The Accidental Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

sarcastic inflection? Or at least, if not sarcastic, then at least slightly suspicious of the connotations of his own words? Or at least, if not slightly suspicious of the connotations of his own words, then at best half aware that in saying them he was covertly admitting to himself that out of context they had no truth which wasn’t questionable at least on a semi-objective level?’
    ‘Judith noticed all this?’
    ‘No. Judith told me that she thought he loved me. But you see, it was the way she said it.’
    Judith had made considerable advances since those early days, and was now high on Charlotte’s list of friends. In the meantime, though, she had decided that she didn’t like Maria after all, particularly in respect of her personality. She believed that Maria’s grasp of social relations could only be described, in all kindness, as crude. Furthermore, Maria knew that she believed this, because Charlotte had told her so. Judith was skilled in the delicacies out of which her social fabric was woven, and upon which Charlotte’s love for Philip was founded. She understood the tone which belied the word, the looks resonant with meaning.
    ‘Have you seen him?’ Charlotte would ask her, whenever she called.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What did he say about last night?’
    Maria would listen.
    ‘Well, he said that he thought your behaviour called for some sort of explanation.’
    ‘Oh? In what way?’
    ‘He thought that you implied he’d given the impression of having thought you were being rude.’
    ‘He said I’d been rude?’
    ‘Well, he implied that you’d been rude by implication.’
    ‘How can I have been rude by implication when any attempt to be more explicit would have been insensitive by definition? Did he mean that if I’d said what he wanted me to say, instead of leaving it unsaid, he wouldn’t have known what to say? Is that what he said?’
    ‘Well, that’s what he insinuated.’
    Things went steadily downhill. Charlotte’s and Philip’s grisly attempts to sustain some sort of fondness for each other became a topic of general conversation.
    ‘I feel so cheap,’ Charlotte said. ‘My love isn’t my own any more. Everybody talks about it. It’s become a spectator sport.’
    ‘I know how you feel,’ Judith insisted. ‘I understand. That must be the worst of it. I was saying so only the other day, to Harriet, in the Lamb and Flag. I said to her, Poor Charlie, to have her emotions paraded about in public like this. And then Joanna, who was sitting at the next table, leant across, and said, Yes, fancy having everybody gossiping about it, and then even the barman, who was collecting the glasses, said, Charlie? Is that your friend with the dark brown hair, well fancy that, he said, how awful for her.’
    ‘Did he say that? That was kind of him.’
    It was Philip that Maria felt sorry for. Not that she felt very sorry, even for him, for he was a bit of a fool, by anybody’s standards, especially hers. But she felt slightly sorry for him because he seemed to be suffering more than anyone else. The day it ended, the day it finally ended, he was in her bedroom, sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. Maria was at her desk, trying to work, but she did not mind, especially. Charlotte was in her own bedroom, sobbing on Judith’s shoulder.
    ‘Love destroys,’ said Philip, from between his fingers. ‘It is a raging fire which warms you, then burns, then leaves you for a heap of ashes, grey and barely glowing.’ He got up suddenly. ‘Do you mind if I write that down?’
    Maria handed him pencil and paper. He stared at his own reflection in her mirror.
    ‘Look at me,’ he said. ‘I’m a wreck.’
    There was no denying it.
    ‘Cheer up,’ she said, without looking round.
    ‘Somehow… out of these ruins…’ his voice took on a more determined note, ‘I am going to build myself anew.’
    ‘That’s the spirit,’ said Maria, reaching for her ruler.
    ‘A new life. A new… attitude towards life.