CHAPTER VI

MY DEAR LADY

Thérèse's confidence, too, increased with the weeks. Of her three rooms only one, the dining-room, was furnished. The two others were unfortunately still empty. But it was in these two that she passed her time so as to spare the dining-room furniture. Usually she stood behind the door which led to his writing desk, and listened. For hours at a time, for whole mornings and afternoons, she stayed there, her head against a crack through which she could see nothing at all; arms akimbo and elbows pointing sharply in his direction, without even a chair to lean on, propped up on herself and the starched skirt, she waited, and knew exactly why she was waiting. She never tired. She caught him at it, when he suddenly began talking although he was alone. His wife wasn't good enough for him, there he was talking to thin air, a judgment on him. Before lunch and dinner she withdrew to the kitchen.

He felt contented and happy, at his work, far, far away from her. During almost all this time she was not two paces off.

True the thought sometimes occurred to him, that she might be planning a speech against him. But she said nothing and still nothing. He resolved, once a month, to check the contents of the shelves in her rooms. No one was safe from book thefts.

One day at ten o'clock, when she had just comfortably installed herself at her post, he flung open the door, aflame with inspectional zeal. She bounded backwards; she had all but fallen over.

'A nice sort of manners!' she cried, emboldened by the shock. 'Come into a room without knocking. You'd think I'd been listening at doors, and in my rooms. Why should I listen? A husband thinks he can take any liberty simply because he's married. Shame, that's what I say, shame! Manners indeed!'

What did she say? He was to knock before he could go to his books? Insolence! Ridiculous! Grotesque! She must be out of her mind. He would as soon slap her face. That might bring her to her senses.

He imagined the marks of his fingers on her gross, overfed, shiny cheeks. It would be unjust to give one cheek preference over the other. He would have to slap both at once. If he aimed badly, the red finger-marks on one side would be higher up than those on the other. That would be unpleasing. His preoccupation with Chinese art had bred in him a passionate feeling for symmetry.

Thérèse noticed that he was examining her cheeks. She forgot about the knocking, turned away and said enticingly: 'Don't.' So he had conquered without slapping her face. His interest in her cheeks was extinguished. With deep satisfaction he turned towards the shelves. She lingered, expectant. Why didn't he say something? Squinting cautiously, she discovered the changed expression of his features. Better go straight to her kitchen. She was in the habit of solving all her problems there.

Why did she have to say that? Now again he wouldn't want to. She was too respectable. Another woman would have thrown herself straight at him. You couldn't do anything with him. That was the way she was. If she were a bit older, she would have jumped at him. What sort of a man was that? Maybe he wasn't a man after all. Trousers have nothing to do with it, they wear them just the same. They aren't women either. There are such things. Who could tell when he'd want to again? It might take years with people like that. Not that she was old, but no chicken either. She knew that herself without being told. She looked thirty, but not twenty. All the men stared at her in the street. What was it the young man in the furniture shop said: 'Yes, around thirty, that's when the best people get married, whether ladies or gentlemen.' As a matter of fact, she'd always thought she looked forty; could you wonder, at fifty-six? But when a young man like that says a thing like that, all of his own, he must know what he's talking about. 'Well I ask you, the things you don't know!' she had answered him. Such a superior young man! He had guessed she was married too, not only her age. And there she was tied to an old man. Anyone would think, he didn't love her.

'Love' in all its parts of speech was a heavy-type word in Therese's vocabulary. In her youth she had grown accustomed to terser expressions. Later, when in her various places she had learnt this word along with many other things, 'love' still remained for her a foreign sound of wondrous import. She rarely took the blessed consolation between her lips. But she lost no other opportunity: wherever she read the word 'love' she would linger, and carefully sift all the surrounding matter. At times the most tempting 'situations vacant' were overshadowed by offers of marriage and love. She read 'good wages' and held out her hand; joyfully her fingen curled up under the weight of the expected money. Then her eye fell on 'love' a few columns further on; here it paused to rest, here it clung for broad moments. She did not of course forget her other plans, she did not open her hand to return the money. She merely covered it over for a brief, tremulous space with love. 

