about the trousseau and how much admired Rose is

everywhere.

"Topaz is, too, of course--and my Mother's a pretty good-looker. When the three of them go out together, well, it's something."

I said they needed me to bring the average down--and instantly wished that I hadn't. That kind of a remark simply asks for a compliment.

Simon laughed and told me not to fish.

"You're far prettier than any girl who's so intelligent has a right to be.

As a matter of fact" --he sounded faintly surprised--"you're very pretty indeed."

I said: "I think I'm a bit better-looking when Rose isn't around."

He laughed again.

"Well, you're certainly very pretty tonight."

Then he raised his glass to me, as I once saw him raise it to Rose.

I felt myself blushing and hastily changed the conversation.

"Have you been doing any writing lately ?" I asked.

He said he had begun a critical essay on Father, but couldn't bring

himself to finish it--"There seems no way of not drawing attention to his inactivity. If only one could give the faintest hint that he had

something in hand .. . I For a moment I thought of telling him of my

hopes, but it would have meant describing Father's recent behavior; and the idea of putting into words things like his reading Little Folls and studying willow-pattern plates made me realize how very peculiar they are.

So I let Simon go on talking about his essay, which sounded very much over my head. He must be terribly clever.

When I finished my magnificent chicken, he peeled a peach for me--I was glad, because it is a job I make a mess of; Simon did it beautifully. I noticed what very fine hands he has, and then I suddenly saw what Topaz meant when she once said that all his lines were good. He was wearing a white silk shirt-he had taken his coat off--and the line of his

shoulders seemed exactly right with the line of his jaw (how wise Rose was to get rid of that beard!). I had the oddest feeling that I was

drawing him- I knew exactly how I would do the little twist of his

eyebrows, the curve where his lips pressed together as he concentrated on the peach.

And as I drew each stroke in imagination, I felt it delicately traced on my own face, shoulders, arms and hands--even the folds of the shirt when I drew them seemed to touch me. But the drawn lines made no

picture before my eyes- I still saw him as he was, in the flickering

candlelight.

I had eaten the peach and was drinking the last of my wine when the

gramophone began a most fascinating tune. I asked what it was

called.

"This?

"Lover," I believe," said Simon.

"Do you want to dance once his Then I must take you home."

He went to turn the gramophone up a little, then came back for me. I

had never danced with him before and was rather nervous. I found it quite difficult that time I danced with Neil. To my surprise, it was far

easier with Simon; he holds one more loosely, it seems more casual, I had a feeling of ease and lightness. After the first few seconds, I

stopped worrying about following his steps-my feet took care of it on their own. The odd thing is that Neil helps one to follow far more,

almost forces one to. Never did I feel any pressure from Simon's

hold.

The "Lover" record was the last of the stack, so the gramophone stopped at the end. We were close enough for Simon to re-start it without

taking his arm from my waist; then we danced the tune through again

without saying one word--indeed, we never spoke all the time we were

dancing. I can't remember that I even thought.

I seemed to move with a pleasure that was mindless.

When the gramophone stopped again, Simon said, "Thank you, Cassandra,"

still holding me in his arms, and smiling down at me.

I smiled back and said: "Thank you, too- it was lovely."

And then he bent his head and kissed me.

I have tried and tried to remember what I felt.

Surely I must have felt surprised, but no sense of it comes back to me.

All I can recall is happiness, happiness in my mind and in my heart and flowing through my whole body, happiness like the warm cloak of

sunlight that fell round me on the tower. It was a darkness, too- and the darkness comes again when I try to recapture the moment .. .

and then I find myself coldly separate--not only from Simon, but from myself as I was then. The figures I see in the candlelit pavilion are strangers to me.

The next thing I remember quite normally is the sound of Simon

laughing. It was the kindest, most gentle laugh but it startled me.

"You astonishing child," he said.

I asked what he meant.

"Only that you kiss very nicely." Then he added teasingly, "You must have had quite a lot of practice."

"I never kissed any man in my life before--" Instantly I wished I hadn't said it- for I saw that once he knew I wasn't used to kissing, yet had returned his kiss, he might guess how much it had meant to me.

I pulled away from him and ran to the door, only knowing that I wanted to hide my feelings.

"Cassandra--stop!" He caught me by the arm just as I got the door open.

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry! I ought to have known that you'd mind."

He hadn't guessed. I could see he just thought I was angry. I managed to pull myself together.

"What nonsense, Simon! Of course I didn't mind."

"You certainly didn't seem to-- -" He looked worried and puzzled.

"But why did you run away from me like that? Good heavens, surely you weren't frightened of me?"

"Of course I wasn't!"

"Then why?"

I thought of something that might sound reasonable:

"Simon, I wasn't frightened and I didn't mind--how could I mind being kissed by anyone I'm as fond of as I am of you?

But afterwards well, just for a second, I was angry that you'd taken it for granted that you could kiss me."

He looked quite stricken.

"But I didn't--not in the way you mean. Can you understand that it was a sudden impulse--because you've been so sweet all evening and because I'd enjoyed the dance, and because I like you very much ?"

"And because you were missing Rose, perhaps," I put in helpfully.

He flushed and said: "I'm damned if I'll pass that--that'd be an insult to both of you. No, it was a kiss in your own right, my child."