Chapter 4 Four

Just me and Alroy.Two or three days after Keel had lunch together, I received an unexpected call from Edward.A letter from Driffield's widow reads as follows: Dear friends: I hear you had a long talk with Roy last week about Edward.Driffield.I am very pleased to learn that you hold him in high esteem.He used to talk to me about you and marvel at your talents, so he was very glad to see you when you came to lunch with us.I don't know if you have any of his previous letters to you.If there are any letters, may I make a copy.I would be very happy if you would agree to come and stay with me for two or three days.Now my house is very quiet, and there are no other people, please choose a time that suits you and come here.I would love to see you again and talk to you about the old days.I have one particular thing I would like your help with.I am sure you will not refuse for my dear dead husband.

Amy.Sincerely, Driffield I have only seen Mrs. Driffield once, and am not very interested in her.I don't like being called my dear friend; that alone is enough to make me decline her invitation, and the general nature of the invitation irritates me so much that no matter what ingenious excuse I can come up with for refusing , my reason for not being invited was always obvious, that is, I did not want to see her.I don't have Driffield's letter in my hand.About many years ago, he wrote to me several times, all in a few words, but at that time he was still an unknown little writer, even if I had saved letters from others, I would never think of saving his letters.How did I know that he would later be hailed as the greatest novelist of our time?I did not reply immediately to refuse, but only because Mrs. Driffield wrote that she asked for my help.Of course I hate doing things for her, but if it's something I can do and I don't want to do it, it'd be grumpy.In any case, her husband was always a very prominent figure.

The letter came with the first mail and I called Roy after breakfast.As soon as I gave my name, Roy's secretary immediately transferred the call to him.If I were writing a denunciation story, I would immediately suspect that Roy was waiting for my call, and Roy's powerful voice greeted me on the phone more than confirmed my suspicion.No one's voice is naturally so cheerful when they get a call in the early morning. Hope I didn't wake you up.I said. God, no.His hearty laughter came from the other end of the phone. I got up at seven o'clock. I just rode a horse in the park and now I am preparing for breakfast.Come and eat with me.

I like you very much, Roy, I replied, but I don't think you're the kind of person I'd like to have breakfast with.Besides, I've already eaten.Well, I have just had a letter from Mrs. Driffield asking me to come and stay with her for a few days. Yes, she told me she wanted to invite you.We can go together.She has a nice grass tennis court and she is very hospitable.I think you'll like it. What does she want me to do? Oh, that's what she probably wants to tell you herself. Roy had a soft voice, which I imagined he would use if he were telling a soon-to-be father that his wife would soon grant his wishes.But the tone doesn't work for me at all.

Don't talk nonsense, Roy, I said, I'm a man of the world, don't try to hide it from me.Let's just say it out loud. There was silence on the other end of the phone for a while.I don't think Roy likes the words I just used. Are you busy this morning?He suddenly asked, I want to see you. Well, you come.I don't go out until one o'clock. I'll be there in about an hour. I put the phone back, lit my pipe again, and glanced at Mrs. Driffield's letter again. I remember very well the lunch she mentioned.I happened to be spending a long weekend at the house of a Mrs Hodmarsh near Turcanbury.Mrs. Holdermarsh was a smart, pretty American woman, and her husband was a shallow, unmannered, sports-loving baronet.Perhaps as a reprieve from the dreary home life, she was in the habit of entertaining people from the artistic world at home.Her social gatherings were attended by all kinds of people, and the atmosphere was very happy.Aristocrats and gentlemen mingled with painters, writers, and actors with wonder and awe.Mrs. Holdermarsh neither read the books nor looked at the pictures painted by the guests of her hospitality, but she loved their company, and took pride in the feeling that she knew art.On one occasion of my visit to her house, a moment of conversation happened to mention her famous neighbor Edward.Driffield.I mentioned that I knew him well once in the past, and the lady at once proposed that we dine with him at Driffield's on Monday noon, when some of her guests were going back to London.I have some misgivings, because I haven't seen Driffield for thirty-five years, and I don't believe he remembers me; How happy it will be.But there was present a young nobleman called Lord Scalion, who was so fond of literature that he did not govern the country as the laws of man and nature dictated, but devoted all his energies to Write reprimand novels.He longed with great curiosity to see Driffield.Mrs. Holdermarsh had just made her suggestion, and he said at once that it was wonderful.The hostess of the party was a tall, fat, young duchess, who seemed to admire the famous author so much that she was going to skip an appointment she had in London on Monday and put it off until the afternoon. go back.

