Alysse Aallyn

Category: Creativity

  • Embattled Love – the diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    StormFall – 4 Aug 80


    Familiar feeling of depression. More wedding invitations – Granma’s list and Sutton’s list. Poor Sutton – I feel so sorry for him even though he jokes about missing Val: “I got rid of the last gardener I had.”


    The only bad night was engagement party – Mom and Dad chose a reel of slides and I sat there stunned at the genesis of all my stories. Ocean, lake, dolls’ cottages – happy healthy smiling people – whence comes all this pain? Dad looks at pictures of the Gryphon tooling through Europe and says, “I’d do it all again.” Would he? I wouldn’t! That pain comes from somewhere deep, deep inside me. Makes me feel like they’ve been right all along – there’s something wrong with ME. Luckily Toss backs me up – he says he “feels 13 years old” around them. Fortunately, I had one “flying high” day on Shadowe Island – with Gretchen Fuchs, the poet. Oh, her library! We soared together in a conversational ecstasy. I saw us deep in the future, two old ladies in an English garden. Talking forever. Lovely woman.


    Champagne & steamers with Sutton – then home.

    Grover’s Mill – 10 Aug 80
    Unpleasant shock in the mail today – Guilders demanding transcripts. Naïve me – I thought only the writing sample mattered for the writing program! Wait till they cock a snook at my record! Will I be exposed as an unqualified adventuress? Would it be so bad if they withdrew their offer? Then I could go someplace else – Marymount maybe. How I loooooong to be pregnant!

    StormFall – Tues 19 Aug 80
    My last entry? I absent myself from family discussions saying I’ll go to bed to read – really want to write here. Just taken my last Birth Control pill maybe EVER – only 13 pills into the packet. Feeling amorphous. Borderless. The aspirations of adolescence fading.
    What were the aspirations of adolescence? I can barely remember. To be admired, chiefly. By “others”. And now I’ve ditched the “others” and I’m alone on a vast plain – trying to steady a tipping world. Listening.


    Are inner imperatives enough for a whole self? What about love? But love is a term like “weather” – describes infinite mutability.


    Need to finish the goddam wedding maps & directions & walk them to the Post Office.

    2:15 PM – Thurs 21 Aug 80
    Period started! Shouldn’t be surprised – been having a brief period in the middle of my cycle since I started these damned pills – probably they’ve been making me sick.
    Thinking about the relationships between parents & children – how avoid the miseries? Poor Mom! She felt like a “loser”. Dangerous not believing in an “eternal force” because then all there is is YOU. To BLAME.


    Poor Mom! Preferred to housekeep alone – but wanted us to “help” when she wasn’t there – but do it “her way.” Fated to eternal disappointment!


    Wedding programs – copy the service in a book for T’s friend Bracket – the gay Baptist preacher – to use.


    Weirdly dark cold day. Shakespeare play at Edith Wharton’s tonight is open air – I just hope it doesn’t rain!


    Toss’s out driving around with Cousin Wolf in the ancient Chevy they resurrected.
    Studying the Marymount catalogue and reading Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet – hadn’t realized he was so young when he wrote them! Should be called Letters FROM a Young Poet! May have to switch to Agatha Christie – she’s the sugar taken for “shock”.

    Grover’s Mill – 7 Sept 80

    A week since our wedding so this must be our honeymoon. I feel perfectly balance on a tightrope – drinking vodka & lime while studying Woolf’sBooks & Portraits, Sayers’ Mind of the Maker. Toss struggling with his additions to our thank you notes. Tomorrow off to Guilders College for a “teachers organizational meeting” so they must be sufficiently desperate if they don’t mind my lack of a degree. Should be interesting.


    Chaotic summer swallowed up by the wedding – ended up costing $7000 total. Facing winter with confidence – pregnant in 2 months! If Guilders doesn’t work out enroll in Marymount get my degree one class at a time.


