It is the right house, isn't it? he asked.

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* Married women used to sometimes be called by their husband's first name in English. This does not often happen now.

'Oh, I think so — I hope so,' said Bertha brightly.

'I have had such a terrible time with a taxi driver; he was most strange. I couldn't get him to stop. The more I tried, the faster he went.'

He took off his coat. Bertha noticed that his socks were white, too — most charming and unusual.

'But how terrible!' she cried.

'Yes, it really was,' said Eddie, following her into the sitting-room. He knew the Norman Knights. In fact, he was going to write something for Norman Knight when the theatre opened.

'Well, Warren, how's the writing?' said Norman Knight.

And Mrs Norman Knight said: 'Oh, Mr Warren, what happy socks!'

'I am so glad you like them,' he said, looking down at his feet. 'They seem to look so much whiter when there is a moon.' And he turned his thin sad face to Bertha. There is a moon, you know.'

He really was a most attractive person. And so were the Norman Knights.

The front door opened and shut. Harry shouted: 'Hello, you people. Down in five minutes.' They heard him hurry up the stairs. Bertha smiled, she knew how Harry liked to be always busy.

She liked his enthusiasm and his love of fighting. To other people he sometimes seemed strange, but they did not know him well. She understood him. She talked and laughed until Harry came down. She had forgotten that Pearl Fulton had not arrived.

'I wonder if Miss Fulton has forgotten?'

'Probably,' said Harry. 'Is she on the phone?'

'Ah! There's a taxi now.' And Bertha smiled when she thought about her new friend. 'She lives in taxis.'

'She'll get fat if she does,' said Harry coolly, ringing the bell for dinner.

'Harry - don't,' warned Bertha, laughing at him.

They waited, and then Miss Fulton came in. She was all in silver, and she smiled with her head a little on one side.

'Am I late?'

'No, not at all,' said Bertha. 'Come along.' And she took Miss Fulton's arm and they moved into the dining-room. The touch of that cool arm gave Bertha that same perfectly happy feeling again.

Miss Fulton did not look at her, but then she rarely looked straight at people. Her heavy eyelids lay upon her eyes and the strange half-smile came and went on her lips. She seemed to live by listening more than by seeing. But Bertha felt as if they were very close, as if they understood each other very well.

She and Miss Fulton were closer, Bertha felt, than the other guests, as they all ate dinner and talked together. They were all dears, and she loved having them there at her table. She loved giving them wonderful food and wine. In fact, she wanted to tell them how delightful they were, how nice they looked.

Harry was enjoying his dinner. He enjoyed talking about food. Bertha was pleased when he turned to her and said: 'Bertha, this is wonderful!'

She felt as if she loved the whole world. Everything was good — was right.

And still, in the back of her mind, there was the pear tree. It would be silver now, in the light of poor dear Eddie's moon, as silver as Miss Fulton.

It was wonderful how Bertha seemed to understand immediately how Miss Fulton was feeling. She was sure that she understood her new friend perfectly.

'I believe that this does happen sometimes. It happens very, very rarely between women. Never between men,' thought Bertha. 'Perhaps while I am making the coffee in the sitting-room, she will give a sign to show me that she understands, too.'

While she thought like this she continued talking and laughing. She could not stop laughing.

At last, the meal was over.

'Come and see my new coffee machine,' said Bertha.

Mrs Norman Knight sat beside the fire. She was always cold.

At that moment, Miss Fulton 'gave the sign'.

'Do you have a garden?' said the cool, sleepy voice.

Bertha crossed the room, pulled the curtains back, and opened those long windows.

'There!' she breathed.

And the two women stood side by side, looking at the flowering tree. It seemed to grow taller and taller in the bright air. It seemed almost to touch the edge of the round, silver moon.

How long did they stand there? They understood each other perfectly. They were in a circle of light; they were like people from another world.

Then the coffee was ready and Harry said: 'My dear Mrs Knight, don't ask me about my baby. I never see her.'

They talked about Norman Knight's theatre. Mrs Knight talked about the furniture that she was choosing for some people. They talked about a terrible poem about a girl in a wood ...

Miss Fulton sat in the lowest, deepest chair and Harry offered cigarettes.

From the way he offered Miss Fulton the cigarette box, Bertha could see that Miss Fulton not only bored Harry; he really disliked her. And she decided that Miss Fulton felt this too, and was hurt.

'Oh, Harry, don't dislike her,' Bertha said to herself. 'You are quite wrong about her. She's wonderful. And besides, how can you feel so differently about someone who means so much to me? I shall try to tell you all about it when we are in bed tonight.'

At those last words, Bertha suddenly thought: 'Soon these people will go. The house will be quiet. The lights will be out. And you and he will be alone together.'

She jumped up from her chair and ran over to the piano.

'What a pity someone does not play!' she cried.

For the first time in her life, Bertha Young wanted her husband.

Oh; she had been in love with him, of course. But her feelings were different from his.They talked together about it — they were such good friends.

But now she felt different. She really wanted him. Was this the meaning of that feeling of perfect happiness?

'My dear,' said Mrs Norman Knight to Bertha, 'we mustn't miss our train. It's been so nice.'

'I'll come with you to the door,' said Bertha. 'I loved having you.'

'Good-night, goodbye,' she cried from the top step.

When she got back into the sitting-room the others were getting ready to leave.

'.. .Then you can come part of the way in my taxi.'

'I shall be so thankful not to have to take another taxi alone after the terrible time I had before.'

'You can get a taxi at the end of the street. It isn't far to walk.'

'That's good. I'll go and put on my coat.'

Miss Fulton moved towards the door and Bertha was following when Harry almost pushed past.

'Let me help you.'

Bertha knew that Harry was feeling sorry for his rudeness to Miss Fulton, so she let him go. He was like a little boy in some ways, so simple.

Eddie and she stood by the fire.

'Have you seen Bilks' new poem about soup? said Eddie softly. 'It's so wonderful. Have you got a copy of his new book? I'd so like to show it to you. The first line is wonderful: "Why must it always be tomato soup?" '

'Yes,' said Bertha. And she moved silently to a table opposite the sitting-room door and Eddie went silently after her. She picked up the little book and gave it to him; they had not made a sound.

While he looked for the poem in the book she turned her head towards the hall. And she saw ... Harry with Miss Fulton's coat in his arms and Miss Fulton with her back turned to him and her head bent. Harry threw the coat down, put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to him. His lips said: 'I love you,' and Miss Fulton laid her white fingers on her cheeks and smiled her sleepy smile. Harry smiled too, and he whispered: 'Tomorrow,' and with her eyelids Miss Fulton said: 'Yes.'

'Here it is,' said Eddie.' "Why must it always be tomato soup?" It's so deeply true, don't you feel? It always is tomato soup.'

'If you prefer,' said Harry's voice, very loud, from outside,'I can phone for a taxi.'

'Oh, no. It's not necessary,' said Miss Fulton, and she came up to Bertha and gave her the thin white fingers to hold.

'Goodbye. Thank you so much.'

'Goodbye,' said Bertha.

Miss Fulton held her hand a moment longer.

'Your lovely pear tree!' she said in a low voice.

And then she was gone, with Eddie following, like the black cat following the grey cat.

'I'll lock the doors,' said-Harry, very calmly.

'Your lovely pear tree — pear tree — pear tree!'

Bertha ran to the long windows.

'Oh, what is going to happen now?' she cried.

But the pear tree was as lovely as ever and as full of flowers and as still.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 809