Chapter 2
In the past ten days, Miss Prim had exchanged no more than a few words with the Man in the Wing Chair.
Busy with the children, lessons, visits to the abbey, and his mother’s company, he had been an elusive presence.
As she nibbled on a piece of toast at breakfast, the librarian told herself she didn’t need his company.
And it was true. A woman like her, who enjoyed robust mental health and glorious independence, was perfectly capable of keeping herself amused without the need to chat.
Nevertheless, she had to admit that she did slightly miss the masculine humor that enlivened the work of cataloguing the endless rows of books.
That afternoon, Miss Prim received a note from Herminia Treaumont inviting her to join the San Ireneo Christmas committee.
She read the note silently as she finished her coffee.
Since she didn’t have a lot of work to complete that day, she decided to fetch her hat and coat and attend the meeting at the village tearoom.
It was cold out, and the librarian hurried down the garden path toward the wrought-iron gate.
“Are you going to the village, Prudencia? I can give you a lift if you like.”
The Man in the Wing Chair was already at the wheel of his car. Miss Prim hesitated, but a glance at the low gray sky prompted her to accept.
“Thank you,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat. “I think it’s going to start snowing any minute.”
He smiled pleasantly but didn’t reply.
“Would you like me to turn up the heating?” he asked.
The librarian assured him that the temperature inside the car was perfect.
“Tell me, if I’m not being nosy, what are you doing going to the village on such a cold afternoon?”
“I’m meeting Herminia Treaumont and the other residents to discuss the Christmas festivities.”
“I see you’ve fitted in fully with our small community. So, have you forgiven them?”
Miss Prim, who had taken special care to prevent news of the contretemps at the Feminist League from reaching her employer, blushed.
“I didn’t realize you knew so much about my adventures in San Ireneo. I suppose it was your friend, Mr. Delàs, who told you.”
“I’m afraid you put too much faith in the discretion of thirty witnesses. I’ve been told the story about five times, and I must say in every version your reaction has seemed magnificent.”
Prudencia laughed gratefully, but dismissed his praise with a wave of her hand.
“Believe me, I’m not too proud of myself. But I’ve realized that what happened, though it was mortifying for me personally, was done with the best intentions. It wasn’t very polite of me to behave as I did, especially to Miss Treaumont, a wonderful woman.”
“She is splendid,” was all the Man in the Wing Chair replied.
Prudencia, huddled in the front passenger seat, suddenly felt strangely uneasy.
“She’s very beautiful, don’t you think?” she asked, glancing sideways at her employer, who was concentrating on the road.
“Definitely. She’s one of the most attractive women I’ve ever met. And highly intelligent.”
For a moment neither said anything more. Miss Prim simply looked out of the window in silence. The ancient, leafless trees that lined the road and the cold gray light made the landscape look somber and dramatic.
“She must have been a great beauty,” she said at last with a strange tightness in her stomach.
“What was that?”
“I said,” she repeated patiently, “that she must have been a great beauty.”
“Do you mean my mother?”
“Your mother? No, why would I mention your mother now? I meant Miss Treaumont.”
“She isn’t that old,” he said, bemused. “Not so old as to say that she must have been a great beauty.”
“Don’t you think so?”
“Of course I don’t. She’s younger than me, and probably only slightly older than you.”
“Oh,” said Miss Prim.
He glanced at her, intrigued, and then looked back at the road.
“You don’t believe me? She really is.”
“Of course I believe you,” she said, “though it is surprising.”
“What is?”
Miss Prim, who had started to feel better, relieved of the tension in the pit of her stomach, lowered the window slightly, letting in a gust of icy air.
“Some women are unfortunate in that they wither before their time,” she murmured.
“Wither before their time? What nonsense. In my opinion Herminia is a young, attractive woman.”
Miss Prim, suddenly feeling the same tiresome tightening in her stomach, was silent.
“Why don’t you say something?”
“What can I say?”
“I suppose you could make a comment on what I just said.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Why?”
“Because it wouldn’t be tactful.”
“What wouldn’t be tactful?”
“It wouldn’t be tactful to continue talking about another woman to a man, especially about things he doesn’t understand.”
“So that’s it,” he said, trying not to smile.