    Last night we had bridesmaid Trish Lambert to dinner – husband Noah coming to lunch today – their marriage breaking up so we try to counsel. Looks hopeless – Noah chooses his pride over Trish every time – she says she’s not going back to a situation where she was made so physically ill. What was she allergic to all the doctors wanted to know? Turned out to be him.
    Try to write here more regularly. These pages are a bank account. Save, save save.

    Mon Sept 8 – 80 – Train from NYC – 4 pm
    What I thought would be a “teachers meeting” turns into a disgusting “registration” process – running from one building to another, paying fees, filling out forms – I am seriously allergic to bureaucracy and the tears are starting to leak. Feel like a person wearing an ill-fitting disguise. However, I believe I carried it off. Just act like you’re entitled and no one questions you. I just don’t want to live in this world. I doubt poor Toss caught in the maw of Beginning Law can provide much sympathy. He is dotting I’s and crossing t’s with a vengeance.


    Financial pressures create time pressures. Try to look for the meaning in all this.

    2:30 AM Sept 9 – Worry and 2 double whiskies wake me at one and I can’t get back to sleep. Tried bath & reading, nada. Toss has been magnificent. I was able to present my worries without sounding like an idiot and he was able to identify with them without being dismissive. He says his uncle Avery gives Masters to people without BAs in Environmental Studies all the time. I say I really don’t need the degree it’s the experience I want and anyway I blame Plumly. And Chevenix. They ruined me for “degrees”. He always says Plumly was “not so bad” – and of course he loved Reed but they wouldn’t even let him SEE his grades! (They show everyone else!) and he needed an extra year – but he seems to accept my Kafkaesque emotions.

    Sat 20 Sept 80 – Fortunately our weekend guest (Toss’s Reed roommate) not here yet. Cleaned & garnished house for 4 solid hours. Went shopping bought 14 meals for $60 – Toss went to Trenton then discovered he didn’t need to go. (Getting out of housework? Hmmm.)


    He put a bookcase together and filled it with books (which helped) now he’s making peach butter.
    What’s preventing me from pointing out to him that him doing all the work he LIKES and me doing all the work BOTH OF US DISLIKE is not a fair division of labor? Cowardice.


    Then there’s the problem that this is his grandparents place filled with his grandparents furniture and he doesn’t want anything “changed.” My only satisfaction if making my study a feminine as possible (painting my file cabinets yellow.)


    Reading Krumm’s Why I am an Episcopalian (he’s pro women’s ministry) and Hans Kung’s Signposts for the Future and struggling with what God I believe in. Not a subject for dinner party conversation. He will watch Presidential debate and I can opt out of that.


    22 Sept 80
    Lie in bed satisfied our entertaining’s over. It’s a “test” of our relationship to be around third parties. T always more critical of me in his anxiety that things go well – I am dreamy & slapdash by nature. Ended up watching the debate after all – much more fiery and vituperative than I expected – John Andersen an old-time preacher and Reagan sweetly vague and never finishing his sentences.

    24 Sept 80 –Waiting to counsel Rose Love (!) but looks like she isn’t going to show. Lots of them don’t. I’m not the only one having trouble with this system. Horrors! I was “observed” in class – a teacher sneaking in while I was trying to teach probationary “backward” students (I.e. unprepared) how to write an essay and feel I made an idiot of myself. I sweat & tremble – am I only “a pack of cards” or are THEY only “a pack of cards!” Basic feeling of inadequacy – these kids deserve better than me! How did I ever think I could DO this!


    Well if Rose isn’t showing up I can read Sackville-West’s magnificent Eagle & Dove.


    Very depressing meeting with advisor Ezra Brent about my novel – asked how long I’d been working on it – I said 7 years and he was HORRIFIED. WAY too long for a project so short! But I am evolving as it’s evolving I splutter. Better write about your childhood instead, he counsels.
    Of course, I can’t do that! Blah! Resolve to write a novel specially for his class – chapter a week. What interests me? Murder & nuns at present. Do I know anything about those? I admit I don’t but need to follow this trail. His obvious expression of disbelief is all the goad I need. Call it “Pinch of Death” from Shakespeare – a quote long in search of a tale to headline.