Thérèse repeated aloud: 'He doesn't love me.' She drew out the pivotal word, pursing her mouth, and already she felt a kiss on her lips. This comforted her. She closed her eyes. She put the peeled potatoes on one side, wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door into her little room. Sparks made her close her eyes. Suddenly it was hot. Little globes danced through the air, glow-worms, red ones; it was narrow, the floor gaped in front of her, her feet fell into it; fog, fog, a strange fog, or was it smoke; wherever she turned her eyes, all was empty, cleared out, so much room; she clutched for support, anywhere; deadly sick she was; her trunk, her trousseau, who had taken them away; help !

When she came to herself, she was lying across the bed. Clean and orderly, the room reappeared to view, everything in its right place. Then she was afraid. First the room was empty, then full again. What was she to make ofthat? She wasn't staying here. The heat had made her come over queer. It was too small in that room, too shabby. All of a sudden she might die a lonely death.

She straightened the folds of her crushed skirt, and glided across to the library.

'I've just nearly died,' she said simply. 'It all went black. My heart stopped. Too much work and a bad bedroom. No wonder.'

'What, as soon as you left me, you felt sick?'

'Not sick, it all went black.'

'That's a long time. I have been standing at least an hour by the bookshelves.'

'What, so long?' Thérèse swallowed. She had never been ill since she could remember.

'I shall fetch the doctor.'

'I don't need the doctor. I'd rather move. Why shouldn't I sleep? I need a good night's sleep. The room next to the kitchen is the worst in the house. It's a servant's room. If I had a servant, she'd sleep there. You can't sleep there. You've got the best room yourself. I've a right to the second best, the next one. A man really thinks only he needs to sleep. If things go on like this, I'll be laid up, and where'U you be then? You've forgotten what a servant costs!'

What did she want of him; She was at liberty to move her rooms round as she liked. He didn't care where she slept. Owing to her fainting fit he did not interrupt her. Luckily fainting fits were not a common occurrence. Out of pity — false pity, as he told himself— he made himself listen.

'Who'd think of pestering? One room each. Then nothing can happen. I'm not one of those. Disgusting the way other women go on. Fit to make you blush. I don't need to. I want some new furniture! That large room holds a lot. I'm not a beggar, am I?'

Now he knew what she wanted: furniture again. He had slammed the door open in her face. He, then, was responsible for her fainting fit. Doors should not be flung open so roughly. The shock had affected her. He had been startled himself. She spared him her reproaches; he would allow her the furniture as a compensation. 'You are right,' he said, 'buy yourself a new bedroom suite.'

Immediately after lunch Thérèse glided from street to street, until she had found the best possible furniture shop. Here she listened to the prices of bedroom suites. Not one of them seemed outrageously expensive enough. When the proprietors, two fat brothers, each overreaching the other, at length named a price which would surely be too high for any honest person, she twisted her head round, jerked it towards the door and announced defiantly:

'You gentlemen seem to think my money's not honestly come by.'

She left the shop without further greeting and went straight home, to her husband's study.

'What do you want?' He was furious: at four o'clock in the afternoon she was in his room.

'I have to warn my husband of the price of things. If not, he'll be upset when his wife asks for so much money all of a sudden. The prices of bedroom suites these days! If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't credit it. I've looked out a good one, nothing special. Everywhere the same prices.'

Reverentially, she uttered the figure. He felt not the least desire to chew over things which had been decided long ago, that morning even. Hurriedly he wrote out a cheque for the sum she had stated, pointed with his finger to the name of the bank where she was to cash it and then to the door.

Only when she was outside did Thérèse convince herself that the crazy price she had named was really written down on the paper. Then her heart bled for the beautiful money. She didn't need the most expensive bedroom suite. She'd always kept herself respectable and decent. Now that she was a married woman, was that a reason for breaking out; She needed no luxuries. Better buy one for half the price and put the balance in the post-office. Then she'd have something to fail back on. The years she'd have had to work to earn all that money! It's not to be reckoned in years. She'd slave for him plenty more years yet. What would she get out of it? Not a brass farthing! A servant gets more than the mistress. A mistress indeed, she'd have to look out for herself or nothing would ever come of it. Why was she such a fool? She ought to have made an agreement with him at the registry office. She ought to have her wages back again. She'd got the same amount of work to do. She'd got more work than before, there was the dining-room suite and the furniture in his room. It all had to be dusted. That wasn't nothing. She ought to have higher wages. There was no justice anywhere.

