An Unofficial rose

The appearance of the well-known authoress had been at first sight disappointing. A

Yet their talk had been random, disjointed, even trivial. Emma had questioned her about the children, about the nursery, about her friends in the village, about the Bowshotts' television, and about a recipe for quince jelly which A

Since Mildred Finch's momentous visit A

Yet there was Felix. The extent to which there now indubitably was Felix she had also had occasion, since Mildred's visit, to observe. A

Yet these imaginings had often seemed, when Randall was in the house, flimsy enough. They were a foolish solace, nothing dangerous. The reality of Randall was overwhelming, and with a total grasp of his existence which was perhaps, after all, love, A

When Emma's visit had been a

A

'What a delicious cake, said Emma. 'May I have another? Have you got a cat?

'We had a cat, said A

'Oh, said Emma. And after a pause, 'It's odd how animals know. The subject had raised a little awkwardness. To send it away A

'I love the creatures. But I could hardly have one in my flat. It would mean too many open doors and windows, and I'm such a malade imaginaire.

'I do enjoy your books, said A

'I'm glad if they entertain you, said Emma, 'but of course they are trivial. I wish I could have written a real book.

'I expect you will. I mean — but I do like what you write.

'There's no time now, said Emma sombrely.

The door opened and Miranda, in a purple-and-white striped dress, skipped in with the roses. Pe

'What an amusing child, said Emma. 'She seems almost capable of irony.

'Yes, she's a clever little girl, said A

'Isn't he in love with her?

'How quick of you to notice! Yes, I'm afraid so. But she's too young to take anything like that seriously and she just teases him.

'I wouldn't have thought she was too young, said Emma. 'I would guess that young lady was capable of anything. Though I can imagine young Pe

A

'What lovely stripes, said Emma, 'just like Miranda's dress. And what names! I really must write a murder story in a nursery garden. But there, how shocking I All I can think of when I find something beautiful is how to make it an occasion for violent death. The telephone rang.