The Dictionary of Lost Words(60)

I looked to Ditte. When the review of her history was complete, I would return to Oxford and resume my work at the Scriptorium. She’d said this, and I’d agreed.

There should have been a word for what I felt right then, but despite all my years in the Scriptorium I couldn’t recall a single one.

I nodded.



The warm weather held, and I grew enormous. Ditte was happy with the research I had done, and insisted I spend long hours reclining on the couch and proofreading the edits she’d been making to her history. Sarah came for tea each Tuesday afternoon, and I sat quietly observant. I found something else to like about her every time, but they were uncomfortable hours, and my ambivalence didn’t shift. So much needed to be said, but the pouring of tea and handing around of Madeira cake kept getting in the way.

Then, one Tuesday, I waddled into the sitting room to find Sarah still wearing her hat and driving gloves.

‘I thought I’d take you out,’ she said.

It was an unexpected relief, and I took a deep breath as if I was already in the fresh air.

‘Just the two of us,’ she continued, turning to the sisters, who nodded in unison.

I was surprised when she opened the passenger door of a Daimler and helped me in. I’d rarely travelled in a private motorcar, and never one driven by a woman. Sarah had short legs and short arms, and her whole body was engaged in making the car move. She kept leaning forward to shift the gears, back to press the peddles. It was as if her arms and legs were being worked by a puppeteer. I coughed to disguise a laugh.

‘Are you poorly?’ she asked.

‘Not at all,’ I said.

Sarah never insisted on conversation and was unusually clumsy with small talk – she once responded to a comment on the weather by explaining the relationship between barometric pressure and rain – so our journey was silent except for the crunch of gears and the occasional disparaging comment about other people’s driving.

By the time we arrived at the Bath Recreation Ground, I had filled three slips with various quotations for damn-dunderhead. They looked as though they had been written in a fit of palsy.

‘Somerset are playing Lancashire for the championship,’ Sarah said, helping me down from my seat and craning to see the scoreboard. ‘Lancashire are chasing 181 runs, not a difficult target, so Philip has his work cut out. Do you like cricket, Esme?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ve never sat to watch a whole game played.’

‘You’re too polite to say that it goes for too long and that watching grass grow would be more exciting. No, don’t deny it, I can see it in your face.’ She put her arm through mine, adjusting with ease to my height, and we started walking around the perimeter of the oval. ‘By the end of the afternoon, you will be astonished you could ever think such a thing.’

Mr Brooks was already on the pitch, and I wondered if Sarah had been deliberate in her timing. Since their intentions had been made clear, he had not joined his wife for tea at the sisters’. I had assumed he felt that this whole business was best kept to the women. It wasn’t until I saw him deliver his first ball that I thought ‘this business’ may not be finalised. I was being courted, I realised, and at some point I would have to accept or reject what was being offered. He’d given his hat to the umpire, and the sun shone off his bald head. He was as tall as Sarah was short, and he loped towards the pitch on long thin legs, releasing the ball from a windmill of arms.

‘It was Philip’s idea,’ Sarah said after his second wide delivery.

‘What was?’

‘To bring you to the match. Oh, that was short. It’s going to go all the way to the boundary.’

There was applause from one section of the crowd sitting on the other side of the oval.

‘Our lot won’t be happy. I daresay he’s distracted. Poor man, he so wanted to impress you.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes; as I said, it was his idea. He’s been desperate to come to tea, but I kept putting him off. It was uncomfortable, don’t you think?’

I just looked down.

‘I think he was hoping to demonstrate his credentials for fatherhood by putting on a good show in the middle.’

Though I liked it, her directness still took me by surprise.

‘Well, that’s him done. Fifteen runs off the over. He’ll be glad it’s tea.’

I watched as the cricketers walked from the pitch towards the club rooms. When Philip looked in our direction, Sarah waved. Instead of following his team mates, he made his way across the ground to join us. Long strides, a slight stoop.

‘Please tell me you’ve only just arrived,’ he said, as he drew close. He might have been blushing or sunburned, I couldn’t tell.

‘Can’t do that I’m afraid, darling. We arrived just as Sharp came out to bat.’ Sarah stood on tip-toe to kiss him, and I couldn’t help wondering whether Philip’s stoop was an adjustment to marriage.

He looked at the scoreboard. ‘I’ll be fielding from now on, I expect,’ he said. Then he turned to me, his hazel eyes shining.

‘Esme,’ he said. ‘It’s so lovely to see you again.’

I wasn’t sure what I should say. I offered a nod, but barely a smile. When he held out his large hand, I gave him mine. He saw my funny fingers and didn’t flinch, but I still expected his grip to be limp from the fear of crushing what looked so fragile. Instead, his grip was firm enough to keep my hand from slipping free. When he let go, it was at just the right moment. You can tell a lot from the way a man takes your hand, Da once told me.