The Sweetest Dream

Julia's first thought was that she had come to the wrong house, because this young woman could not be the one in the photograph. While she stood there forcing herself to admit that she was indeed looking at Frances, Jolyon Meredith Wilhelm's wife, the young woman said, 'Do sit down.' She sounded as if having to say this, even to contemplate Julia's being there, was the last straw. She frowned as she eased her breast out of a discomfort, the baby's mouth popped off the nipple, and milky liquid ran down over the breast to a sagging waist. Frances eased the nipple back, the infant let out a choking cry and then fastened itself again on the nipple with a little shaking movement of its head Julia had observed in puppies ranged along the teats of a nursing bitch, her little pet dachshund, from long ago. Frances put a piece of cloth Julia could swear was a nappy over the resting breast.

The women stared at each other, with dislike.

Julia did not sit. There was a chair, but the seat was suspiciously stained. She could sit on the bed, which was unmade, but did not care to. She said, 'Joh

The cool, light, almost drawling voice, modulated according to some measure or scale known only to Julia, caused the young woman to stare again, and then she laughed.

‘I am as you see, Julia,’ said Frances.

Julia was filling with panic. She thought this place horrible, a lower depth of squalor. The house she and Philip had found Joh

Frances was thinking, It's unbelievable. She is unbelievable, and derision was in danger of making her burst out in raucous laughter.

Julia stood there in the middle of the room, in her neat wool crêpe grey suit, that had not a wrinkle, not a bulge. It was buttoned up to her throat where a silk scarf provided a hint of mauve. Her hands were in dove-grey kid gloves, and even though thoroughly protected from the unwashed surfaces around her, were making anxious little movements of rejection, and fussy disapproval. Her shoes were like shiny blackbirds, with brass buckles that seemed to Frances to be locks, as if making sure those feet couldn't fly off, or even to begin to try out a few prim dance steps. Her grey hat was fenced with a little net veil that did not conceal her horrified eyes, and it, too, was caught with a metal buckle. She was a woman in a cage, and to Frances, under such pressures of loneliness, poverty, anxiety, her appearance in that room, which she loathed, and wished only to escape from, was like a deliberate taunting, an insult.

'What am I to tell Jolyon?'

'Who? – oh, yes. But...’And now Frances energetically sat herself up, one hand cupping the baby's head, the other holding the cloth over her exposed breast. 'Don't tell me Joh

Now the two women shared a moment: it was incredulity, and their eyes actually did engage, in a query. When Julia had read the letter which commanded her to visit his wife, she said to Philip, ‘But I thought he hated us? If we weren't good enough to see him married, then why is he ordering me to visit Frances?'

Philip replied, dry enough, but remote too, because as always he was absorbed in his duties with the war, ‘I see that you are expecting consistency. Usually a mistake, in my view. '

As for Frances, she had never heard Joh

' Frances, I would like very much to help you with some money. ' An envelope appeared from her handbag.

‘Oh, no, I am sure Joh

'I think you'll find that he can and he will.'

‘Oh, no, no, Julia, please not. '

' Very well then, goodbye. '

Julia did not set eyes on Frances again until after Joh

Julia went to the flat in Notting Hill, which she was convinced had been chosen because of the area's seediness and ugliness. There were two children now. The one she had seen before, Andrew, was a noisy and energetic toddler, and there was a baby, Colin. Again, Frances was breastfeeding. She was large, shapeless, slatternly, and the flat, Julia was convinced, was a health hazard. On the wall was a food safe, and in it could be glimpsed a bottle of milk and some cheese. The wire net of the safe had been painted, the paint had clogged: air therefore could not circulate properly. Babies' clothes were strung on fragile wooden contraptions that seemed about to collapse. No, Frances said, in a voice cold with hostility and criticism. No, she didn't want any money, no, thank you.

Julia stood there unconsciously all appeal, hands a-flutter, eyes full of tears.

'But, Frances, think of the children.'

It was as if Julia had deliberately touched an already sore place with acid. Oh, yes, Frances thought often enough of how her own parents, let alone Joh

'Please let me help you, please – Joh

The trouble was, by now Frances agreed unreservedly about Joh

Julia went away, reported back to Philip, and tried not to think of those rooms in Notting Hill.

Later, when Julia heard that Frances had gone to work in a theatre, Julia thought, A theatre! Of course, it would be! Then Frances was acting and Julia thought, Is she acting servants' parts then?

She went to the theatre, sat well back where she could not be seen, she hoped, and watched Frances in a small part in a quite nice little comedy. Frances was thi