    Train to NY 1 Oct 80
    Class observer gave me a rave review! Made 4,000 copies because frankly, no one would believe it. I don’t believe it myself. Good meetings with students. Asked Brent what to do about lack of a BA – he said Do nothing yet. You are a “promising” student. I still feel uncomfortable – don’t even feel like a STUDENT. Feel bolstered up. Unfortunately, no one in fiction class likes my novel – they all think I’m “anti-modern”. I don’t like theirs either. I fire back by advising they read Krafft-Ebing – no “modernity” without him. I should have taken Carberry’s modern poetry – enjoying romantic poetry VERY much.


    Fellow student Charlene Clark is teacher at a Catholic college (working on her SECOND masters) and can give me lots of advice about nuns.


    I got a letter saying I am a member of the faculty so I get a 10% discount at the bookstore!!! They also have a very respectable library. Reading CS Lewis’s Letters to an American Lady. I CHERISHED his Letters to Malcolm. But 4 Loves very rough going. His anti-feminism somewhat mitigated by his late marriage. He was dragged into that the same way he was dragged into Christianity – kicking and screaming – “the sorriest convert you ever saw.” Interested in his “shameful” relationship with Mrs. Moore. Krafft-Ebing anyone?


    Experimenting with prayer but it feels very unnatural. I like the mystic’s stillness – make yourself empty and “fill up.” Any kind of “intellectual direction” feels wrong.

  • Embattled Love: the diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    4 pm 4 July 80


    I most mind the separation from Toss; our “togetherness” is an “affront” to his father’s loss he thinks. But it gives me more time for writing.

    Today was the worst day – no, yesterday was pretty bad too. Long ordeal of preparing food and sitting around waiting for somebody to eat it. Awful. Toss keeps trying to take away jobs his poor father really wants to do – everyone wants the man to sit there stunned and feel his loss. Subtle struggle for power between Lew’s brother Avery & Toss. Toss wants to do everything and he’s physically angry with other people’s interference; locking his jaw, snapping his head and waving his fists. This makes ME angry!


    Current thinking is its “good” to let your anger out but since anger is infectious this really is a stupid idea. I’m sure Toss is angry because he was raised by a really angry woman. Reminds me of my father’s anger – my mother’s response was to drift away, humming. It’s impossible to love a really angry person – anger is a rejection. Granma doesn’t help – tries to goad people into activities; sorting, cleaning fussing projects; busywork. Really annoying. We contemplatives get short shrift around her.

    Sat 12 July 80 – Grover’s Mill
    A week since Val’s funeral. Toss forced me to buy horrible clothes – I thought since it was all his and his family’s affair I’d give in to his taste – results shockingly bad. Things I never wear: Khaki, stripes, constricting belts: Yuck! So much for his “You have no taste Alysse.” Now we know what he thinks taste is: BEIGE CANVAS. Comfort not only NOT a consideration, It’s an insult – to the universe apparently. Never again. Saw Val in her coffin – touched her rock-hard chest, her frozen face. Nothing more shocking than a dead person – it’s like any object. God!


    Finished wedding invites, immediately invaded by terror. Why? Wish the wedding was tomorrow – wish I was pregnant – Is it because now I have to write? Probably. Other people don’t seek out electric jolts. Invaded by hunger which I tried to ignore by biking to Post Office. While riding, I think.

    Sun 13 July 80 5:35
    Finished sewing pearls on my wedding veil. A peaceful activity. Yesterday Seth (T’s brother) and his fiancé Sue came to dinner. Talk about Lois who is struggling to write a “You deserve it” letter to Sutton. Found pix to show of Sutton & Lois’ courting phase. Even when he’s smiling down at her (1949) he’s holding his body in an attitude of withdrawal. They married 2 months before Toss’ birth! But Lois looks happy.


    When he failed to respond up to what she considered his romantic potential she began the punishments, the denigration, and when he turned away she acted so amazed! Her power, her charm, her luck – rushed out of her like air from a punctured balloon. What did she expect! “He’s so awful he doesn’t deserve to leave me?” When does THAT ever work? Doesn’t even work with kids! They flee at the first opportunity!


