Chapter 4
Miss Prim worked her way diligently through the list of people she had to visit before she left.
She knew that news of her departure would spread quickly around the village, and she didn’t want her friends to find out from anyone but her.
As she walked through San Ireneo to Horacio Delàs’s house, she recalled the day of her arrival.
She’d hurried through these streets, annoyed that she couldn’t find a taxi, and hardly noticed the austere beauty of the stone houses or the charm of the cheerful, neat shops.
She’d been completely oblivious—she of all people, who so loved beauty—of the beating heart behind these walls.
A week had passed since she’d discovered her mistake about her employer’s feelings, and the pain had been replaced by a serene inner sadness.
It was more than disappointment in love—Miss Prim rebelled inwardly at the thought of succumbing to such a sickness of the soul—it was the prospect of having to leave this delightful place, its quirky people, the way of life.
She didn’t want to go, she admitted to herself as she crossed the village, she really didn’t. But what was the alternative?
“I remember when you arrived, so young and inexperienced and knowing nothing about the place.”
Having offered his guest a seat, Horacio settled himself in the old armchair from which he cast his kindly, measured, intellectual gaze upon the world and shot her a searching look.
Miss Prim cleared her throat before replying.
“It was only six months ago, Horacio. I hope I’m still almost as young.”
Smiling, her friend poured her a glass of wine and cut her some cheese with an enormous knife.
“But now you know so much more about us.”
She nodded, raising the wineglass to her lips.
“And yet you’re leaving us,” he continued. “Was that conversation really so difficult? Could you not turn the page and stay?”
Miss Prim looked at him sorrowfully. She had asked herself the same question every day since the night she had spoken to the Man in the Wing Chair. Couldn’t she carry on as before? Ignore it all, pretend it had never happened, simply continue with her job?
“I can’t,” she said.
“Are you really so much in love with him?”
She hopped up and went to straighten one of the pictures that lined the sitting room walls.
“I don’t know,” she said, resuming her seat. “I mean, it probably isn’t love, it may just be infatuation. But it isn’t really that. As least, not only that.”
“So,” he asked, “what else is it?”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know how to explain. It isn’t always easy to know what one feels, Horacio. There are submerged currents colliding, then combining and merging.”
“Skeins,” murmured her friend.
“Skeins?”
“Yes, that’s right. Like we used to help our mothers or grandmothers unravel as children. Of course it’s not easy to know what one feels, Prudencia, especially when the feelings are intense, if not contradictory. Human nature is complex.”
Prudencia accepted another piece of cheese.
“In a way,” she confessed, “I think I’m angry with him.”
“That’s quite normal,” replied her friend. “Pride is one of the big tangles in the skein.”
“I’m not proud,” she protested, discomfited at being compared to a tangle of wool.
“Of course you’re not, my dear. But what about self-esteem?”
She weighed the question.
“Possibly,” she admitted.
Horacio smiled to himself and started paring the rind from the cheese.
“Let’s call it self-esteem, then. You felt rejected and, quite understandably, it was painful. Though, unless I’m much mistaken, you weren’t actually rejected, were you?”
“That’s true,” she said, momentarily encouraged.
“But, even so, you’re sure he doesn’t have feelings for you, are you?”
Again, she reflected before replying. Outside, through the windows, a low gray sky hung over the village.
“I can’t say with absolute certainty,” she sighed.
“But I can say that even if those feelings exist, he’d never allow them to become anything deeper.
I’ve found out that there’s a much more powerful reason for it than I could have imagined.
A reason so powerful that it’s not just something that is related to him, but is a part of his very being.
Do you see? He may feel attracted to me, Horacio, or he may not.
But even if he did, he wouldn’t let it go any further.
And he’d probably be right, because it might not work. ”
“Reason and will,” murmured her friend. “You can’t understand that, can you? You’re all emotion.”
Miss Prim shifted in her armchair. She didn’t want to talk about reason and emotion, she didn’t wish to be accused of sentimentality again, and she definitely didn’t intend to embark on another long and tedious discussion of the matter.
As if he’d guessed what she was thinking, Horacio asked: “Have you ever wondered what would have happened if things had turned out as you’d hoped? If he had fallen in love with you?”
She admitted that she hadn’t given it much thought.
