“The abbey,” the old lady echoed in a disapproving tone. “If he thought less about the abbey and more about this house, everything would go much better. And you are?”
“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. My name is Prudencia Prim, and I’m here to sort out the library.”
The lady stared at her for a few moments without a word. She looked closely at her face and examined her figure minutely, finally bringing her gaze to rest on her neat hair. Finally she asked the maid to bring her a cup of coffee and sat down in an armchair.
“And him too? Are you here to sort him out?”
The librarian blushed furiously. Miss Prim loved beauty, and the woman was beautiful, but that did not mean she was prepared to put up with certain insinuations. And of all possible insinuations, this was the one she was least able to tolerate.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied curtly.
The visitor looked up at her with a sardonic grin.
“First of all, Miss Prim, I must tell you that I don’t like having to crane my neck when holding a conversation. Do sit down. In my father’s time, a librarian wasn’t considered an employee, exactly; it was a position of trust, so it wasn’t customary for them to remain standing when spoken to. I’m an old-fashioned woman, and I don’t like to change my habits.”
Miss Prim obediently sat down in an armchair. She’d abandoned her work and was painfully aware that Herodotus’sHistoriesawaited her in the library.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, but you can’t deny that your employer is rather peculiar. Or hadn’t you noticed? Don’t be afraid to speak freely, my dear, he is my son. If there’s a woman in the world who knows him thoroughly, it’s me, Miss Print.”
The librarian opened her mouth to correct the pronunciation of her name but thought better of it. It was plain that this lady was not accustomed to being interrupted, much less contradicted. She had probably never in her life had that salutary experience.
“He’s a pleasant, generous employer. I have no cause for complaint. With regard to his character, you’ll understand if I say that I don’t consider it right or appropriate to give my opinion.”
The old lady, removing her gloves, was silent for a moment.
“It’s a relief to hear it, Miss Prim. I’m pleased to see that you’re exactly as they say you are. I’d like to make a confession: I have a bad habit of testing people before I trust them in the slightest. You must be aware that in the space of half a minute I made a malicious insinuation about your intentions in this house, prompted you to gossip about your employer’s character flaws, and deliberately mispronounced your name. You, however, responded to my insinuation with dignity, politely rejected my prompting, and overlooked my mistake. As my son says, you’re impeccable. There is absolutely no doubt about it.”
Hearing this, the librarian felt confused. The idea that this stranger had been testing her was not pleasant, and yet she wasn’t offended. Not only because she had evidently passed the test but because, despite his prejudice against highly qualified people, the Man in the Wing Chair had described her to his mother as impeccable.
“You’re very kind,” she stammered.
“I’m simply being honest.”
The maid came back into the room with a tray and, while the old lady took her first sip of coffee, she set about lighting the fire and drawing the curtains to shut out the dull, gray outdoors.
“Do you like autumn?” the lady asked, out of the blue.
“I find it romantic,” replied Miss Prim, then blushed, this time at the thought that the woman might misinterpret her words. “I mean Romantic in the sense of the artistic movement, not the emotion, of course.”
Appearing to ignore this last comment, the mother of the Man in the Wing Chair offered Miss Prim a steaming cup of coffee.
“I detest it. I’ve always thought T. S. Eliot was quite wrong. April is not the cruelest month, it’s November, without a doubt. April is a wonderful month, full of sun, light, and wisteria in flower. Do you know Italy?”
Somewhat bewildered by the twists and turns in the conversation, the librarian replied that she did indeed know Italy.
“Do you mean you’ve lived there?”
Miss Prim clarified that she had not lived there.
“Then you should. Right now, before it’s too late.”
“I don’t think it would be possible at the moment,” the librarian replied, worried that this sudden recommendation concealed a wish to dispense with her services.
The visitor’s laughter, jolly and tinkling, broke the silence.
“When you get to my age you’ll realize that anything’s possible. Look at my son. A few years ago a brilliant academic career lay ahead of him. He was a charming, intelligent man with a dazzling future. And what remains of it? Here he is, buried in this tiny village, holed up in his father’s family’s house, looking after four children and traipsing to an old monastery every morning before breakfast. Believe me when I tell you anything’s possible.”
“But he seems very happy here,” Miss Prim ventured.
