16 May

16 May 1920

2 Portland Villas, Hampstead - London

[. . .] The sleepy driver drove at a tremendous pace, threading in and out of the traffic and she let herself be tossed from side to side. She wished he would go faster and faster! Oh to be free of Princes at 1.30, of being the kitten in the swansdown basket, of being an Arabian and a grave delighted child and a strange wild little creature and ... Never again she cried aloud, clenching her small hand. But the taxi stoped. The driver was standing holding the door open for her.
The hairdressers shop was warm & glittering. It smelt of soap and burnt paper and wallflower briiliantine, and there was Madame behind the counter, round, white, fat, her head like a powder puff rolling on a black satin pincushion. Monica always had the feeling that they loved her in this shop & understood her - the real her - far better than many of her friends did. She did not know why. She was herself here. She & Madame had often talked - quite strangely together & Georges who did her hair - young, dark, slender Georges she was really fond of.
But today - how curious! Madame hardly greeted her. Her face was whiter than ever, but rims of bright red showed round her blue bead eyes, & even the rings on her tiny fingers did not flash. They were cold, dead, like chips of glass. When she turmed her back to Monica & called over the wall telephone - Georges, there was a note in her voice that had never been there before. But Monica would not believe it - no - she refused to. It was just imagination & she sniffed greedily the warm scented air, & passed behind the curtain into the small cubicle. [. . .] [KM Notebooks, section dated 1 May 1920.]