Chapter 2
It can’t be, murmured Miss Prim under her breath as she hurried away from Hortensia Oeillet’s house.
The afternoon had ended unpleasantly. It was obvious that all the women, except old Lulu Thiberville, pitied her.
It was also obvious that they believed Herminia’s story implicitly.
But she herself did not. She refused to accept that an intelligent, erudite man could permit his ideas to drive him away from the woman he loved.
But as she trudged through the snow, it dawned on her that she had a more pressing problem.
How was she going to get back to the house in this weather?
Her hostess had entreated her to call someone to pick her up, but Miss Prim had expressed her determination not to.
Now she saw that she’d been foolish. She should have waited for Lulu Thiberville’s gardener, who was due to collect the old lady at eight.
She felt humiliated by Herminia’s revelation.
It had been an unexpected confidence and in unaccountably poor taste.
Miss Prim firmly believed that certain things in life should never be revealed.
But in the event that it was necessary, wasn’t a private chat the best way?
Wouldn’t her visit to the newspaper office have been a more appropriate time and place for the disclosure?
Miss Prim had no doubts on the matter, or on the part her hostess should have played.
Shouldn’t Hortensia have warned her, suggested she talk with Herminia in private?
Miss Prim was convinced this would have been the proper course of action.
The whole business was ridiculous, she reflected as she struggled across the road.
She couldn’t believe that her employer had ever behaved so despicably.
He had never shown her any hostility over differences in belief.
He had never given the slightest hint that this might be a problem.
Though officially their relationship remained that of employer and employee, unofficially it had gone much further.
The discussions and conversations, confidences and debates, all went beyond the boundaries of a contract of employment.
And in all this time she’d never had any sense that he despised her or looked down on her because she didn’t share his religious beliefs.
Perhaps Herminia had been deceiving herself, she thought as she tried to shield herself from an icy gust of wind.
Herminia was a refined, intelligent, sensitive woman but that was no defense against self-deception.
Miss Prim had a theory about self-deception: the female sex seemed particularly and cruelly vulnerable to it.
It wasn’t that men didn’t fall prey to this psychological mechanism, but in them its workings were much more superficial and considerably less elaborate.
Self-deception in women, she mused as she tried not to slip on the sloping path, was a weapon of immense power and subtlety.
Like a sea monster with enormous tentacles that stretched out over the years, poisoning not only its victim but many of those close to her.
Miss Prim herself could testify to it; she had experienced the process at first-hand.
She’d seen the monster emerge from the depths of her mother’s mind and watched it wrap itself like a giant squid around her father’s life.
“Isn’t this an odd day to go rambling, my imprudent Prudencia?”
The librarian valued Horacio Delàs’s friendship, but she’d never realized quite how much until that evening.
“Horacio, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!”
Her friend laughed loudly and offered her his arm.
“I don’t usually take a stroll on evenings like this but Hortensia called me. She was worried you might be lying in a ditch by now.”
Miss Prim smiled with relief.
“It was very stupid of me.”
“And from what I hear, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”
“No,” she replied, lowering her head.
“Come now, cheer up, my dear. I can offer you a good fire and a hot meal. You know I don’t drive, so I can’t include a lift home afterward, but we can call the house and they can send the gardener to pick you up after dinner. For now you need to get warm, rest, and eat.”
Obediently, she let her friend guide her down the street to his house.
He opened the gate to his large garden full of camellias, and steered his guest up the path to the stone house.
Like the rest of San Ireneo, its windows were all lit up, as if inviting passersby to stop and visit.
After tidying herself up, changing out of her boots into a pair of old slippers several sizes too big for her and eating an excellent dinner accompanied by a very good wine, Miss Prim was offered an armchair by the fire and a cup of tea.
“This is heaven, Horacio. I’m so comfortable, I could stay all night.”
Savoring a glass of whiskey, her host beamed with pleasure.
“You’d be very welcome, but I don’t think your employer would be too happy. He’s sending someone for you in an hour.”