    She received all God’s gifts – except…the one everybody wants. It’s more like a curse.

    16 July 80 – 11:30 PM
    Retire with the rum, hot milk & honey I promised myself – this will do more for my headache than aspirin. Been stupid all day. Wrote a few pages on Prisoner – hope it goes better when I get to Labarraz. Villains always interesting.


    Tried unsuccessfully to read Straub’s Ghost Story. How can something so coarse-fibred be so praised? Someday we’ll look back on him the way we look back on Ms Humphrey Ward. Clueless in Paradise.


    Avril called – Daddy gets a million and a quarter from Corning or $55,000 year for the next 30 years. Says he hopes we won’t mind if he “squanders” it. Inzar kids get a million each. I admit it – I’m jealous. What would I do with it? Philosophy degree from Fordham?

    Sat 19 July 80
    Housework not finished – unfortunately. We have a guest interrupting my dreaming hours – Galaine – elderly cousin of T’s whom I politely asked to be my matron of honor takes it as an invitation to move in. Fortunately, she sleeps late. Horror stories about how her husband beats her – she used to flee her home to sleep in the church. They’re divorced thank God. Washed Weasel AGAIN – she tangled with a skunk and is stiff and pink from tomato juice.


    Toss leaves Monday for 5 days in Kentucky studying with buddy Boone Macafee. In 5 days alone can’t I get 75 pages? We’ll see.

    9:15 PM – 21 July 80
    Light spatter of rain can’t break the heat – still in the high 90’s though it’s dark outside. Perfect half-moon burns a hole though the cloud cover. Strange gunpowder noises could be thunder or carnival a mile away. Dixie the Labrador very worked up.


    Inside myself I grapple. Reading theology is a help. I feel people come into the world not blank but as coded entities. Trying to figure out the code. Reading Rosamond Lehmann – Swan in the Evening & short stories – it sends me into a Woolf frenzy. My psyche knows the vitamin it needs.
    Can’t write so I address wedding invitations – it’s like a dinner party – the more you can do in advance the better.

    9:30 PM – 23 July 80
    Excellent days I’ve had. Wise waiting to write till things fall into place inside.
    Thoroughly enjoyed (and mostly agreed with) Garry Wills’ Bare Ruined Choirs. Shouted & cheered my way thru the sex chapters. He was good, too on the Jesus freaks.


    It hit me – here’s my Secaire. It’s my religious novel. I was dumb, I was slow but feel now I’ve got it.
    Up most of the night reading Greeley’s Making of the Pope 1978 – NOT an edifying story. We are all made in each other’s image.


    Housework. Avril’s train 10:30.

    The Barnacle Cabin – Shadow Island MAINE – 11:30 AM – Mon 28 July 80
    Argument with Avril – can Mom & Dad change? Should we nudge them? She is hostile to the idea: don’t EVEN TRY!!! But last night at dinner I pointed out how Mom interrupts – won’t let us get a word out – she was flabbergasted!! She’d been completely unaware of it – and so’s Mom! And it goes against Mom’s philosophy etc. So, there’s a change we could make if we pointed it out.
    Genevieve did give me some support. Agreed Plumly made a mockery of religion for the students (which Mom & Dad did NOT want to hear).


    Merrill very threatening and formidable – will not allow her schedule with Baby Barney to be interrupted. PERIOD. Whew!


    When I asked what time I could come to the Periwinkle Cabin and make coffee she said NEVER.

    The Barnacle needs hotplate!


    Merrill NOT a good ad for pregnancy – her body looks collapsed like a beanbag chair. I remind myself – this is where all the gins & tons are tending.


    Genevieve on the other hand looking particularly gorgeous – very challenging about my desire to go to Fordham; says “It’s CATHOLIC” the way you’d say “It’s fascist.” Wish I could have explained my emotional feeling that mysticism is “beyond all that.”

