When I woke up again, the room was brilliant with sunlight. The window was a square of deep blue, and beyond it I could hear the twitter of morning and, further off, the buzz of a lawnmower. I lay for a moment, adrift in that formless, unaccountable ether that swirls just beyond sleep, before all the tallies of self are presented. The daylight was cheerful, and in it my nocturnal activities, which presently I remembered in a more or less complete fashion, seemed sharp and reduced, like the small, shiny negative of a photograph. So preposterous, to the common sense of morning, did my argument with Pamela appear that I felt it was barely required of me to be troubled by it; as if it had disqualified itself, through exaggeration, from inclusion in the normal course of things. I was aware that this process of denial was a form of submission to what I clearly knew to be wrong; but it was good to have been relieved so painlessly of my grievance against Pamela, which was admittedly an inopportune burden to have acquired at such an early stage of my life in the country. Having persuaded myself to pardon one injustice, I found myself tempted to forget every qualm which had haunted me in the depths of the night; and thus I was coaxed, as one would lure a horse into harnesses, back into a state of contentment.
My skin bore no trace of the night’s rash, and there being no cause or purpose to thinking more about it, I dismissed it from my mind. Longing to be out in the sun, I got out of bed and dressed quickly. I made the bed, tidied the room a little, and was about to start unpacking my suitcases and hanging things in the wardrobe when a lack of conviction, or perhaps certainty, stopped me. Instead I folded my things there where they lay in the suitcases, and pushed the cases with my foot neatly against the wall.
My first thought was to go outside into the garden, and indeed when I flung open the front door and breathed deeply of the country air, it was a lovely prospect. Feeling in a luxurious mood, I decided that it would be nice to make myself some breakfast and eat it out in the sun. I returned to the kitchen and continued my investigation of the cupboards where I had left off the previous afternoon. The sun was to the front of the house at that point, and the kitchen was rather more dingy in the shade than I had remembered it. The cupboards were very shabby, and several of the linoleum tiles covering the floor had begun to curl up at their edges. Two or three flies were swimming in a dreamy, pointless circle at the centre of the low ceiling and I brushed at them briskly with my hand. They dispersed silently, but seconds later had drifted back again. Aside from a set of old-fashioned blue crockery — two of everything — the cupboards were more or less empty. I noticed a jar of instant coffee in one, however, and took it down, along with a cup and saucer. Beside the oven stood a small, yellowed fridge, and opening it I found a fresh pint of milk. Knowing that Pamela must have placed it there, or ordered it to be placed at least, the carton struck me as both a kindness and a reproof. There was nothing else in the fridge.
I deliberated for several moments, trying to decide what to do. The idea of making coffee, and then sitting and drinking it in the sun, was appealing. The day, however, being my own, held no promise of nourishment other than what I might procure for myself. It was out of the question to call at the big house and ask for supplies to tide me over; indeed, I had already decided to dedicate myself to avoiding any encounter with the Maddens whatsoever during the course of the day. Consequently, I could not apply to them for information about where I might do my shopping; but having no means of transport, I was in any case in no doubt that the answer lay in the village of Hilltop. I had not seen the village, but I knew it to be nearby, and remembering the road along which I had driven with Mr Madden, deduced that the village would probably be found in the other direction. I was quite hungry by this time, and feeling this pang decided that I would attempt the walk first, leaving me with the rest of the day to enjoy the garden.
I returned to my bedroom and found my purse. To my dismay, looking inside it I saw that I had very little money. I counted the coins, aware as I did so that the chances of getting to a bank, considering the transport problems described earlier, were slim. I remembered then that it was in any case Sunday, and at the same time realized that I could always pay for things by cheque. Even as I began to search for my chequebook in this optimistic flurry, however, some deeper instinct told me that it was hopeless. I tried to remember why, and then recalled that I had thrown it out with everything else, believing that I would have no use for it. I cursed my short-sightedness, and the recklessness with which I had effectively cut off all escape routes. The scene with Pamela rose up in my mind, rattling its chains. I counted the coins again and tried to think clearly. How much food would I need to get me through a day? Surely I could survive until Monday, when I would be able to ask the Maddens for an advance on my salary? I had shelter, after all, and water from the tap; and coffee, which now seemed a great luxury. The very simplicity of these thoughts pleased me, even in my distress. Before long the money began to appear quite ample; and putting it in my pocket, I returned downstairs and prepared myself for my walk. Sensibly, I drank a large quantity of water before setting out, aware that in the heat I might become very thirsty and would not want to waste my funds on a drink. Such practicalities were exciting to me. I closed the cottage door and, noticing for the first time a large key protruding from it, turned the lock and put the key in my pocket alongside the purse.
I strode off across the garden; but although it was still quite early, I had not reached the gate before I became aware of the menacing edge to the sun’s heat I had remarked the day before. So forcefully did its rays hammer on the top of my head that I had only been outside a few seconds when it occurred to me to turn around and go back inside again. I ignored this urge — at my peril — and continued resolutely along the gravel path towards the big house. Reaching the end I turned left, even as I did so remembering how I had found the route to the front of the house blocked the previous day. From a closer angle, however, I saw that the hedge, which I had imagined from further away to extend all the way across the path, in fact afforded a small gap through which I was able to slip. Once on the other side of it, I found myself in an area of dense undergrowth. Pushing through it the sharp, narrow claws of branches scraped against my legs. Within minutes, to my satisfaction, I had emerged into the driveway, and could see from the sleepy front of the house that all was still quiet there. I made my way quickly down the drive, stepping gingerly over the gravel so as not to make any noise, and soon found myself in the long avenue of greenery I remembered from my drive with Mr Madden.
It was immediately apparent that the road was much further away than I had thought; but it was pleasant to be in the shade and I was still uplifted by the ease with which I had escaped the farm without attracting notice. After a while, though, I began to feel slightly anxious at the endless quality of the avenue. I have good eyesight, and the avenue extended in a straight line in front of me for as far as I could see. I trudged on for some time with no change and, not being accustomed to walking, soon became fatigued. I could not for the life of me remember for how long the avenue persisted before it met the road, and cursed myself for not having paid closer attention in the car. Just as my steps were slowing with the temptation of turning back, I saw a large pair of gates ahead of me. I did not remember these at all, but they clearly represented the boundary of the house’s grounds. I hurried towards them and on reaching them found the narrow tarmacked road along which Mr Madden and I had driven. We had approached, I judged, from the right as I stood, and having already made the decision to continue along the road from where we had turned off it, I veered to the left without hesitation.