Then there are four of us.Mrs. Holdermarsh said, I don't think they could accommodate any number of people.I'll send a telegram to Mrs. Driffield at once. I could not imagine myself going to Driffield with so many people, and I did my best to discourage her plans. It just bored him as hell.I said he must have disliked the intrusion of such a large number of strangers to meet him.He is very old. So if people want to meet him, they better go now.He won't live long.Mrs. Driffield said he liked seeing company.They rarely see anyone but doctors and priests, and our visits can make a difference in their lives.Mrs. Driffield said I could take some interesting people over to their house anytime.Of course, she had to be very careful.He is pestered by all kinds of people who just want to meet him out of idle curiosity; he's also pestered by interview reporters and writers who want him to look at their work, and stupid, hysterical women .But Mrs. Driffield was wonderful.She only lets him meet with people she thinks he should.I figured if he'd met everyone who wanted to see him, within a week he'd be done.Mrs. Driffield had to consider his energy.Of course we are different.

Of course I think I am different from those people, but I looked at the other people who were going to see him, and I found that the Duchess and Lord Scalion also thought they were different, so it seems better not to What more. We set out to visit Driffield in a bright yellow Rolls.The Fern house is three miles from the town of Black Tavern.I think it was a stucco house built about 1840. It is simple and unadorned, but it is very solid. The front and back of the house are exactly the same, with a flat center and two large There are round belly windows, the front door is in the middle, and there are two large round belly windows on the second floor.The low roof was shaded by a bare parapet.Surrounding the house was a garden of about an acre, wooded but well kept.A pleasant view of a green slope and trees can be seen from the living room window.The drawing-room was furnished exactly as you felt it should be in the drawing-room of every modest country house, which was a little confusing.The comfortable chairs and the large sofa were covered with brightly colored covers of clean chintz, and the curtains were of the same chintz.On small Chippendale tables were large oriental bowls of potpourri.On the cream-coloured walls hang several delightful watercolors by some of the leading painters of the turn of the century.There are also large clusters of flowers beautifully arranged.In silver frames on the grand piano are photographs of famous actresses, late authors and minor members of the royal family.

[Note] Potpourri: refers to the mixture of dried flower petals and spices placed in jars, bowls and other containers, which can emit fragrance. No wonder the Duchess exclaimed as soon as she entered that the drawing room was so comfortable.Such a drawing room was just the right place for a famous writer to spend his final years.Mrs. Driffield received us with dignity and confidence.I estimate her to be about forty-five years old, with a small sallow face, well-proportioned, well-defined features, a black bell-shaped hat tightly buttoned on her head, and a gray blouse and skirt.She was thin, neither tall nor short, and looked neat, capable, and alert.She looked rather like the widowed daughter of a country gentleman, who managed the parish affairs for her father, and possessed a peculiar talent for organization.As we were shown into the drawing-room, a priest and a lady rose, and Mrs. Driffield made us an introduction.It turned out that they were the pastor and his wife of Heishan Town.Mrs. Holdmarsh and the Duchess put on an air of geniality and condescension; the gesture which respectable persons always make when they meet their inferiors, to show that they were never aware of the difference between them. difference in status.

Subsequently, Edward.Driffield walked into the living room.I saw his picture from time to time in pictorials, but seeing him in person, I was very surprised.He was shorter and thinner than I remembered him, with wispy silver hair barely covering the top of his head, a clean-shaven face with almost transparent skin.A pair of pale blue eyes with red rims.He looked like a very old man who might die anytime, anywhere.He wore a pair of white false teeth, which made his smile look rather forced and unnatural.When I used to see him he always had a beard, but now it's gone and his lips are thin and pale.He was wearing a good-looking new suit of blue serge, with a low neckline two or two sizes larger than he needed to show his thin, wrinkled neck.He wore a neat black tie with a pearl tiepin fastened to it.It looked a lot like a rector on a summer vacation in Switzerland in civilian clothes.

Mrs. Driffield cast a quick glance at him as he entered the drawing-room, and smiled encouragingly.She must have been pleased with his tidy appearance.He shook hands with each of the guests and exchanged pleasantries with each one.When he came up to me, he said: It's great that you, a busy man who has achieved success and fame, came all the way to see an old man like me. I was a little surprised because he spoke as if he had never seen me before.I was worried that my few friends would think I was bragging when I said I knew him well at one point.I don't know if he completely forgot about me.