    The Barnacle – midnight July 30-31 – 80
    Talked to my sweetie on the phone and he read me some mail. Cindy thanks me for my note but “can’t face” the wedding. What did I say? Can’t remember.


    He had a good day on his exams – felt excited and competent. But he feels utterly unprepared for tomorrow’s New Jersey exam.


    Finished Jean Love’s Virginia Woolf – Sources of Madness & Art which I adored – can’t wait for the next volume. Especially interesting to read it “in the bosom of family” so to speak. Jean Love points out family members’ development is complementary to all others’ (family members’) development. Mom & Dad less insulting this time – they must be starting to think this wedding might really come off.

  • Embattled Love: the diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    Thurs 12 Jun 80


    Rode my bike to Evening Prayer in Princeton. Perfect length (1/2 hr) 2 hills of equal size so neither direction is “harder”. Ordered more wedding invites, then discovered it was 5:23 so had to rush to intimidatingly big church.


    7 people arranged around a side altar – my plan to go unnoticed conks out. What is my obsession with invisibility? Because parents were so agonized whenever I launched forward?
    Minister female, short, stocky. Daphne?


    Turned out to be a healing ceremony! Quite beautiful! Lots of rising and standing. At some point I just burst into tears. Awful. Everyone asking if they could help but I don’t know what’s wrong so just slobbered away. I think now I was feeling “expulsion”, exclusion – “The gifts of God for the people of God” but I don’t really know. I may just be emotional as parents said; “we won’t let your peculiarities interfere with your health” direct quote.


    I was so embarrassed leaving – apologized but the minister grabbed my hand and looked piercingly into my eyes.


    GOD IT WAS POWERFUL! Said, “I’m Daphne Hawkes!” Wow!


    She insisted she “knew me” and “recognized my name” (Reader of Devlyn? Impossible.)


    She said she had time to talk, I said I DIDN’T and blundered away. She said, “You’re in my prayers, Alysse!”


    I stagger off, exalted & terrified.


    Bike conked out, I walked home.

    On the Palmetto from Washington – Princeton Jct 10 PM Tues 17 Jun 80
    I love trains. I like Arthur Conan Doyle because he loved them too. All his fuss over timing, carriages & tickets delicious to me.


    Feeling bad about Avril – she says her life is suddenly empty. Her heart membrane as thin as a racehorse’s ankle.


    We got her a cat and helped her pack – best way to free her I can think of. Bought my wedding lingerie, tried on the veil Maureen is making for me – STUNNING!


    Avril & I saw 2 classics – The Empire Strikes Back and The Shining.


    Missing my angelic male half.


    House sale should net $5,000 – M & D giving me $3000 stock Nov 1. Relief to have SOME money coming in.

    Thurs June 19 – 80
    Letter from agent – Devlyn sold to Germans for $1000! (One edition – rights revert to me.) Der Todestrank or some such thing. “The Death Drink.” Maybe I don’t have to take a job this summer (fellowship starts Sept.)


    Late again to Daphne’s service – this is awful but I had to drive T to pick up his car. Forgot to bring Kleenex – so sure I wouldn’t need it! Wrong!!!


    Trying Zen breathing to control the sobs – zilch. Total humiliation.


    Daphne hugged me said she was glad I’d come – I took the oil & communion although I’m “unbaptized.” Daphne said a different prayer for each of us. Lovely woman. The wine was real! (Unlike at Devon’s church.) Nice touch!


    I think I’m crying about “losing control.”

    Thurs 26 June 80
    Writing wedding invites not as much fun as I thought it would be – can’t use my fountain pen (paper too absorbent) can’t get as good an effect with a felt tip. Oh well!


    I’m up to 90. Can only do 20 per sitting because I become paralyzed with boredom.


    Last weekend on Cape first time I felt I was “myself” around T’s family. Having a book out nobody read is not much to establish an identity.


