Peking Picnic by Ann Bridge

Author:Ann Bridge [Ann Bridge]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781907970603
Publisher: Daunt Books
Published: 2015-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

he declaimed as he came up to her. ‘Do you know that?’ he went on, after a glance at her face. ‘I always think it stamps Kate Greenaway as one of our better poets. You remember how it goes on?

Oh, the night is come, but I can’t go down,

For the bells ring strangely in London Town.

There’s a marvellous sense of mystery in that. You put me in mind of Margery Brown when I saw you standing here.’

Laura smiled. In spite of her natural irritation at being found in tears (which would have been even greater if she had known that it was for the second time) Vinstead brought her a curious feeling of relief; she had a sudden sense that in a way he rather combined her two worlds, bringing the ‘home-side’ fashion of easy intercourse out on to this Chinese hill.

‘I think I was really listening to the bells of London Town,’ she said, falling in with his whim.

‘You looked as though you were listening to something. You very often do, do you know? I have noticed you several times; you look as though you were hearing something a long way off, and were quite unaware of us all about you. Is it always the bells of London Town you are listening to?’ he asked her, as they strolled back along the saddle towards the ridge. ‘Are you very homesick?’

The simple question, the direct tone of kindness, increased Laura’s sense of comfort.

‘It isn’t really homesickness,’ she said; ‘it’s being one person in two lives. You see I go home fairly often – the children are there.’ He noticed that her voice sank a tone or two on the last words. ‘So I can’t really settle down in this life, though I love it in a way – and of course I can’t settle down in the other, because I live mostly in this one. So I am in two halves all the time.’ It sounded extraordinarily lame and foolish to her as she said it, and she wished she hadn’t tried – she felt suddenly tired, and more than ever inclined to cry.

‘Did you have anything to eat before you came out?’ Vinstead asked abruptly.

‘No.’

‘Well, have some chocolate now.’ He produced some from his pocket. ‘Let’s sit on this rock.’ They sat. ‘Your admirable servant brought me some tea when he saw me stirring,’ he went on. ‘Why didn’t you have some?’

‘I came out at six,’ said Mrs Leroy.

‘Good heavens! It’s eight o’clock now. You must be fainting. I wish you would tell me more about your inhalfness,’ he went on, as he plied her with chocolate. ‘I think I can understand it. It struck me as I walked out this morning that the mere physical and visual strangeness of all one’s surroundings out here, though it is stimulating, must in a way put an unconscious strain on Europeans who are sensitive to such things. And most of us are sensitive to them to some extent. Do you feel

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