The Daughter of Time Read Free Page A

interest at the little handful of glory incased by her woollen glove.
    'Well, now. I never knew that. Makes more sense that way, don't it. I always pictured them arums. Fields and fields of arums. Awful expensive, you know, but a bit depressing. So they was coloured? Well, why can't they say so? What do they have to call them lilies for!'
    And they went on to talk about translation, and how misleading Holy Writ could be ('I always wondered what bread on the waters was', Mrs Tinker said) and the awkward moment was over.
    While they were still busy with the Bible, The Midget came in with extra flower vases. Grant noticed that the vases were designed to hold white lilac and not anemones. They were tribute to Marta; a passport to further communing. But Marta never bothered about women unless she had an immediate use for them; her tact with Mrs Tinker had been mere savoir faire ; a conditioned reflex. So The Midget was reduced to being functional instead of social. She collected the discarded narcissi from the washbasin and meekly put them back into a vase. The Midget being meek was the most beautiful sight that had gladdened Grant's eyes for a long time.
    'Well,' Marta said, having finished her arrangement of the lilac and placed the result where he could see it, 'I shall leave Mrs Tinker to feed you all the titbits out of those paper bags. It couldn't be, could it, Mrs Tinker darling, that one of those bags contains any of your wonderful bachelor's buttons?'
    Mrs Tinker glowed.
    'You'd like one or two maybe? Fresh outa me oven?'
    'Well, of course I shall have to do penance for it afterwards those little rich cakes are death on the waist but just give me a couple to put in my bag for my tea at the theatre.'
    She chose two with a flattering deliberation ('I like them a little brown at the edges'), dropped them into her handbag, and said: 'Well, au revoir, Alan. I shall look in, in a day or two, and start you on a sock. There is nothing so soothing, I understand, as knitting. Isn't that so, nurse?'
    'Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. A lot of my gentlemen patients take to knitting. They find it whiles away the time very nicely.'
    Marta blew him a kiss from the door and was gone, followed by the respectful Midget.
    'I'd be surprised if that hussy is any better than she ought to be,' Mrs Tinker said, beginning to open the paper bags. She was not referring to Marta.

    2
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    But when Marta came back two days later it was not with knitting needles and wool. She breezed in, very dashing in a Cossack hat worn at a casual rake that must have taken her several minutes at her mirror, just after lunch.
    'I haven't come to stay, my dear. I'm on my way to the theatre. It's matinée day, God help me. Tea trays and morons. And we've all got to the frightful stage when the lines have ceased to have any meaning at all for us. I don't think this play is ever coming off. It's going to be like those New York ones that run by the decade instead of by the year. It's too frightening. One's mind just won't stay on the thing. Geoffrey dried up in the middle of the second act last night. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. I thought for a moment he was having a stroke. He said afterwards that he had no recollection of anything that happened between his entrance and the point where he came to and found himself half-way through the act.'
    'A black-out, you mean?'
    'No. Oh, no. Just being an automaton. Saying the lines and doing the business and thinking of something else all the time.'
    'If all reports are true that's no unusual matter where actors are concerned.'
    'Oh, in moderation, no. Johnny Garson can tell you how much paper there is in the house while he is sobbing his heart out on someone's lap. But that's different from being "away" for half an act. Do you realise that Geoffrey had turned his son out of the house, quarrelled with his mistress, and accused his wife of having an affaire with his best friend all without being aware of it?'
    'What was he aware