The cheque in her hand quivered with indignation.

At supper she put on her most evil smile. The corners of her eyes and mouth met close to her ears. Her eyes in their narrow slits glinted green.

'There'll be no cooking in this house to-morrow. I've no time. I can't be in two places at once.' Curious as to the effect of her words she paused. She was revenging herself on him for his wickedness. She was breaking her contract and talking at table. ' 'Am I to take the first thing I see because of getting your lunch? Lunch happens every day. A bedroom suite is only bought once. More haste less speed. No cooking to-morrow. No!'

'Really not?' A colossal idea had flamed up in his mind, devouring the needs and rights of everyday. 'Really not?' his voice sounded as if he were laughing.

'It's no laughing matter!' she replied, annoyed. 'Work, work, work, morning, noon and night. Am I a servant, then?'

In the highest good humour he interrupted her:

'I ask you only to proceed with caution ! Go to as many shops as you can! Compare the prices with each other before making any decision. Shopkeepers are swindlers by nature. They always think they can make a woman pay double. In the lunch-hour you ought to have a long rest in a cafe and a good lunch, because you were unwell to-day. Don't come home ! The weather is very hot, you will overtire yourself. After lunch you can take your time and look at some more shops. Don't hurry on any account! As for supper, you need have no anxiety. I most strongly advise you to stay out the whole day until the shops close.'

He had forcibly expelled from his memory the fact that she had already found the bedroom suite, and demanded of him the exact sum for it.

"We can always have a bit of cold meat for supper,' said Thérèse, and thought: now he's after me again. It's easy to see when a person's ashamed of himself. Manners indeed, to make a convenience of your wife ! You can do as you like with a servant. Excuse me, but you pay for that. Not with the mistress, though. That's why you make yourself mistress!

When she left the house next morning, Thérèse had already firmly decided only to buy her furniture from that superior young man who had known, as soon as he looked at her, both her age and about her marriage.

She cashed the cheque at the bank and immediately took half the money to the post-office. To inform herself more thoroughly about prices, she visited several furniture stores. She spent most of the morning obstinately haggling. She saw that her calculations about savings were quite right. She would be able to add still more money to them. Her ninth call was to the shop where she had protested at the prices on the previous day. They recognized her at once. The way she held her head and her manner of speaking in jerks impressed everyone who had seen her, once and for all. After their yesterday's experience they showed her the cheaper things. She examined the beds from top to bottom, tapped the wood and put her ear to the bedsteads to find out if they sounded hollow. Things are worm eaten these days even before you buy them. She opened every commode and stuck her nose in to find out whether it had not already been used. She breathed on the mirrors and then polished them over two or three times with a cloth which she had extracted from the two unwilling 'gentlemen'. All the wardrobes aroused her disapproval.

'Nothing would go into these. I ask you what sort of boxes do they make to-day! These may do for poor people. They haven't anything to put away. For our sort of things, we need space.'

They behaved obligingly in spite of her unassuming appearance. They took her for a fool. Fools are embarrassed at leaving without buying something. The brothers' psychology of clients was not exhaustive. It was confined to young couples, whose happiness they successfully kindled with ambiguous advice, to be understood cynically or cosily, according to taste. For the excitement of this elderly person, the pair of them, bon vivants and themselves elderly, had no interest left. After half an hour of offering personal guarantees, their zeal declined. Thérèse had been waiting for just this insult. She opened the enormous handbag which she carried under her arm, felt for the stout packet of notes and said pointedly:

'I must just sec if I have enough money with me.'

Before the eyes of the two swarthy, tubby brothers, who had not reckoned on any such contents to her bag, she slowly counted over the notes. 'Merciful heavens, she has got money!' Delighted, they thought as one. As soon as she had done, she tucked the notes tenderly away in her bag, snapped it to, and went. On the threshold she turned round and exclaimed: 'You two gentlemen don't seem to value respectable customers!'

