and great love in a drawer with her handkerchiefs.
‘There’s nothing nicer than children, and you look very well, Matty,’ said Mrs Talbot suddenly.
Martha emerged from her dream remarking absently, ‘I’m always well.’ Then she heard what Mrs Talbot had said; it seemed to hang on the air waiting for her to hear it. She thought tolerantly, She’s heard a rumour that I’m pregnant. She smiled at Mrs Talbot and remarked, ‘I shan’t have children for years yet – damn it, I’m only nineteen myself.’
Mrs Talbot suppressed an exclamation. She surveyed Martha up and down, a rapid, skilled glance, and then, colouring, said, ‘But, my dear, it’s so nice to have your children when you’re young. I wish I had. I was old when she was born. Of course, people say we are like sisters, but it makes a difference. Have them young, Matty – you won’t regret it.’ She leaned forward with an urgent affectionate smile and continued, after the slightest hesitation, ‘You know, we old women get a sixth sense about these things. We know when a woman is pregnant, there’s a look in the eyes.’ She put a cool hand to Martha’s cheek and turned her face to the light. Narrowing her eyes so that for a moment her lids showed creases of tired flesh, she looked at Martha with a deep impersonal glance and nodded involuntarily, dropping her hand.
Martha was angry and uncomfortable; Mrs Talbot at this moment seemed to her like an old woman: the utterly impersonal triumphant gleam of the aged female, the old witch, was coming from the ageless jewelled face.
‘I can’t be pregnant,’ she announced. ‘I don’t want to have a baby yet.’
Mrs Talbot let out a small resigned sigh. She rose and said in a different voice, ‘I think I shall have my bath, dear.’
‘I’ll go,’ said Martha quickly.
‘You and Douggie’ll be coming to dinner tomorrow?’
‘We’re looking forward to it very much.’
Mrs Talbot was again the easy hostess; she came forward in a wave of grey silk and kissed Martha. ‘You’ll be so happy,’ she murmured gently. ‘So happy, I feel it.’
Martha emitted a short ungracious laugh. ‘But, Mrs Talbot!’ she protested – then stopped. She wanted to put right what she felt to be an impossibly false position; honesty demanded it of her. She was not what Mrs Talbot thought her; she had no intention of conforming to this perfumed silken bullying, as she most deeply felt it to be. She could not go on. The appeal in the beautiful eyes silenced her. She was almost ready to aver that she wanted nothing more than to be happy with the dear boy Douglas, for Mrs Talbot; to have a dozen children, for Mrs Talbot; to take morning tea with Elaine every day, and see her married to just such another as Douglas.
Mrs Talbot, arm lightly placed about her waist, gently pressed her to the door. She opened it with one hand, then gave Martha a small squeeze, and smiled straight into her eyes, with such knowledge, such ironical comprehension, that Martha could not bear it. She stiffened; and Mrs Talbot dropped her arm at once.
‘Elaine, dear,’ said Mrs Talbot apologetically past Martha to the sun porch, ‘if you’d like to run my bath for me.’
Elaine was now painting the row of pink and mauve sweet peas in the fluted silver vases. ‘Ah!’ exclaimed Mrs Talbot delightedly, moving forward quickly to look at the water colour. She leaned over, kissing Elaine’s hair. The girl moved slightly, then remained still under her mother’s restraining arm. ‘Isn’t this lovely, Matty, isn’t she gifted?’
Martha looked at the pretty water colour and said it was beautiful. Elaine’s glance at her now held a real embarrassment; but she remained silent until her mother had gained her meed of admiration.
Then Mrs Talbot waved goodbye and returned to her bedroom; and Elaine rose, and said, ‘Excuse me, Matty, I’ll just do Mummy’s bath – she likes me to do it, rather than the boy, you know.’ Martha looked to see if there was any consciousness here of being exploited, but no: there was nothing but charming deference.
They said goodbye, and Martha, as she turned away, saw Elaine knocking at the door that led into Mrs Talbot’s bedroom. ‘Can I come in, Mummy?’
Martha walked away down the street, thinking of that last deep glance into her eyes. Nonsense, she thought; it’s nothing but old women’s nonsense, old wives’ superstition. There seemed nothing anomalous in referring to the youthful Mrs Talbot thus at this moment. ‘How can there be a look in my eyes?’
When she reached home, it was nearly lunchtime. The butcher’s boy had left a parcel of meat. For some reason she was unable to touch it. The soggy, bloody mass turned her stomach – she was very sick. But this was nonsense, she told herself sternly. She forced herself to untie the wet parcel, take out the meat, and cook it. She watched Douglas eating it, while she made a great joke of her weakness. Douglas remarked with jocularity that she must be pregnant. She flew into a temper.
‘All the same, Matty, it wouldn’t do any harm just to drop along to old Stern, would it? We don’t want kids just when the war’s starting, do we?’
That afternoon, since Stella was not there to gain priority for her, she sat out her time of waiting with the other women; and in due course found herself with Dr Stern. He gave her instructions to undress. She undressed and waited. Dr Stern, whose exquisite tact had earned him the right to have his waiting room perpetually filled with women who depended on him, explored the more intimate parts of Martha’s body with rubber-clothed fingers, and at the same time made conversation about the international situation. Finally he informed Martha that he did not think she was pregnant; she might set her mind at rest.
He than made the mistake of complimenting her on her build, which was of the best kind for easy child-bearing. Martha was stiff-lipped and resentful and did not respond. He quickly changed his tone, saying that she needn’t think about such things yet; and suggested that there was no reason why she should be pregnant if she had been carrying out his instructions? The query dismayed Martha; but she had decided to remember that he had been definite about it.
When she had left, he remarked to his new nurse that it was just as well for the medical profession that laymen had such touching faith in them. The nurse laughed dutifully and summoned the next patient.
Martha walked home very quickly; she could not wait to tell Douglas that everything was all right.
Officially pronounced not pregnant, Martha determined to use her freedom sensibly. But if there was a weight off her mind, her flesh remained uncomfortable. She might say that she would settle her future once and for all; but it was not so easy: she was feeling – but how did she feel? For no matter how many charts of her emotions and flesh she may be armed with, it is not so easy for a very young woman, newly married, to discriminate between this sensation and that. Her body, newly licensed for use by society, stimulated – as Dr Stern had so humorously and succinctly put it – three times a day after meals, was in any case a web of sensations. Buzzings, burnings, swarmings: she was like a hive. And as for her tendency to feel dizzy or queasy in the mornings – what could one expect if one slept so little, ate so erratically, and, it must be confessed, drank such a lot? That is, regarded statistically, she drank a lot. But not more than everybody else. Still, from six in the evening until four the next morning she was unlikely to be without a glass in her hand, or at least, without a glass standing somewhere near. Drunk, no; one did not get drunk.
