20 May

20 May 1920

2 Portland Villas, Hampstead - London

[. . .] Georges took a brush. ‘There is a little powder on your coat,' he murmured. He brushed it away. And then suddenly he raised himself, & looking at Monica he gave a strange wave with the brush & said: The truth is Madame, since you are an old customer - my little daughter died this morning. A first child - & then his white face crumpled like paper and he turned his back on her & began brushing the kimono. The tears ran down Monica's cheeks. How old? She whispered. Two and a half came from Georges. She ran out of the shop into the taxi. The driver, looking furious, swung off his seat & slammed the door again. Where to?
‘Princes!' she sobbed. And all the way there she saw nothing but a tiny wax doll with a feather of hair, lying meek, its little hands and feet crossed. And then just before they came to Princes she saw a flower shop full of white flowers. Oh what a thought what a perfect thought. Lilies-of the-valley and white pansies & double white violets sent to the hairdresser's shop. From one who understands. For a little girl. She tapped against the window, but the driver did not hear, and, anyway, they were at Princes already. [KM Notebooks, section dated 1 May 1920.]

My dearest Brett
The STOVE is come, installed, burning, giving out the most blessed benificent heat imaginable! I cannot tell you how good it is to be in this room - in a whole warm room with no smoke, no making up fires, just a silent, discreet, never failing heat. If I were a savage I should pray to it & offer it the bodies of infants. Thank you a billion times for your dear thought. And now a belated thank you for the yellow roses - which are perfection. Now stop being generous or Ill have to lead a baby elephant washed in rose soap, hung with lily buds & marigolds, carrying a flamingo in a cage made of mutton-fat jade on its back to your doorstep as a return for past favours.
You dine here on Saturday - don't you?
Love from
Tig  [To Dorothy Brett in Collected Letters]