Still freezing. I meant to start this on my birthday but it's nearly three weeks. Such a let-down, turning 21. The old suffocating feeling again, worse than usual. Something's missing and I don't know what it is. Like craving for a food you've never had but you'd know at once if you could only taste it, and then you'd never eat anything else. Or finding you can't breathe ordinary air any more.
I know what Grandmama would have said. Stop moping, girl, smarten yourself up, get a job. Iris just smiles sweetly and says you must do whatever you think best dear and goes back to the seventh astral plane. Perhaps I'd be happier if I had a boring job like Filly, but then I wouldn't have any time to myself. I waste so much time and then I resent it when I don't have time to waste. I don't want to type and I don't want to nurse and I don't want to teach. But I know I could write if only I had something interesting to write
29 MARCH
Went to a Labour Party meeting with Owen last night. In a horrible hall in Camden that stank. Of course it's awful, slums and all that, and I know I ought to care but I don't. The secretary, Ted somebody or other, tried to make me join. I said I'd think about it but I could see him thinking, rich girl slumming. Owen must have said something. And here I am queueing for neck of lamb and counting our pennies. I'm sick of Owen; he lectures me all the time and never notices what I'm wearing.
5 APRIL
Had tea with Owen in the High Street yesterday and gave him the push. He went all doggy and pleading and I walked off despising him and feeling I'd been hard and cruel.
14 APRIL
Iris got a summons irbm Pitt the Elder and insisted I go instead. You're twenty-one now dear, and I'm sure you've got a much better head for these things than I have. She's convinced herself she's going to die quite soon: one of her premonitions. Of course there's her heart, but she's only sixty for God's sake.
Felt very nervous about having to explain to Mr Pitt that I was there instead of Iris. But he was very charming and made a great fuss of me. Miss Neame brought us tea and a proper teacake and sandwiches, and I thought he just wanted to chat about how we were managing and all that, until I realised he was leading up to something.
I did wonder if Iris had been keeping something from us but it still came as a shock. He says our capital's run down and we're going to have to sell either the house or some of the pictures, furniture or silver or something like that. Apparently he's warned Iris several times but she hasn't done anything about it.
I asked him what he thought we should do and he said that depended on how much we want to keep the house. Now is a bad time to sell, apparently, because of death duties and supertax and all that, and with the housing shortage he said it would most likely go for flats and whoever bought it wouldn't want to pay much. But on the other hand if we know we want to leave, then perhaps the sooner the better.
Until now I'd never really thought about it. Somehow I'd assumed that Filly and I would get married and Iris would find herself a companion and everything would go on just the same. Even though we freeze every winter and the garden's going to pot I can't imagine not being able to come back here.
15 APRIL
Iris more or less admitted she'd kept quiet because Horus or whoever came through on the ouija board had told her something was sure to turn up. I nearly said yes, the bailiffs, but I bit my tongue. Of course she doesn't want to move. And Filly doesn't seem to care either way; she says she just wants to get a flat of her own as soon as she can afford it. So we've agreed to ask Mr Pitt about selling some of the pictures or the good chairs.
18 APRIL
Rang up Mr Pitt this morning. He asked if we had a copy of the inventory that Grandmama had made when she did her last will; if not he'll get Miss Neame to type out another one for us. Iris didn't know so I went up to the study to look.
Even with the morning sun streaming in the study always feels slightly haunted. Perhaps it's the leftover smell of her tobacco. And there was something rustling about in the ceiling. I don't think I'm afraid of mice but I shouldn't like it to be anything larger.
It wasn't in any of the drawers, so I started looking through the little cabinet, but then I got distracted and started reading some of Grandmama's stories again. And that made me remember her reading us 'The Pavilion' in the summerhouse before the war, at least I thought then she was reading but she made it into quite a different story, with nothing about Rosalind getting married or Mr Margrave being a vampire, or of course the angel; it was all about the way the pavilion changed whenever you went to sleep in it.
I didn't find the inventory, but at the back of the cabinet underneath a stack of typing paper I found an old leather music-case. Inside was another of her stories, a longer one I'd never seen before, called 'The Revenant'.
The creepy feeling started when I looked at the date. Three years before I was born, before our parents had even met. I wondered at first if she'd put 1925 for 1935, say, but I don't think she would have written it after the accident. Of course there must be lots of stories about orphaned sisters being brought up by aunts and uncles or grandparents. And it's not as if I've ever
It's this house for a start, though only this floor, really, and the lane and the garden. But why is it different from her turning the summerhouse into the pavilion? Because F. and I are the same age as Beatrice and Cordelia? Our rooms are side by side, and the studio is where Grandmama's study is. Beatrice goes out to work and Cordelia stays home, like me. And Iris has a weak heart. But so do lots of people, and she's not fat like Aunt Una.
And their not having any money, and having to do their own cooking.
And me just turning 21.
Still freezing.
19 APRIL
Read the story again last night. It reminds me of the feeling when we used to play with Iris's ouija board: the way the glass seemed to come alive and tug. I'd never thought of Filly and me as estranged, just not terribly close. But now I wonder. Just as it didn't seem odd, before, that she and I haven't talked about our parents for years and years, and now it does.
28 APRIL
Filly does remind me of a cat. And there
But is the story making me see things that aren't there? Like walking on the heath at dusk, when you think there's a man watching you from the shadows and he turns out to be a treetrunk?
5 MAY
Mr Pitt says Christies will send someone to look at the pictures. All I have to do is ring up and arrange a time.
This is silly. Lots of people have their pictures valued.
11 MAY
Mr Montfort-Hugh Montfort came this afternoon to look at the pictures. It was Iris's day with Mrs Roper's circle so I was here by myself. All morning I kept thinking, what if he looks exactly like Harry Beauchamp?
Of course he was nothing like, except for being young and quite good-looking. He's tall, and slender, with black hair swept back from the temples, pale skin, no moustache. And no corduroy trousers-he had on a charcoal grey suit, beautifully pressed. Very dark brown eyes, the corners crinkle when he smiles.
And he didn't make me feel embarrassed about our having to sell things. I wasn't going to mention it but he was so nice I ended up telling him all about us while I was showing him the pictures-although really he was