They continued the journey without another word until the car drew up outside the tearoom, where the Christmas committee was waiting.
“Would you like me to pick you up when you’ve finished?” he asked politely, leaning across to open her door.
“There’s no need, thank you,” she said coldly.
“Miss Prim, look at the sky: it’s about to snow heavily.”
“I’m perfectly well aware of that, thanks.”
“Well, if you’re perfectly well aware of it, then I’ve got nothing further to say. Enjoy your afternoon,” he said, frowning, before restarting the engine.
Miss Prim straightened her hat in the tearoom window.
She felt annoyed; she couldn’t conceal it.
The excessive praise of Herminia Treaumont had bothered her deeply—it would be absurd to deny it.
But surely it would bother any woman? Surely any woman would find it disagreeable to be stuck in a car with a man who wouldn’t stop showering compliments on another person?
What kind of man insisted over and over on the extreme beauty of one woman in the presence of another?
It was an intolerable lack of courtesy and, without courtesy, all was lost. She knew it because she’d seen it in her own home.
Year after year she’d watched courtesy evaporate from her parents’ marriage.
She’d experienced firsthand the effects of the lack of courtesy in her relationship with her sister.
And now, when she seemed to have arrived at a place where formality still had a raison d’être, precisely now she had just endured the company of a man who couldn’t stop talking about the sublime qualities and dazzling beauty of another woman.
Herminia was an interesting woman. So what?
Wasn’t she, too? Herminia was attractive—fine.
Couldn’t the same be said about her as well?
He was perfectly free to be enchanted by the woman if he wanted, she had no objection, but did he have to show it so obviously?
Miss Prim had always been against public displays of sentiment.
In her view, in civilized societies people had private homes in which they could give free rein to their feelings without others being obliged to witness it.
Emotional excess, she reasoned as she adjusted her coat collar, was characteristic of primitive societies and equally primitive individuals.
And anyway, wasn’t she an employee? Was it necessary to subject an employee to a show of feelings as he had just done in the car?
Miss Prim did not believe it was. And not only did she not believe it, but she was convinced that there must be some kind of regulation prohibiting such behavior.
Still annoyed, she entered the tearoom, where small lamps at every table created a warm, welcoming atmosphere.
“Miss Prim, how lovely to see you again!” The calm, gentle tones of Herminia Treaumont, who had risen to greet her, brought her back to reality.
“It’s lovely to see you too, Miss Treaumont.”
“Please, call me Herminia. And may I call you Prudencia? We’re neither of us old enough to be so formal, are we?”
“Definitely not,” replied Miss Prim, blushing to the roots of her hair.
Despite her bad mood, she soon managed to join in the conversation.
In addition to her hostess, there were three other women and two men at the table.
One was introduced as Judge Bassett, a short, thickset man with bushy eyebrows and mustache, whose eyes would only focus when he found the conversation of interest. The other was a young man answering to the name of Francois Flavel, who was the only vet in the area.
The women were Mrs. Von Larstrom, owner of the San Ireneo Hotel; the elderly Miss Miles, a walking encyclopedia on the subject of folk customs; and young Amelia Lime, the judge’s secretary.
After discussing the principal matters bearing on the Christmas preparations, ranging from the choice of hymns to the fabulous candle illuminations and the street decorations, which would consist of garlands of foliage and wild berries, the committee moved on to the main events of the festivities.
More than an hour was spent itemizing all the details yet to be settled.
Then the conversation became more personal.
This was when Miss Prim moved her chair closer to the vet’s and, with the memory of the Man in the Wing Chair’s behavior still painfully vivid in her mind, prepared to deploy all her charm.
“I adore animals,” she said with her most beguiling smile.
The target of this remark grinned back at her and was about to respond pleasantly when Judge Bassett’s deep voice interrupted.
“That must be because you’ve never been on a farm. I wager you’ve never seen a cow give birth. Ask him, ask our vet if it’s pleasant sticking your arm up to the shoulder inside a cow’s private parts. Tell me, my dear, have you ever had occasion to see a cow calving?”
Miss Prim straightened her back and squared her jaw.
“Of course not, but my understanding is that you can love animals without having witnessed such a spectacle.”