Beatrice's grandmother was sitting there, propped up with pillows and surrounded by shawls.
When we came close to her I saw that she had a strong, rather uncanny, resemblance to Maxim.
That was what Maxim would look like, if he was very old, if he was blind.
The nurse by her side got up from her chair and put a mark in the book she was reading aloud.
She smiled at Beatrice.
'How are you, Mrs Lacy?' she said.
Beatrice shook hands with her and introduced me.
'The old lady looks all right,' she said.
'I don't know how she does it, at eighty-six. Here we are, Gran,' she said, raising her voice, 'arrived safe and sound.'
The grandmother looked in our direction.
'Dear Bee,' she said, 'how sweet of you to come and visit me.
We're so dull here, nothing for you to do.'
Beatrice leant over her and kissed her.
'I've brought Maxim's wife over to see you,' she said, 'she wanted to come and see you before, but she and Maxim have been so busy.'
Beatrice prodded me in the back.
'Kiss her,' she murmured.
I too bent down and kissed her on the cheek.
The grandmother touched my face with her fingers.
'You nice thing,' she said, 'so good of you to come.
I'm very pleased to see you, dear.
You ought to have brought Maxim with you.'
'Maxim is in London,' I said, 'he's coming back tonight.'
'You might bring him next time,' she said.
'Sit down, dear, in this chair, where I can see you.
And Bee, come the other side.
How is dear Roger?
He's a naughty boy, he doesn't come and see me.'
'He shall come during August,' shouted Beatrice; 'he's leaving Eton, you know, he's going up to Oxford.'
'Oh, dear, he'll be quite a young man, I shan't know him.'
'He's taller than Giles now,' said Beatrice.
She went on, telling her about Giles, and Roger, and the horses, and the dogs.
The nurse brought out some knitting, and clicked her needles sharply.
She turned to me, very bright, very cheerful.
'How are you liking Manderley, Mrs de Winter?'
'Very much, thank you,' I said.
'It's a beautiful spot, isn't it?' she said, the needles jabbing one another.
'Of course we don't get over there now, she's not up to it.
I am sorry, I used to love our days at Manderley.'
'You must come over yourself some time,' I said.
"Thank you, I should love to.
Mr de Winter is well, I suppose?'
'Yes, very well.'
'You spent your honeymoon in Italy, didn't you?
We were so pleased with the picture postcard Mr de Winter sent.'
I wondered whether she used 'we' in the royal sense, or if she meant that Maxim's grandmother and herself were one.
'Did he send one?
I can't remember.'
'Oh, yes, it was quite an excitement.
We love anything like that.
We keep a scrapbook you know, and paste anything to do with the family inside it.