For a short time, she sipped her cold gin slowly and simply observed the room. It seemed as though they had arrived in the middle of a conversation about a book that had recently been published, which the other women now resumed.
“Well, if she can get it published, that will be a fine thing indeed. A novel about us! Who’d have thought?”
“I suppose it’s better than being a passing story about a girl and her teacher in The Rainbow. Do you know, I’ve never been sure whether I approve of Lawrence doing that or not. I told him so too, when I last saw him.”
“At least he acknowledged we exist. That’s half the battle sometimes.”
“But a novel about us—do you think the reading public will cope?”
“I’m not sure if anyone will even publish it. And what price the chances of it being prosecuted if someone does?”
“I rather like the idea of my daily activities being too obscene to put into print.” This was Clara, who came to stand at the side of Evelyn’s armchair. “Don’t you, Jos?”
Evelyn noticed Jos flush a little. She sensed that her presence placed a restricton on what Jos felt able to say, which made her slightly anxious. She did not want Jos to feel constrained by her in any sense. Part of what drew her so much to Jos was her apparent sense of liberty.
“Clara, you are incorrigible,” Jos responded. “I don’t think anyone would dare write a novel about you.”
“Ha, perhaps not. Not one they’d want to publish, anyway. I shall always be an interesting background character, I fear. I add colour but no substance.”
Jos smiled. “I don’t think any of us would make the most thrilling of protagonists. Perhaps Evie would, with her big move to London.”
Evelyn smiled at the thought. “I hardly think so. My life’s been pretty dull apart from that.”
“I’ll bet it’s more colourful now you’re in the capital, eh? And certainly now you’re spending time with Jos.”
“Clara,” Jos said with a warning in her tone. “We’ve not really spent much time together.”
“It’s quality, not quantity, darling.” Clara ran a hand over her smooth hair, a knowing smile on her lips.
Evelyn was not sure whether to smile or feel concerned. What Clara implied was between her and Jos was real, their mutual acknowledgement in the street confirmed that. But to talk about it like this, to suggest it could actually happen—that it was happening—was something new and not entirely comfortable. Jos seemed equally on edge and Evelyn wondered if she was trying to make less of her feelings, in order not to make Evelyn feel pressured. She was not sure. It seemed safest, at this stage, to change the subject. “What book is it that everyone’s talking about?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s a friend of ours, John,” Clara said, “I mean her name’s Radclyffe Hall, you might have heard of her, but we know her as John. Anyway, she has written a draft of a novel about what it’s like to be a woman who loves women. The thing is, Catherine’s read some of it and she said it made us look awfully miserable. But then, even that seems to be better than not exisiting in books at all, don’t you think?”
Evelyn hesistated for a moment. It was hardly something she’d had reason to think about before now. Even in this room, it seemed strange that such interesting and strong women could be written out of the world of literature because they loved each other instead of loving men. It wasn’t as though they’d made a concious choice about it. Her own feelings for Jos had come from nowhere, unprompted, and felt as natural as any other feeling she’d ever experienced, even more natural and honest. To feel that way and yet find it led down a path of not exisiting seemed like a terrible position to be in. “I think it’s definitely better to exist than not to,” she said. “I have to admit I’ve not really stopped to think about it before now, but I’d say that even a book that shows the characters as unhappy would be better than no book at all. Perhaps if there’s one where the characters are unhappy, people will think twice about things. And then someone will write a book where the characters are happy.”
Jos was smiling. “I like the way you see things, Evie. It’s simple.”
Evelyn frowned, not sure if Jos was suggesting she didn’t understand the complexity of the situation.
“Oh, Jos, you don’t tell a lady she’s simple,” Clara said, seeing the frown.
“That’s not what I meant, sorry, Evie.” Jos hesistated. “It’s more that you come to things with a fresh perspective. You’ve not spent so long thinking about it and discussing it that you’re half-mad with it and entirely cynical. You see things as they are, which shouldn’t be as complicated as people make it, really. That’s what I mean by simple.”
Evelyn smiled now, understanding the compliment. “I really just say what I think.”
“As should we all,” Clara said. “I make a policy of it myself. And what I think right now is that I need some of the very good food Maggie left for us.” She raised her voice and addressed the whole room. “If any of you ladies can stop talking for long enough to eat, there’s some tasty morsels over at this side of the room. And stop eyeing Courtney that way, Stevie, she’s not one of them.”
“Aww, and I thought I was tasty,” Courtney said, pouting. “I mean, you like to eat—”
“Later, darling,” Clara interupted smoothly, with a wink. “If you’re good.”
“Oh, I’m very good.” Courtney approached Clara and gave her a brief kiss, directly on the lips. “You know that, my love.”
“Don’t I just.”
