One benefit was that he now left me scrupulously alone at night. He didn't want to damage anything, he said. I told him that was very thoughtful of him. "And you're on gin rations from now on. I won't allow any naughtiness," he said, wagging his finger at me in a way I found sinister. He was more alarming to me during his moments of levity than he was the rest of the time; it was like watching a lizard gambol.
"We'll have the very best doctor," he added. "No matter what it costs." Putting things on a commercial footing was reassuring to both of us. With money in play, I knew where I stood: I was the bearer of a very expensive package, pure and simple.
Winifred, after her first little scream of genuine fright, made an insincere fuss. Really she was alarmed. She guessed (rightly) that being the mother of a son and heir, or even just an heir, would give me more status with Richard than I'd had so far, and a good deal more than I was entitled to. More for me, and less for her. She would be on the lookout for ways to whittle me down to size: I expected her to appear any minute with detailed plans for decorating the nursery.
"When may we expect the blessed event?" she asked, and I could see I was in for a prolonged dose of coy language from her. It would now bethe new arrival anda present from the stork andthe little stranger, nonstop. Winifred could get quite elfish and finicky about subjects that made her nervous.
"In April, I think," I said. "Or March. I haven't seen a doctor yet."
"But you mustknow" she said, arching her eyebrows.
"It's not as if I've done this before," I said crossly. "It's not as if I wasexpecting it. I wasn't paying attention."
I went to Laura's room one evening to tell her the same news. I knocked at the door; when she didn't answer, I opened it softly, thinking she might be asleep. She wasn't though. She was kneeling beside her bed, in her blue nightgown, with her head down and her hair spreading as if blown by an unmoving wind, her arms flung out as if she'd been thrown there. At first I thought she must be praying, but she wasn't, or not that I could hear. When she noticed me at last, she got up, as matter-of-factly as if she'd been dusting, and sat on the frilled bench of her vanity table.
As usual, I was struck by the relationship between her surroundings, the surroundings Winifred had chosen for her-the dainty prints, the ribbon rosebuds, the organdies, the flounces-and Laura herself. A photograph would have revealed only harmony. Yet to me the incongruity was intense, almost surreal. Laura was flint in a nest of thistledown.
Isay flint, notstone: a flint has a heart of fire.
"Laura, I wanted to tell you," I said. "I'm going to have a baby."
She turned towards me, her face smooth and white as a porcelain plate, the expression sealed inside it. But she didn't seem surprised. Nor did she congratulate me. Instead she said, "Remember the kitten?"
"What kitten?" I said.
"The kitten Mother had. The one that killed her."
"Laura, it wasn't a kitten."
"I know," said Laura.
Beautiful view
Reenie is back. She's none too pleased with me. Well, young lady. What do you have to say for yourself? What did you do to Laura? Don't you ever learn?
There is no answer to such questions. The answers are so entangled with the questions, so knotted and many-stranded, that they aren't really answers at all.
I'm on trial here. I know it. I know what you'll soon be thinking. It will be much the same as what I myself am thinking: Should I have behaved differently? You'll no doubt believe so, but did I have any other choices? I'd have such choices now, but now is not then.
Should I have been able to read Laura's mind? Should I have known what was going on? Should I have seen what was coming next? Was I my sister's keeper?
Shouldis a futile word. It's about what didn't happen. It belongs in a parallel universe. It belongs in another dimension of space.
On a Wednesday in February, I made my way downstairs after my mid-afternoon nap. I was napping a lot by then: I was seven months' pregnant, and having trouble sleeping through the night. There was some concern too about my blood pressure; my ankles were puffy, and I'd been told to lie with my feet up for as much as I could. I felt like a huge grape, swollen to bursting with sugar and purple juice; I felt ugly and cumbersome.
It was snowing that day, I remember, great soft wet flakes: I'd looked out the window after I'd levered myself to my feet, and seen the chestnut tree, all white, like a giant coral.
Winifred was there, in the cloud-coloured living room. That wasn't unheard of-she came and went as if she owned the place-but Richard was there too. Usually at that time of day he was at his office. Each of them had a drink in hand. Each looked morose.
"What is it?" I said. "What's wrong?"
"Sit down," said Richard. "Over here, beside me." He patted the sofa.
"This is going to be a shock," said Winifred. "I'm sorry it had to happen at such a delicate time."
She did the talking. Richard held my hand and looked at the floor. Every now and then he would shake his head, as if he found her story either unbelievable or all too true.
Here is the essence of what she said: Laura had finally snapped. Snapped, she said, as if Laura was a bean. "We ought to have got help sooner for the poor girl, but we did think she was settling down," she said. However, today at the hospital where she'd been doing her charity visiting, she had gone out of control. Luckily there was a doctor present, and another one-a specialist-had been summoned. The upshot of it was that Laura had been declared a danger to herself and to others, and unfortunately Richard had been forced to commit her to the care of an institution.
"What are you telling me? What did she do?"
Winifred had on her pitying look. "She threatened to harm herself. She also said some things that were-well, she's clearly suffering from delusions."
"What did she say?"
"I'm not sure I should tell you."
"Laura is my sister," I said. "I'm entitled to know."
"She accused Richard of trying to kill you."
"In those words?"
"It was clear what she meant," said Winifred.
"No, please tell me exactly."
"She called him a lying, treacherous slave-trader, and a degenerate Mammon-worshipping monster."
"I know she has extreme views at times, and she does tend to express herself in a direct manner. But you can't put someone in the loony bin just for saying something like that."
"There was more," said Winifred darkly.
Richard, by way of soothing me, said that it wasn't a standard institution-not a Victorian norm. It was a private clinic, a very good one, one of the best. The Bella Vista Clinic. They would take excellent care of her there.
"What is the view?" I said.
"Pardon?"
"Bella Vista. It meansbeautiful view. So what is the view? What will Laura see when she looks out the window?"
"I hope this isn't your idea of a joke," said Winifred.
"No. It's very important. Is it a lawn, a garden, a fountain, or what? Or some sort of squalid alleyway?"
Neither of them could tell me. Richard said he was sure it would be natural surroundings of one kind or another. Bella Vista, he said, was outside the city. There were landscaped grounds.
"Have you been there?"
"I know you're upset, darling," he said. "Maybe you should have a nap."
"I just had a nap. Please tell me."
"No, I haven't been there. Of course I haven't."
"Then how do you know?"
"Now really, Iris," said Winifred. "What does it matter?"
"I want to see her." I had a hard time believing that Laura had suddenly fallen to pieces, but then I was so used to Laura's quirks that I no longer found them strange. It would have been easy for me to have overlooked the slippage-the telltale signs of mental frailty, whatever they might have been.