Saturday 23 June 2007

Cousin Hortense

It’s more than a week since I wrote anything here, and suddenly it seems as if events have overtaken me, and I shall be unable to remember and record everything that has happened lately. We have been living here for six months now, Bill and I; and it’s difficult to recall how long the empty days seemed at first, and how I wondered whether I should ever make the acquaintance of any of the neighbours. Now, I am truly in the thick of everything that’s going on, and my chief difficulty is in remembering who is saying precisely what about whom; to which of the several factions each of my new friends belongs – and where my own affection and loyalties ought to be seen to lie.

My affection for Frances remains undimmed of course. But with her engagement, she has entered regions to which I am unable to go, even in imagination. The idea of the life that she and David must lead together there behind the high walls of the manor house day after day, is one before which I find that contemplation stumbles. I simply cannot envisage their life, and so I have given up trying to make the attempt.

Bill is not so cowardly, and has his own theories about it. “She exists to promote the cause of David Porteous, damn it!” he says. That it’s an ignoble cause is of no consequence, he says; since she believes in it herself. "She’s mistaken, but she believes – oh ardently! And until she sees the error of that belief herself there’s not a thing that any of us can do about it.”

Privately, I think he hopes that sooner or later Frances will have a change of heart, and seek escape – and that when that moment comes, he will be called upon to storm the citadel himself, and bring her out. I believe he would welcome such a contingency; I would go further, and suggest that he probably has battle plans already drawn up, and that they will have something at least of a commando raid about them. Though I could be hopelessly mistaken myself about that aspect of it, of course... Bill has always said I have a tendency towards the fantastic.

Bill has other ladies than Frances on his mind at present, as a matter of fact. Something occurred during our stay with the Macauleys in Suffolk that has altered the perspective of our lives somewhat – though Bill says it’s a mere will-o’-the-wisp of an event, and that I’m over-dramatising it, as is my wont. Whether this is true or not, future developments will doubtless show. But I have decided to relate it for you here just as it occurred. As a light little diversionary story perhaps, that will help dispel the present gloom over the affair of David Porteous and Frances.

You will perhaps recall the rather strange nameless lady who shared my table at Lady Macauley’s luncheon party last month? The one who wore a jewelled bandana on her head, and conversed in sudden short bursts, and unconnected observations? There’s no reason in the world why you should remember her of course; I seem to recall thinking at the time that I was unlikely ever to see her again myself, and should probably never discover precisely who she was, or from whence she’d sprung.

But the fact is that she sprang up again last week while we were in Suffolk with the Macauleys, and has since become a rather extraordinary background presence in our lives. I say ‘our’ lives, but really I mean Bill’s. He seems to have ‘landed’ this strange lady - and will perhaps have some difficulty in extricating himself from her. He has a tendency towards that sort of thing: his life has always to some extent been littered with unattached females of a certain age who form passionate attachments to him. He says it’s another of the occupational hazards of being a foreign correspondent – people identify him with the battles he reports, and make a hero of him on the flimsiest evidence.

This latest conquest of his is called Hortense. Yes, really, that is her name: I haven’t invented it! She was one of the half a dozen or so guests who were sitting around the luncheon table last week, at the moment of our arrival at Barton Flory, Lady Macauley’s childhood home in rural Suffolk. We had arrived late, after an awkward car journey with Rose, who’d insisted on sitting in front with Bill, and kept up an animated conversation all the way.

We slid into the seats that had been kept for us, trying not to cause too much of a disruption to the progress of the lunch; and there, on Bill’s right hand was my lady of the bandana; unadorned on this occasion by any such headdress, but launched, at the moment of our arrival upon a solemn-sounding dissertation on the subject of Virginia Woolf. She looks a little like Virginia, as a matter of fact; she certainly has an air of Bloomsbury about her, and is very fond of Vita Sackville-West too, apparently. Bill put her down at once as a raging lesbian – though later events were to prove him wrong on that score, at least.

“The tall woman with the curiously booming voice is my Cousin Hortense!” Lady Macauley informed us in a theatrical whisper during coffee in the drawing room half an hour later. “Be as kind to her as you can; she’s a poor thing, and has led a rather tragic life. She trails disappointed love affairs in her wake as other women trail stale perfume, and will almost certainly fall in love with Bill. She has a great weakness for big men with hearty laughs; she won’t be able to help herself. And having fallen, she will cling – I give you warning of that in advance!”

She went on to advise Bill to steel himself against any advances from Cousin Hortense; who had, as she put it, “ nothing in the world to offer him save her wounded heart and a more or less derelict mansion a hundred miles from anywhere ....” His best resource if Hortense should pounce, she said, would be to let her know he’s allergic to cats. “Tell her you simply loathe the creatures, and her heart will be implacably closed to yours -for she has twenty of them in that great barn she calls a house, and they are at present the solitary passions of her life.”

Bill laughed heartily about it at the time, telling Lady Macauley she was a thoroughly immoral woman, to be talking about her cousin in such terms. But I think he has good reason to remember it more soberly now; since everything that Lady Macauley predicted was actually to come to pass. I believe I was myself witness to the precise moment at which Cousin Hortense fell passionately in love with Bill. It was later that evening, and we were all sitting in the drawing room to listen to Belle playing excerpts from Chopin and Mozart with a surprisingly expert hand.

It was Lady Macauley’s idea that she should switch to ballads and light operetta, and that we should all gather round to sing – and it was while Bill was delivering a fairly spirited rendition of O Sole Mio, that Cousin Hortense was suddenly overcome with emotion. She uttered a soft sort of swooning sound, somehow audible above the music; then, throwing up both arms in a thrilling gesture, cried “Bravo, oh bravo and bravo again!”, and visibly gave up her heart to him.