She directed her steps towards the superior salesman. As it was already one o'clock she hurried so as to get there before they dosed for lunch. She created quite a sensation; among all the men in trousers and the women in short skirts, she was the only one whose legs, concealed under the starched blue skirt which readied to her feet, functioned in secret. It was clear to every passer-by that gliding was as good as walking. It was even better, for she overtook them all. Thérèse felt all eyes upon her. Like thirty, she thought and began to perspire with haste and pleasure. It gave her some difficulty to keep her head still. She put on an adored smile. Uplifted by her ears, broad wings, her eyes flew up to heaven and settled in a cheap bedroom suite. Thérèse, a lace-trimmed angel, made herself comfortable in it. Yet she did not seem to have fallen from the clouds when all of a sudden she fetched up in front of the shop she knew. Her proud smile was transformed into a joyful grin. She stepped inside and glided over towards the superior young man, swinging her hips with such vigour that her wide skirt billowed about her.

'Here I am again!' she said coyly.

'At your service, dear lady, what an unexpected honour! What brings you back to us, dear lady, if I may ask?'

'A bedroom suite. You know how it is.'

'I thought it must be that, dear lady. A double-bed, naturally, if I am permitted to use the expression.'

'Excuse me, everything is permitted you.' He shook his head, sadly.

'Oh no, not to me, dear lady. Am I the happy man? You would never have married me, dear lady. A poor shop assistant.'

'Why not? You never can tell. Poor people are human too. I don't hold with pride.'

'That's because you have a heart of gold, dear lady. I hope the gentleman you've made happy knows how fortunate he is.'

'I ask you, what are men like these days'

'You surely don't mean, dear lady ... '. The superior young man raised his eyebrows in astonishment. His two eyes were the moist adoring nose of a dog; he nuzzled her gently.

'They take you for a servant. But they pay you nothing at all. A servant gets wages.'

'So you are going to choose yourself a handsome bedroom suite instead, dear lady. This way please! Excellent, first class quality, I knew that you'd be coming again, dear lady, and I specially kept this on one side for you. We could have sold it six times over, honour bright! Your husband will be delighted with it. When you get home, dear lady, welcome home, darling, he'll say. Good afternoon, darling, you'll say, dear lady. I've got a bedroom suite for us both, darling — you follow me, dear lady, that is what you will say, and perch yourself on the gentleman's knee. Excuse me, dear lady, I say what is in my mind, no man could resist that, not a single man in the world, not even a husband. If I were married, I won't say if I were married to you, dear lady, a poor shop assistant like me, how could I dream of such a thing, but if I were married, even to an elderly lady, say to a lady of forty — but there, you couldn't even imagine that, dear lady!'

'Excuse me please, I'm no chicken.'

'I can't agree with you at all, dear lady, with your permission. I dare say you may be a shade over thirty, dear lady, but that's of no consequence. I always say: the important thing about a woman is her hips. Hips a woman must have, hips that can be seen. What's the point of having them at all if they can't be seen? Now here you can see for yourself, here you have the most magnificent... ' Thérèse was on the point of crying out; enraptured, she could not find words. He hesitated an instant and completed the sentence: 'mattresses!'

She had not even glanced at the furniture. He talked her into suitable excitement, he approached his hand within an inch of her quivering hips and at the last minute replaced them by the well-designed, the magnificent mattresses. The gesture of resignation with which — poor shop assistant as he was — he bade farewell to her unattainable hips, moved Thérèse, if anything, even more profoundly. What a day! Here she was running with sweat again. Bewitched, she followed the movements of his lips, of his hand. Her eyes, usually aglint with every malicious light, were peaceful, watery, almost blue, as they obediently appraised the furniture. Of course it was magnificent. The superior young man knew everything. What a lot he knew about furniture! She felt almost ashamed in front of him. A bit of luck, she didn't have to say anything. What might he think of her! She knew nothing about furniture. None of the others had noticed. Why, because the others were stupid. The superior young man noticed everything at once. A good thing she didn't have to say anything. He had a voice like melted butter.

