The Bond by Neith Boyce

Author:Neith Boyce
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2015-10-23T20:57:55+00:00

IX

THE PORTRAIT WAS BEGUN; AND Isabel, having carried her point, became for a time extraordinarily sweet and docile. Three sittings a week having been conceded, she made no other demands on Basil’s time, which he wished to devote, outside of work, to his wife. He made great efforts to divert Teresa, to induce her to go out, to make her take care of her health, which was re-established very slowly. She recognised his care of her gratefully, though almost dumbly, and tried at times to meet his wish, but an overwhelming lassitude of mind and body left her no energy of will. She wanted nothing except absolute peace and quiet, and Basil’s keen desire that she should begin to live again interfered with her recovery. She began to feel that she should not get strong till she got away by herself, and at last expressed a wish to go at once to Europe. This was in March; but the dangers of the winter crossing for herself and Ronald, and her own physical weakness resulted in a joint veto of Basil and the doctor; and Teresa yielded passively. She lived on, therefore, in the apartment, seeing as few people as she could manage, not going out unless she was forced; disarming Basil’s impatience at her persistent negation by her extreme gentleness. She ceased to talk about the dead baby to him, because she saw he thought her morbid. Sometimes she thought that Gerald Dallas would have understood her, but there was no one else. Everyone else tried to amuse her. Fairfax came a few times to see her, but the great change in her, and her evident lack of interest in him, discouraged his visits. There was only Major Ransome whom she was really willing to see. The Major’s whole-souled acceptance of woman, as a weak creature who must be coddled and indulged in her unreasonableness—rather amusing, in view of the two strong-willed women who had married him—somewhat comforted Teresa. But after all the Major bored her. She did not want him or anyone else, not even for the tiny Ronald, whose extreme vitality made him a too exact copy of Basil. Basil was not too cheerful at this time, but he tried to be. His intensely positive nature made him unwilling to accept grief as Teresa did. He wanted to forget their misfortune, to find again their joy in life, and to supply it meantime by interests which seemed to Teresa factitious and feverish. He was working hard himself, and as a last resort he tried to get Teresa to think of her work again. But her first essay with the clay discouraged him. She modelled in secret, only showing it to him when it was done, a little statuette of the dead baby, as he lived in her thoughts: a tiny naked creature lying with relaxed limbs, its heavy-eyed, deep-lined face expressing all the pathos of life manqué. At Basil’s almost weeping protest Teresa silently put away the little image, and did not touch her clay again.

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