“Don’t delude yourself,” insisted the old lady. “My son isn’t sentimental. Believe me when I say he mustreallyhave seen something interesting in you.”
And with her usual sharp tone, she added: “I wonder what itwas?”
2
In the past ten days, Miss Prim had exchanged no more than a few words with the Man in the Wing Chair. Busy with the children, lessons, visits to the abbey, and his mother’s company, he had been an elusive presence. As she nibbled on a piece of toast at breakfast, the librarian told herself she didn’t need his company. And it was true. A woman like her, who enjoyed robust mental health and glorious independence, was perfectly capable of keeping herself amused without the need to chat. Nevertheless, she had to admit that she did slightly miss the masculine humor that enlivened the work of cataloguing the endless rows of books.
That afternoon, Miss Prim received a note from Herminia Treaumont inviting her to join the San Ireneo Christmas committee. She read the note silently as she finished her coffee. Since she didn’t have a lot of work to complete that day, she decided to fetch her hat and coat and attend the meeting at the village tearoom.
It was cold out, and the librarian hurried down the garden path toward the wrought-iron gate.
“Are you going to the village, Prudencia? I can give you a lift if you like.”
The Man in the Wing Chair was already at the wheel of his car. Miss Prim hesitated, but a glance at the low gray sky prompted her to accept.
“Thank you,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat. “I think it’s going to start snowing any minute.”
He smiled pleasantly but didn’t reply.
“Would you like me to turn up the heating?” he asked.
The librarian assured him that the temperature inside the car was perfect.
“Tell me, if I’m not being nosy, what are you doing going to the village on such a cold afternoon?”
“I’m meeting Herminia Treaumont and the other residents to discuss the Christmas festivities.”
“I see you’ve fitted in fully with our small community. So, have you forgiven them?”
Miss Prim, who had taken special care to prevent news of the contretemps at the Feminist League from reaching her employer, blushed.
“I didn’t realize you knew so much about my adventures in San Ireneo. I suppose it was your friend, Mr. Delàs, who told you.”
“I’m afraid you put too much faith in the discretion of thirty witnesses. I’ve been told the story about five times, and I must say in every version your reaction has seemed magnificent.”
Prudencia laughed gratefully, but dismissed his praise with a wave of her hand.
“Believe me, I’m not too proud of myself. But I’ve realized that what happened, though it was mortifying for me personally, was done with the best intentions. It wasn’t very polite of me to behave as I did, especially to Miss Treaumont, a wonderful woman.”
“She is splendid,” was all the Man in the Wing Chair replied.
Prudencia, huddled in the front passenger seat, suddenly felt strangely uneasy.
“She’s very beautiful, don’t you think?” she asked, glancing sideways at her employer, who was concentrating on the road.
“Definitely. She’s one of the most attractive women I’ve ever met. And highly intelligent.”
For a moment neither said anything more. Miss Prim simply looked out of the window in silence. The ancient, leafless trees that lined the road and the cold gray light made the landscape look somber and dramatic.
“She must have been a great beauty,” she said at last with a strange tightness in her stomach.
“What was that?”
“I said,” she repeated patiently, “that she must have been a great beauty.”
“Do you mean my mother?”
“Your mother? No, why would I mention your mother now? I meant Miss Treaumont.”
