Maxim would not recognise me.
I went through the whole thing as I was sitting at lunch, I could see the crowd of local people clustering round the churchyard at the funeral, and myself leaning on Frank's arm.
It was so real to me that I could scarcely eat any lunch, and I kept straining my ears to hear the telephone should it ring.
I sat out in the garden under the chestnut tree in the afternoon, with a book on my lap, but I scarcely read at all.
When I saw Robert come across the lawn I knew it was the telephone and I felt physically sick.
'A message from the club, Madam, to say Mr de Winter arrived ten minutes ago.'
I shut up my book.
'Thank you, Robert.
How quickly he got up.'
'Yes, Madam. A very good run.'
'Did he ask to speak to me, or leave any special message?'
'No, Madam.
Just that he had arrived safely.
It was the porter speaking.'
'All right, Robert.
Thanks very much.'
The relief was tremendous.
I did not feel sick any more.
The pain had gone.
It was like coming ashore after a channel crossing.
I began to feel rather hungry, and when Robert had gone back into the house I crept into the dining-room through the long window and stole some biscuits from the sideboard.
I had six of them.
Bath Olivers.
And then an apple as well.
I had no idea I was so empty.
I went and ate them in the woods, in case one of the servants should see me on the lawn from the windows, and then go and tell the cook that they did not think Mrs de Winter cared for the food prepared in the kitchen, as they had just seen her filling herself with fruit and biscuits.
The cook would be offended, and perhaps go to Mrs Danvers Now that Maxim was safe in London, and I had eaten my biscuits, I felt very well and curiously happy.
I was aware of a sense of freedom, as though I had no responsibilities at all.
It was rather like a Saturday when one was a child.
No lessons, and no prep.
One could do as one liked.
One put on an old skirt and a pair of sand-shoes and played Hares and Hounds on the common with the children who lived next door.
I had just the same feeling.
I had not felt like this all the time I had been at Manderley.
It must be because Maxim had gone to London.
I was rather shocked at myself.
I could not understand it at all.
I had not wanted him to go.
And now this lightness of heart, this spring in my step, this childish feeling that I wanted to run across the lawn, and roll down the bank.
I wiped the biscuit crumbs from my mouth and called to Jasper.
Perhaps I was just feeling like this because it was a lovely day…
We went through the Happy Valley to the little cove.
The azaleas were finished now, the petals lay brown and crinkled on the moss.
The bluebells had not faded yet, they made a solid carpet in the woods above the valley, and the young bracken was shooting up, curling and green.
The moss smelt rich and deep, and the bluebells were earthy, bitter.
I lay down in the long grass beside the bluebells with my hands behind my head, and Jasper at my side.
He looked down at me panting, his face foolish, saliva dripping from his tongue and his heavy jowl.
There were pigeons somewhere in the trees above.
It was very peaceful and quiet.
I wondered why it was that places are so much lovelier when one is alone.