07 July

7 July 1920

2 Portland Villas, Hampstead - London

[. . .] If you don't speak to me with more respect, said Mother, I shall go straight & tell your Father. Thank you, darling child.
Francies little wooden heels tapped over the parquet floor to the music room. Shut the door while we're practising will you please Mother? The door shut & the piano seemed to have been waiting until it was alone with them - it burst out so passionately This Life is Weary!
Silence from the hall. Mother was still - her head bent turning her rings. What was she thinking of? She looked up. The double doors on to the porch were open & the light in the glass lantern flickered faintly. Dreamily she went over to the hall stand & picked something up. Why she murmured aloud - is there always one odd glove. Where does it come from? Then she went in to the smoking room.
Down the passage through the green baize door that led to the kitchen regions sailed Zaidee with her trays of trembling glass & winking silver and moon white plates & Hans followed with the finger bowls, with the fruit dishes & the plates piled with curls of tangerine peel & spiky shavings of pineapple-outside. The last tray was carried - the heavy baize door swung to with a ‘whoof'. There came a faint ghostly chatter from the kitchen - very far away it sounded.
Where was Laurie? He'd gone straight off to his dark room after dinner. She wouldnt disturb him. But all the same Laura slid off the landing window sill parted the embroidered velvet curtains that hid her so beautifully & coming on to the stairs leaned her arms along the bannisters. What was she to do.
This Life is Weary
A tear a sigh
A dream a waiting
Sang Francie & suddenly from that faraway kitchen there sounded a shrill little peal of laughter. [. . .] [KM Notebooks, undated]