    T’s aunt Mimsey staying with us now – up late arguing with her about adopted cousin Katey. She argues – weirdly I think – against adopted children finding their biological parents! If they could just accept a Beneficial Social Fiction as reality wouldn’t we all be Fine? Where have I heard that before! I was so relieved Toss saw all the issues immediately – he’s so smart – the biggest one being TIMES CHANGE. (Often in ways we can’t imagine but since we know they do, why pretend? ”We’re gonna fix this for you kids right before we die and you’ll never have to address that problem again” is sheerest idiocy.) He really is a superior intellect. (He does have a flaw; sees abortion and adoption as similar! Typical male!)

    Mon 30 Jun 80
    Lethargy – extreme, prolonged, profound – the key to my personality these days. Fallow. Torpid.
    A little Teresa of Avila goes a long way – Elinor Wylie is fascinating & sad. Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s latest volume. of diaries is an irritant. I WANT to identify with but she’s too oppressively DIFFERENT.


    Jonathan Valin’s Lime Pit ho hum, Eliz Cadell’s latest totally empty. A Marriage of True Minds had some interesting data.


    Not finding what I want I reread Nancy Drew with an eye to a Modern Version. What would that look like? I sketch out a Mystery at Mirror Lake – trying to help a friend – it becomes Last Year at Marienbad pretty quickly.


    Want to rewrite Prisoner of St Secaire & getting some good ideas. I don’t want the heroine to be “unsure”, that’s Nancy’s appeal in a nutshell. She’s so confident! She’s always being accused of being a spy and a snoop and it doesn’t faze her. Yes, she is! So there! She has no problem pocketing evidence and keeping it to herself.


    Probably why Bobbie Mason (?) condemned her as “cold” and “calculating” in The Girl Sleuth. She NEVER solicits male help! (Asks Dad for a favor once in blue moon.) “Unfeminine”? But why then is she so popular WITH GIRLS? She represents an absent vitamin? Obviously. We’ll suck tree bark to get it if we have to (and you DO have to suck tree bark to read Nancy Drew.)


    A possible direction for Fawn in Demon Roused?

    11:AM – 3 July 80- StormFall Farm
    Toss’s father Sutton’s third wife Val died suddenly yesterday morning at 2:30 AM. T. was on the phone with his father about 11 PM when Sutton suddenly said – “there’s something wrong with Val.” And dropped the phone.


    When he came back on he said they were calling Rescue.


    Toss and I jumped into the car and drove straight up to Masschusetts arriving at the hospital where they said, “She expired.” Like a library card! Couldn’t understand it at first. She was only 46!


    Back at Sutton’s house he was cold and grey still in a state of shock; “They couldn’t start her heart.”
    No one knew she had anything wrong with her heart! I don’t know who suggested birth control pills as the culprit – or smoking? She had decided to break her diet for a dish of ice cream and that was it.


    Toss is with his father, I should be washing my hair; instead I write a poem for Val I can’t share but like better than anything since Alyssum.


    At this rate I’ll have a volume in 20 yrs!

    Sutton’s Place
    Everybody crying, Sutton on the phone with his sister Mimsey, Granma’s plane just landing, youngest brother Dom will be here within the hour. Minister came over to lead prayer service – did quite well – we discussed immortality & warmed to each other – I was stupid enough to say I’d written a poem – he said I could read it at the service Uh oh. Better come up with something for public disclosure.

  • Embattled Love: The Diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    2:10 AM – Grover’s Mill – New Jersey – Sat 24 May 1980


    Here we are! Just finished painting the newly plastered wall, putting up a bookcase and most of my books in it. Bad moment when T. thought I was going to paint the wall yellow (I wasn’t.) The kitchen is done but this bedroom still looks like hell.


    Wrote a 9 p letter to Devon when I was at my bluest. Probably shouldn’t send it! Sometimes life is too mysterious and T is too much of a stranger. Imagine making this move with Devon! (Or Bruce!) Or Ryder. UNIMAGINABLE!!!! Things are worse because we’re fasting till Mon AM. I use food to pep myself up but this summer I’m determined to get my greed under control. Hard accomplishing anything with T standing over me questioning every move I make.


