17 April
17 April
17 April 1920
This letter was never posted and here's Sunday, déja. I did go to my lunch after all. It was very enjoyable. A man called Tinayres sang, and the Schiffs house is made for singing.
Yesterday Saturday horrible things happened. I had my review all ready to send and Ida never came. It was not a day to go out in - I was dead tired. I finally did go out, feeling certain to meet her carriage & didn't meet it & had to rush - & couldn't get a carriage & reached the poste 5 minutes late & got a carriage & tore up to the station where nobody would help me or tell me anything. I posted it in a box there then wired you, then got back into the carriage - & you see me don't you darling - weeping away furiously in face of all Menton. I got out at Rumpelmeyers & drank boiling black coffee & ice water, came home a very pore girl & lay down with a brandy for tumpany. Schiff came in later & sat with me. His rage against the world because I had had such a had time didn't make it better - and even now I can't get over it or quite forgive Ida until I know it has arrived. If you only knew what agony it is to fail you - what an effort to work (8 interruptions yesterday) in strangers houses! I don't want to make a moan tho'.
I have taken my flat - paid the deposit and asked Mrs Harrison to find me a cook for next season. The flat is ideal. Three bedrooms, maids room, salon, salle a manger, bath with geyser, kitchen with gas housemaids pantry, cabinet de toilette for your dressing room. Its exquisite - furnished by an italian contessa. [To J. M. Murry in Collected Letters, 18 April 1920]