We dined there, too, one winter.
Yes, she was a very lovely creature.
So full of life.'
'She seems to have been so good at everything too,' I said, my voice just careless enough to show I did not mind, while I played with the fringe of my glove.
'It's not often you get someone who is clever and beautiful and fond of sport.'
'No, I suppose you don't,' said the bishop's wife. 'She was certainly very gifted.
I can see her now, standing at the foot of the stairs on the night of the ball, shaking hands with everybody, that cloud of dark hair against the very white skin, and her costume suited her so.
Yes, she was very beautiful.'
'She ran the house herself, too,' I said, smiling, as if to say,
'I am quite at my ease, I often discuss her.' 'It must have taken a lot of time and thought.
I'm afraid I leave it to the housekeeper.'
'Oh, well, we can't all do everything.
And you are very young, aren't you?
No doubt in time, when you have settled down. Besides, you have your own hobby, haven't you?
Someone told me you were fond of sketching.'
'Oh, that,' I said.
'I don't know that I can count it for much.'
'It's a nice little talent to have,' said the bishop's wife; 'it's not everyone that can sketch.
You must not drop it.
Manderley must be full of pretty spots to sketch.'
'Yes,' I said. 'Yes, I suppose so,' depressed by her words, having a sudden vision of myself wandering across the lawns with a camp-stool and a box of pencils under one arm, and my 'little talent' as she described it, under the other.
It sounded like a pet disease.
'Do you play any games?
Do you ride, or shoot?' she asked.
'No,' I said, 'I don't do anything like that.
I'm fond of walking,' I added, as a wretched anticlimax.
"The best exercise in the world,' she said briskly; 'the bishop and I walk a lot.'
I wondered if he went round and round the cathedral, in his shovel hat and his gaiters, with her on his arm.
She began to talk about a walking holiday they had taken once, years ago, in the Pennines, how they had done an average of twenty miles a day, and I nodded my head, smiling politely, wondering about the Pennines, thinking they were something like the Andes, remembering, afterwards, they were that chain of hills marked with a furry line in the middle of a pink England on my school atlas.
And he all the time in his hat and gaiters.
The inevitable pause, the glance at the watch unnecessary, as her drawing-room clock chimed four in shrill tones, and my rise from the chair.
'I'm so glad I found you in.
I hope you will come and see us.'
'We should love to.
The bishop is always so busy, alas.
Please remember me to your husband, and be sure to ask him to revive the ball.'
'Yes, indeed I will.' Lying, pretending I knew all about it; and in the car going home I sat in my corner, biting my thumb nail, seeing the great hall at Manderley thronged with people in fancy dress, the chatter, hum, and laughter of the moving crowd, the musicians in the gallery, supper in the drawing-room probably, long buffet tables against the wall, and I could see Maxim standing at the front of the stairs, laughing, shaking hands, turning to someone who stood by his side, tall and slim, with dark hair, said the bishop's wife, dark hair against a white face, someone whose quick eyes saw to the comfort of her guests, who gave an order over her shoulder to a servant, someone who was never awkward, never without grace, who when she danced left a stab of perfume in the air like a white azalea.
'Will you be entertaining much at Manderley, Mrs de Winter?'
I heard the voice again, suggestive, rather inquisitive, in the voice of that woman I had called upon who lived the other side of Kerrith, and I saw her eye too, dubious, considering, taking in my clothes from top to toe, wondering, with that swift downward glance given to all brides, if I was going to have a baby.
I did not want to see her again.
I did not want to see any of them again.
They only came to call at Manderley because they were curious and prying.
They liked to criticise my looks, my manners, my figure, they liked to watch how Maxim and I behaved to each other, whether we seemed fond of one another, so that they could go back afterwards and discuss us, saying,
'Very different from the old days.'
They came because they wanted to compare me to Rebecca… I would not return these calls any more, I decided. I should tell Maxim so.
I did not mind if they thought me rude and ungracious.
It would give them more to criticise, more to discuss.
They could say I was ill-bred.
'I'm not surprised,' they would say; 'after all, who was she?'
And then a laugh and a shrug of the shoulder.