“No, I don’t think he would be,” she replied, laughing. “How is it that everyone here is such a good host—always coming up with delicious sweets, cakes, and roast meats, a warm fire and good company?”
“Civilized pleasures from an earlier era, Prudencia.”
“I suppose so,” she sighed, slipping off the enormous slippers and moving her bare feet closer to the fire. Its crackling was the only sound in the room.
Outside the windows snow was still falling, muffling the few sounds that came from the village at that late hour. Miss Prim stared into the flames. She was starting to gauge the true significance of all she had thought, said, and heard during the day. And the conclusion did not please her.
“I think I did something very silly today,” she said, almost to herself.
“You mean trying to walk back? It all turned out all right in the end. It’s not worth worrying about.”
“I mean, confessing publicly that I’m attracted to the man I work for, when I’m not sure if it’s true.”
The librarian thought her host hadn’t heard, but then realized he had.
“I’ve been foolish, haven’t I?”
Horacio poured himself another couple of fingers of whiskey before replying.
“Naturally, I wouldn’t say foolish. A little rash, maybe.”
His guest smiled, eyes fixed on the fire.
“You’re so unlike him! He wouldn’t have shown me any mercy.”
“Of course he would, Prudencia, don’t be so hard on him. I know him—he’d never hurt you deliberately.”
“Is that a warning?” she asked stiffly.
“Not at all. Of course not. I don’t know what his feelings are, my dear; I can’t tell you whether he feels anything more for you than friendship or interest. But didn’t you just say yourself that you’re no longer sure if you feel the attraction you’ve mentioned?”
She averted her gaze.
“I see,” said her friend. “In that case, I’m afraid you’ll have to find out if your feelings are reciprocated.”
“Or whether any obstacle stands in the way of their being reciprocated.”
“Now I don’t follow you,” he said, looking at her with curiosity.
Briefly, Miss Prim recounted the events of the extraordinary conclave.
“Could it be true? And if it were, wouldn’t it be bigoted and fanatical? Could it be possible? You know him.”
“I do, but not so well as that, my dear. I’m afraid the only way of finding out is to ask him.”
“Ask him? Oh no, it would be the same as admitting my feelings. It’s out of the question.”
“Not so fast, Prudencia. Didn’t you say this was the reason he split up with Herminia?”
She nodded.
“Well, it’s Herminia you must mention, not yourself. It’s his relationship with her you’ve got to talk about. That’s the first step, and I think you should talk to him as soon as possible. You know I wish you all the luck in the world.”
Miss Prim remained lost in thought for a few moments before drawing her feet away from the fire and pulling her long socks and boots back on. She looked at her host solemnly.
“You have a wonderfully feminine mind, Horacio. No, don’t object, please. I know you don’t consider it a compliment. But I do. I consider it a great compliment.”
Before her friend could say anything, the doorbell rang. The gardener had arrived and the evening was at an end.
Miss Prim slept badly that night. How could she have been so impulsive?
Confessing at last that she cared for her employer had brought no relief.
Instead, she felt terribly agitated. Putting her feelings into words seemed to have magnified them excessively.
The women of San Ireneo de Arnois, though well intentioned, had interpreted them as a declaration of love, almost a marriage proposal.
Why else would an old lady like Lulu Thiberville have explained the principles of a successful union?
Prudencia was worried that the ladies of San Ireneo would now start working on marrying her off to the Man in the Wing Chair.
Had nobody ever told them that not all attractions between men and women led to a relationship?
Did they not know by now that not all relationships ended in marriage?
Miss Prim’s views on marital union had grown more moderate with time, but that didn’t mean she was a wholehearted supporter of it.
And there were other factors to consider.
What if her employer found out about the conclave at Hortensia’s?
What if she was simply wrong and he had not the slightest interest in her?
Overwhelmed by these worries, she jumped out of bed, put on a coat over her dressing gown, and crept quietly out of her room.
The house was completely still. She crossed the landing, tiptoeing past the children’s bedrooms, and went downstairs to the large hall on the ground floor.
The front door was unlocked, as was the custom in San Ireneo.
Locked doors were considered a snub to one’s neighbors.