“You’d probably have embarked on a relationship that would have ended in marriage much sooner than you expected.”
Miss Prim half closed her eyes, determined to picture such a scene.
“And . . . ?” she asked, seemingly pleased with what she’d glimpsed.
“And? My dear Prudencia, marrying a man like him would mean being radically married.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean being truly married, married till death do you part. Divorce would not be an option, my dear; that’s what I mean.”
Absently, she took another sip of wine. She’d always found the thought of being loved until death rather moving, but also deeply troubling and, to be honest, it made her feel a little dizzy.
“Fine,” she said guardedly, “divorce would be out of the question, for him. But if it didn’t go well, nothing would prevent my divorcing him, would it?”
“True,” said her friend. “It wouldn’t. But you’re an honest person.
Would you think it right to enter into such a marriage knowing that you weren’t as fully and utterly committed to it as he was?
Wouldn’t you feel bad knowing that there was this difference between you?
Would you be able to look him in the eye knowing that if the marriage hit the rocks, you’d jump ship while he would stay on deck? ”
Miss Prim, who’d never contemplated such a possibility, had to admit that she would indeed feel bad.
“And another thing, Prudencia. Could you live with the knowledge that, despite your divorce, there was someone who would, his whole life, until his very last breath, consider himself married to you?”
At the same time attracted and frightened by the awesome beauty of this image, she accepted that such a point of view was valid.
“In any case,” she said wistfully, “it would never have come to that. I know him well enough to be sure that he wouldn’t have consented to a civil wedding, so really I wouldn’t even have had the option.
I could leave him, of course, but would that change anything?
I’d always feel tied to him, because I’d know that he’d always consider himself joined to me. ”
Horacio smiled as he took a cigar from his breast pocket.
“Do you mind if I smoke, my dear?”
Calling upon her unwavering sense of what was polite, Miss Prim assured him that she didn’t mind in the least.
“I’ve never understood why people enjoy cigars,” she said pleasantly. “They have such a strong smell. Why don’t you smoke a pipe? It’s very dashing, and smells so much better.”
Her host lit the cigar and drew on it deeply, peering at his guest through the smoke.
“Because a pipe requires commitment, Prudencia. A pipe requires perseverance, loyalty, and commitment. In a way, and to make it quite clear, the cigar is to romance what the pipe is to marriage.”
The librarian laughed, regarding him with affection.
“And now what?” he asked suddenly. “Where will you go?”
“To Italy, I’ve told you.”
“So you’re going through with it? I thought you were just saying that. Surely you don’t believe all that nonsense about needing to live in Italy to round off your education?”
A little queasy from the cigar smoke but determined not to let it show, Miss Prim seemed for a moment to be lost in thought.
“No, I don’t believe it,” she said at last. “I’m not going there for my education, Horacio. I’m looking for fulfillment. I’m looking for beauty and perfection.”
“I see. And you think you’ll find that in Italy?”
She stood up again and went to the window. The garden was covered in a thick blanket of snow. The branches of the ancient trees stood out against it like hard, dark charcoal strokes.
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I realize that what I’m looking for may not exist, that I may never find it. But, having said that, is there anywhere in the world as full of beauty as Italy?”
Suddenly aware of his guest’s growing pallor, Horacio extinguished his cigar and looked at her fondly.
“I want you to know how much I’ve come to value your friendship, my dear. I’ll miss you with all my heart.”
Touched, Miss Prim went to her friend and, perching on the arm of his chair, took his hand in hers.
“I’d never have fitted in here if it hadn’t been for you. I wouldn’t have understood the little I’ve understood without your help, your gentlemanliness, and your company. I’m more grateful than I could ever express, Horacio.”
“Nonsense,” he replied, trying to conceal his emotion by tightly squeezing her hand.
And, after a long silence, he added tenderly: “Will you ever come back?”
She too was quiet for a moment before answering.
“I wish I knew, Horacio. I wish it was possible to know.”
Hortensia Oeillet was making up a colorful bouquet of peonies and roses when she glimpsed Miss Prim through her shop window.
Delighted, she smiled to herself, quickly hid the flowers behind the counter, and rushed out to the back to put the kettle on.
She was just bringing out a carrot cake from the pantry when she heard the tinkling of the bell above the door.