All this happened over a week ago, and it’s true that Cousin Hortense hasn’t yet forsaken her cats so far as to get on a train and come to visit us. She has taken to e-mailing Bill however – she has a fondness for e-mails, apparently, and has developed quite a rococo electronic style. Bill says it’s harmless enough, so long as it goes no further – but I notice he’s giving rather more thought than hitherto, to that invitation he’s had from the British Council, to deliver a series of lectures in Australia and the Far East.

23 comments:

merry weather said...

Ha, Beatrice where do these women come from? Are you drawing from life? .... Eek! Still smiling and also wondering what a rococo email style might be...

I Beatrice said...

Not sure where these women come from, Merry - though writers are like magpies, they say, picking up people and shiny objects as they go along. For 'possible use later' - that's the secret of it I think.

And a rococ email style - well, a but like mine own, probably!

She's a lady of many fine flourishes though, is Cousin H!

As Bill will no doubt see to his discomfort...

Thanks for calling though - and so promptly too!

Anonymous said...

I am glad Bill is getting some "action" now - want to hear how this develops, very enticing!

I Beatrice said...

Anon, Bill is unlikely to go far with this particular lady I fear - though it's possible he will become rather fond of her in an avuncular sort of way....

There will be someone else for Bill in the end though, never fear!

Someone for everyone, really. Except perhaps poor old Bea herself of course..

And Mrs Baines? Well, having had the misfortune to have selected Roland in the first place, she is going to have to stick with him to the bitter end, I'm afraid!

Omega Mum said...

I like her a lot. Good luck to her. You could argue that Bill created his bad luck what with choosing a song like that.......

I Beatrice said...

Yes Omega M, I rather like her too. I've always had a weakness for odd Englishwomen of that general sort. No place but England could breed them of course (Ottoline Morrell out of Virginia Woolf out of Edith Sitwell, would you say?).

I think Bill will come to like her too - after his fashion. I'm sure he'll be very good to her anyway, and I foresee some rather jolly times in the gaunt East Anglian mansion among the cats ..

(Bill is rather fond of cats, as a matter of fact.

But don't let me deceive you here -he won't be going so far as to marry her!

Jan said...

Elegant character studies, here. Have you coloured these characters from real ones....because they LiVe so very brightly.
Are you thinking about letting an agent have a peep at some of this??

debio said...

Well, I had rather hoped that Bill and Lady macauley would strike up more intimate acquaintance following the garden party; is he not such a one with the ageing dowagers.
I like Hortense but am unsettled by the obsession with felines.

I Beatrice said...

Not an agent, Jan - I've never gone down that road, and now they'd think me too old!

I have recently been approached by the British Library though.... they are making a new web-based archive, and wish to include my blog in it...

Which seems to me to be almost better than publication!

Thank you for visiting me, and for your kind commment

I Beatrice said...

He hates the beasts, Debio (aging dowagers that is, not cats!)

Of Lady M however, he is very fond. But she is 85 you know! And Bill a (relatively) sprightly 60-something.

As for cats - well, you either love them or loathe them of course.

I have a sneaking admiration for them myself - their elegance, their poise, their total insouciance.

debio said...

Hoorah for the British Library!

Anonymous said...

SO, does that mean that everything you have and will write will be on the British Library site?

I Beatrice said...

Not sure of the detail yet Anon - I'm going up to see them, to find out what's involved...

I Beatrice said...

Thanks Debio - yes, I take it as an honour. Am still a bit overwhelmed though...

lady macleod said...

bravo! bravo! Hortense! really how perfect and of COURSE she would swoon for Bill, who would not? I fancy him a bit myself, dashing figure that he cuts indeed.

another wonderful installment. thank you.

I Beatrice said...

Thank you Lady M - though just between you and me, Cousin H was quite unplanned, and really has no business being in the story at all! She just popped up on me.

Funny thing is though... that now I've got her, I have a longing to build another little story just around her...

I have never been able to resist them, these rather dotty Englishwomen!

carole said...

I don't know if you'll have time as you're such a prolific writer. I've been tagged by chiefbiscuit and now I'm tagging you. Pop over to my blog to see what's involved.

pluto said...

> the British Library are making a new web-based archive, and wish to include my blog in it...

Hey, that's great!

(I really like Hortense.)

I Beatrice said...

Thanks Pluto. Good to hear from you again - I miss you when you don't come.

Are you blogging again yourself yet?

I expect friends from Sydney on a visit shortly - they come every year just for Wimbledon...

pluto said...

I'm still not blogging for the time being. I like visiting yours though!

Catherine said...

Single people will find each other, it is a law of nature. Poor Bill, he'd better flee now while there is still time! I can quite see the attraction of a foreign correspondent though.

Incidentally, on hearing about the serenading incident recently, my closest male friend, feeling out-manouvered, phoned me and did a very bad rendition of 'O Sole Mio' as adapted by the ice cream people!

Excellent news about the British Library, Beatrice. You are busy.

Poetess said...

Hi Beatrice,

No worries about the Meme. I understand why you wouln't want to diverge from the fiction. It is great.

Poetessxxx

Anonymous said...

Hortense sounds like a hoot! I remember her as I inadvertently drew attention to her on your comments because of a misreading of the word bandanna as banana - and the sparkly fruit thing .... oh well. How old is Bill by the way? I seem to have forgotten and I keep thinking he is about 100 as his habits are so sedentary...