Thérèse drew nearer, if only to please him. She agreed with every word he said. She was afraid she might lose him. She gazed at the suite which he was recommending to her. But she could not have said what it was like. An anguished search took place in her for some excuse to prolong the pleasure of his butter voice. If she said 'Yes', and paid the money down, she would have to leave and that would be good-bye to the superior young man. She might as well have something for all that beautiful money. These people were making a profit out of her. There was no shame in making him talk a bit longer. Other people walk out of the shop without buying anything. They don't worry themselves. She was a respectable woman and never did such things. She could take her time.

She found no way out; to say something, she said: 'Excuse me please, that's easy said!'

'Permit me, dear lady, or if I may say so, my very charming lady, I would never deceive you. When I specially recommend something to you, then I specially recommend it. You can have implicit faith in me, dear lady, everyone trusts me. I owe you no proof of that, dear lady. Will you step this way a minute, sirs'

The chief, Mr. Gross, a diminutive mannikin with squashed features and hunted little eyes, appeared on the threshold of his separate office, and, small though he was, immediately folded himself into two even smaller halves.

'What can I do;' he asked and sidled, embarrassed, like a frightened small boy, into the orbit of Therese's wide-spreading skirt.

'Tell the lady yourself, sir, has any customer ever failed to trust my word?'

The chief said nothing. He was afraid of telling a lie before mother; she might box his ears. The conflict between his business sense and his reverence for mother betrayed itself in his expression. Thérèse saw the conflict and misinterpreted it. She compared the assistant to the chief. He wanted to chip in but didn't dare. To enhance the victory of the superior young man, she came to his help with a flourish of trumpets.

'I ask you, what do we want him for? Anyone would believe you from your voice alone. I believe every word. What's the good of lying? Who wants him? I wouldn't believe a word he said.'

The little man retreated with all speed into his private office. It was always the same. He had not so much as opened his mouth, before mother told him he was lying. With every woman, it was the same story. When he was a child, it was his mother, later it was his wife, an ex-employee. His marriage even had begun in the same way, with his having to soothe his typist whenever she complained of anything by calling her 'mother'. Since his marriage he was allowed no more girl clerks. But mothers kept coming into the shop all the time. That was certainly one of them. So he had had his private office built at the back. He was only to be called out of it when it was essential. He would take it out of Brute for doing this. The man knew perfectly well he couldn't play his part as chief in front of mother. That Brute wanted to be taken into partnership, so to make him look small he was showing him up in front of the customers. But Mr. Gross himself was head ofthe firm of Gross & Mother. His real mother was still alive and a partner in the business. Twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays, she came to go through the books and shout at the assistants. She checked over the figures exactly; that was why it was so very difficult to cheat her of anything. He managed it all the same. If it were not for this cheating he couldn t have gone on living. For this reason he regarded himself, justly, as the real head of the firm; all the more so as her shouting stood him in good stead with his employees. On the days before her visits he could order them about as he liked. They tumbled over each other to obey him, because he might very possibly tell her on the following day if anyone had been impertinent. Tuesdays and Fridays she stayed all day in the shop, anyway. It was mousy quiet then, not a soul dared whisper; not even he; but it was beautiful. Wednesdays and Saturdays were the only days when they were impertinent. To-day was a Wednesday.

Mr. Gross sat on his high stool and listened to what was going on outside. That Brute talked like a waterfall. The fellow was worth his weight in gold, but a partnership he would not get. What's that, the lady's asking him to go out to lunch with her?

'The chief wouldn't hear of it, dear lady; it would be my dearest wish, dear lady.'

'Excuse me please, you can make an exception. I shall pay for you.'

'You have a heart of gold, dear lady, I am deeply touched, but it is out of the question, quite out of the question. The chief won't have liberties.'

'Well, he can't be such a brute.'

'If you knew my name, dear lady, you would laugh. Brute is my name.'

'I don't see anything funny in that, Brute is as good a name as another. You aren't a brute.'