I can't even remember how many years we haven't seen each other.I said it with all my heart. He probably looked at me for only a few seconds, but I felt that it seemed like a long time.Then I startled suddenly; he winked at me.His movement was so fast that no one but me could have noticed it, and it appeared so unexpectedly on this handsome old face that I couldn't believe my eyes.In an instant his face returned to its former serene expression, which revealed wise generosity and quiet insight.Then lunch is arranged.We walked into the dining room one by one. The furnishing of the dining room can only be described as a matter of the utmost elegance.On the Chippendale sideboard were silver candlesticks.We sat in Chippendale chairs and ate around a Chippendale table.In the center of the table were roses in a silver bowl, surrounded by silver saucers containing chocolates and peppermint butterscotch; and a silver salt-shaker, polished and evidently Georgian.On the cream-coloured wall hangs Peter.Sir Riley [Note: Dutch portraitist. ]; a blue Delft ceramic on the mantelpiece [Note: Ceramics from Delft in the Netherlands usually have blue patterns. 】 Decoration.Two maids in brown uniforms wait on the side.Mrs. Driffield kept talking to us, while watching the movements of the two maids.I don't know how she trained these buxom Kentish girls to be so neat (their healthy complexions and high cheekbones suggested they were native).The lunch menu was well suited to the occasion, elegant but unobtrusive.Rolled fish fillet with bechamel sauce, roast chicken with fresh potatoes and green peas, asparagus and gooseberry cold pudding.You will feel that such a dining room, such a lunch, and such a manner are just suitable for a well-known but not rich scholar. Mrs. Driffield was talkative, like most writer's wives; she did not let the conversation at her end of the table get cold, so that however much we wanted to hear what her husband had to say at the other end of the table, we could never find it. Chance.She is light-hearted and exuberant.Although Edward.Driffield's frail health and advanced age obliged her to live in the country for a greater part of the year, but she managed to visit London now and then to keep herself abreast of the times.In a few moments she and Lord Scalion were talking animatedly about the plays going on in the theaters in London and the crowding of the Royal Academy.It took her two visits to see all the paintings on display there, but even then she didn't have time to look at the watercolors in the end.She is very fond of watercolors because they are not artificial; she does not like artificial works. In order for the host and hostess to sit at either end of the table, the vicar sat by Lord Scalion's side, and the vicar's wife by the duchess.The Duchess and the Vicar's wife were talking about working-class housing, an issue she seemed much more familiar with than the Vicar's wife.At this time, I didn't have to listen to people's conversations, so I paid attention to Edward.Driffield.He was talking to Mrs. Hoddermarsh.Mrs. Holdmarsh was evidently telling him how to write a novel, and telling him which books he should really read.He seemed to listen to her with great interest out of politeness, interjecting now and then, but his voice was too soft for me to hear.When Mrs. Holdermarsh made a joke (she often made jokes in conversation, often very good-natured), he would chuckle lightly, and give her a quick look which seemed to say: The woman was not such a complete fool.Thinking of the past, I couldn't help but wonder to myself, wondering what he thought about these distinguished guests before him, about her well-dressed, capable, and housekeeping wife, and the elegant living environment in which he lived.I don't know if he regrets what happened in his early years.I wondered whether what he saw really pleased him, or whether there was a boredom behind his friendly and courteous manner which he loathed so much.Maybe he felt me ​​looking at him because he raised his eyes too.His eyes rested for a moment on my face thoughtfully, with a gentle but strange searching expression.Then suddenly he winked at me again, this time without question.Such an expression of insertness in this old, withered face not only startled me, but made me feel very embarrassed.I don't know what to do.A hesitant smile played on the corners of my mouth. But at this moment the Duchess joined the conversation across the table, and the Vicar's wife turned to me. You've known him for many years, haven't you?she asked me in a low voice. Yes. She glanced around at the other guests to see if no one was paying attention to us. His wife would very much like you not to remind him of events that might cause him pain.You know, he's very weak, and little things annoy him. I will be very careful. She took such good care of him.Her dedication is really worth learning from all of us.She understood what a precious person she was responsible for caring for.Her selfless spirit is beyond words.She lowered her voice a little more, of course, he was getting old, and old people can be a little rough sometimes.I never saw her get impatient.She's just as amazing as a caring husband's virtuous wife. It was hard to find words to answer a comment of this kind, but I had the feeling that she was waiting for my answer. All things considered, I think he looks pretty good.I muttered. That's all her fault. After lunch we went back to the drawing room; we stood there in twos and threes for two or three minutes, Edward.Driffield came up to me.I was chatting with the pastor, and for want of a better subject, I was praising the beautiful scenery outside.I turned to my master. I was saying how picturesque that little row of cottages is over there. It looks like this from here.Driffield looked at the jagged outline of the row of cottages, and a mocking smile played around his thin lips.I was born in one of those houses.Weird, right? But at this moment Mrs. Driffield approached, kindly but hastily.Her voice is light and melodious: Oh Edward, I'm sure the Duchess would love to visit your study.She will have to go soon. I'm really sorry, but I must catch the 3:18 train from Turcanbury.said the Duchess. We filed into Driffield's study.It was a large room, with an oriel window on the other side of the house, from which the view was the same as from the dining-room.This is just the kind of room a devoted wife would apparently arrange for her writing husband.The room was immaculately tidy, and the large bowls filled with fresh flowers gave it a feminine touch. All his later works were written on this desk.said Mrs. Driffield, closing a book that had been turned upside down on the table, the edi|tion deluxe of his works. ] The frontispiece of the third volume depicts this desk, a piece of antique furniture. We all admired that desk.Mrs. Holdmarsh, when she thought no one was looking, ran her fingers over the lower edge to see if it was genuine.Mrs. Driffield gave us a quick and pleasant smile. Would you like to see one of his manuscripts? That's great, said the Duchess, and I'll be on my way after reading the manuscript. Mrs. Driffield took from the shelf a stack of manuscripts bound in blue morocco leather.While the others present were reverently looking at the manuscript, I took the opportunity to glance at the books displayed on the shelves around the room.As all writers do, I glanced quickly here and there for my work, but found none.However, I saw Alroy.Keel's complete volume, and many other novels in beautiful bindings, look suspiciously as if they had never been read.I suppose that the authors of these works sent them specifically out of admiration for the genius of the literary master, and perhaps hoped to get a few words of praise from him to use in the publisher's advertisements.However, all the books are arranged very neatly and tidied up very cleanly. I think few people read them.Also on the shelf is the Oxford Dictionary, beautifully bound by Fielding and Boswell. ], Hazlitt, etc., of most of the classic English authors; and there is also a large number of books on the sea; There are also some books on gardening.This room doesn't look like a writer's studio, but a celebrity memorial.You can almost see casual tourists wandering into the room with nothing to do, and you can smell the stuffy, musty smell that is usually found in rarely visited museums.I had a vague feeling that if Driffield read anything now it was the Horticultural News or the Shipping Gazette, which I saw piled up on a table in the corner of the room. When the ladies have seen all they want to see, we take our leave of the master.Mrs. Holdermarsh, a clever and well-mannered woman, must have thought of me as an excuse for this party, and I had scarcely spoken to Edward C.Driffield exchanged a few words.As we parted at the door, she smiled at me kindly and said to Driffield: I am particularly interested to hear that you and Mr. Ashenden knew each other many years ago.Was he an obedient child then? Driffield stared at me for a moment with his cool, mocking eyes.I thought he would stick his tongue out at me if no one else was around. Very shy, he replied that I had taught him to ride a bicycle. We got into the big yellow Rolls again and left his house. He is very kind, said the Duchess, and I am so glad I went to see him today. How well behaved he is, isn't he?said Mrs Hodmarsh. You don't necessarily expect him to eat peas with a knife, do you?I asked. I wish he ate beans like that.How dramatic that would be, said Scalion. It's not easy, I think, said the Duchess. I've tried many times, but I just can't get the beans to stay on the knife. You have to tie the beans.Scalion said. Not at all, retorted the Duchess, you have to keep the beans on the blade, and the beans keep rolling. What do you think of Mrs. Driffield?Mrs. Holdmarsh asked. I see her having her part.said the Duchess. Poor man, he's getting too old, and someone has to be around to take care of him.His wife used to be a nurse in the hospital, you know? Oh, really?'I thought she used to be his secretary, typist, or something,' said the Duchess. She is still very nice.Mrs. Holdmarsh defended her friend enthusiastically. Well, it is very good. About twenty years ago, he had a serious illness, which dragged on for a long time.She was his nurse at that time, and he married her after she recovered from her illness. It was strange that men should do that.She must be much younger than her husband.How much is she unlikely to exceed?Forty or forty-five. No, I'm afraid it's more than that.Probably about forty-seven or eighteen years old.I heard that she took a lot of thought for him.I mean she took care of him so well that he could be seen.Alroy.Gere told me that before that he was almost too bohemian. Writer's wives are usually pretty nasty. It's boring having to socialize with them, isn't it? It was really unbearable.I wonder why they don't feel it at all. These poor wretches, they are often still in the hallucination that people think they are very interesting.I whispered. We got to Turcanbury, dropped the Duchess off at the railway station, and drove on.