'Warmest thanks for the compliment; I kiss your hand, dear lady. If I go much further I shall kiss that sweet hand in earnest.'

'Excuse me please, if anyone were to hear us, what would they think?'

'It wouldn't worry me, dear lady. I've nothing to be ashamed of. As I said, when one has such magnificent hips, excuse me — hands was what I meant, of course. Which have you decided on, dear lady? You have settled on this one?'

'But first I'm taking you out to lunch.'

'You would make me the happiest man in the world, dear lady, a poor salesman, I must ask you to excuse me. The chief

'He has nothing to say.'

'You are mistaken, dear lady. His mother is as good as ten chiefs. He's no worm, either.'

'What sort of a man is that? That's not a man. My husband's a man compared to him. Well then, are you coming? You go on as if you didn't like the look of me.'

'What are you saying, dear lady? Show me the man who doesn't like the look of you! You can lay me any odds you like, you'll never find him. He doesn't exist, dear lady. I curse my cruel fate dear lady. The chief would never allow us this glory. What, he'll say, there's a customer going out with a mere assistant, suppose the customer should suddenly run into her husband. Madam's husband, if I may say so, would be beside himself with rage. That would make a sensational scandal. The assistant'll come back to the shop, but the customer, never. Who will foot the bill? I shall! An expensive outing, that's what the chief will say. It's a point cf view, dear lady. Do you know the little song, dear lady, about the poor gigolo, the pretty gigolo? "No matter though your heart should break..." well, let's leave it there ! You'll be satisfied with the beds, dear lady.'

'But I ask you, you don't really want to. I'll pay for you.'

'Ah, if you were free this evening, dear lady, but what a question. Madam's husband is inexorable on that point. I must say, I understand him. If I were lucky enough to be married to a beautiful lady — well my dear young lady, I can't begin to tell you what care I should take of her. "No matter though her heart should break, I would not let her leave my side." The second line is my own. I've an idea, dear lady. I'll write a dance tune about you, dear lady, about you lying in the new bed, wearing nothing but pjyamas so to speak, with your magnificent ... excuse me, we'd better leave it there. May I trouble you, dear lady. to step over to the cash desk?'

'But I wouldn't dream of it! First we'll go and eat.'

Mr. Gross had listened with mounting indignation. Why had that fellow Brute always to be running him down? Instead of being pleased to be taken out to lunch by mother. All these assistants got above themselves. Every single evening a different girl met him outside the shop, radiant young things, young enough to be his daughters. That mother might go away without buying the suite. Mothers didn't like having their invitations rejected. That fellow Brute took too much on himself. That fellow Brute was getting too big for his boots. Today was Wednesday. Why shouldn t Gross be master in his own shop on Wednesdays?

Listening with all ears, he felt his hackles rise. He felt that mother out there, who was so stubbornly arguing with his assistant, was seconding him for the fight. She spoke of him, Gross, in the same tone of voice as all mothers always did. How was he to speak to Brute? If he said too much, he would be certain to give him a back answer, being Wednesday, and he would lose a good customer. If he said too little, perhaps he wouldn't understand him. It might be best to issue a brief command. Should he look mother in the face as he gave it? No. Better place himself in front of her with his back to her; confronted by them both Brute would be more likely to be respectful.

He waited a short time until it was clear that a peaceful agreement was out of the question. Softly he jumped offhis office stool and in two tiny strides was at the glass door. With a sudden movement, he flung it open, shot out his head — the largest thing about him — and cried in a shrill falsetto:

'Go with the lady, Brute!'

'The chief, dished up as his excuse for the hundredth time, stuck in his throat.

Thérèse twisted her head round, and snorted triumphantly: 'Excuse me, what did I tell you?' Before they went out to lunch she would have liked to reward the chief with a grateful glance, but he had long since vanished into his office.

Brute's eyes had an evil gleam. Scornfully he fixed them on the starched skirt. He took good care not to look into hers. His melted butter voice would have tasted rancid. He knew it and was silent. Only when they reached the door and he stood back for her, did his arm and lips move, out of habit, and he said: 'By your leave, dear lady!'