    Looking for a place to hang the Earl & Countess of Horton bas reliefs Mom gave me T said, “I won’t lie to you – I don’t like them.” I said, “I’ll put them in my study” but then I boiled. I don’t like ANY of his stuff – his horrible vintage Camel ads – it’s all hideous – but what if I said so? I took it for granted that if HE likes & wants it, end of story. Evidently, I need to recast my thinking! But that’s impossible – if I rejected everything I didn’t like we’d only have my stuff!

    Memorial Day
    Our compromise is – he works in the barn, I work in the house. The barn is full of treasures that need to be appraised and catalogued and probably sold but he is wildly incensed when I say so! Everything must be saved till it chokes us to death. He is a very angry man and his anger makes me angry. Most unpleasant. He said Alysse, even when you’re angry you’re the person I love most in the world. I feel like I have T’s peace of mind in my care but he doesn’t have mine because he doesn’t know HOW to. Wasted time trying to get him to see praise & encouragement aren’t the same thing. He says, “At least when I praise you you’ll know I mean it.”


    He thinks I love him because my “standards are low.”

    4:30 AM Sat 31 May 80


    Can’t sleep. Reading Helen Van Slyke’s hymn to the middle class but all her books are hymns to the middle class. People who think life is an Ionesco play crossed with Munch’s The Scream won’t like Helen Van Slyke.


    Lavallee likes my rewrite “a lot” and is submitting it to Crown. I was sure she’d be able to tell I’m getting numb but apparently not. Sent my gothic The Bride & the Wolves to Tower. Now I have to take a serious look at St Secaire.


    Had a little cry (private fortunately) over T praising my clothes, body & housework but not projects or ideas. Need to start a serious program of prayer & meditation.


    Ackerman liked T but his CLERKS didn’t want him and Ackerman leaves it up to them! Too bad. Now he’s behind on his bar study schedule because of the move. Maybe self-study NOT the best pattern for a procrastinator?


    I think men just aren’t bred to give encouragement.

    7:15 PM Wed 4 June 80


    “O Rose Thou Art Sick…”


    The problem is T’s anger. When we are walking the dogs he says, “Keep to the road, dammit!” There is no point cursing at a dog! He says it makes HIM feel better. I say anger is corrupting – it just makes EVERYBODY angrier! How break an addiction that poisons our relationship? How is it women are called “strident” when men pullulate with such rage?


    Forms arrived so I innocently shared my poems and he got jealous of RYDER!!! It never even occurred to me! (poem in question: Love the magician) Obviously, I should have kept these publications “secret” but how icky is that! Especially when the guy is lecturing me on “honesty” night and day. I’m going to have to start pleading the Fifth.


    Set up a prayer desk in my study – books, candles, etc. I’m going to practice. I feel stupid asking for things – just try to get in touch with the Divine. But I also feel like God could “save” T! Flood him with light, etc.

    Yesterday required interview with Eng Dept at Guilders College for teaching. They astonished me by saying “You’re hired”!

    Thurs 5 June 80
    Yesterday so bad I threatened to give up and drive to Washington! I was almost in despair. He said I am preventing him from studying with my “demands” which means breathing, sleeping & eating apparently.


    He apologized finally and said he’s just so upset about the bar exam! So, I try to relax him physically. Give up on dieting – alcohol & food accomplish what rationalizing & arguing won’t.

    Sat 7 Jun 80
    We’ve been here a little over 2 weeks and the place is beginning to look like ours. I’m sitting in the garden under holly, maple, lilacs and cypress – an English garden gone to seed. I see Toss’s light in the Little House (an outbuilding) where he is studying.


    Tomorrow drive to Phila to celebrate T’s birthday then on Mon I plan to plunge into my study & redo Secaire. Mom & Dad called – I told them about Gilders College Writing Fellowship. They told me ForOptics merged with Corning Glass – up to 24 from 8. This would be good news for me if I could ever get hold of my stock but my “trustee” – Dad – won’t let me have it. He is considering a disbursement. He’d better since Gilders’ stipend is $60/week!


    T & I had the usual fight last night but I am learning from them. He goes “negative” & combative very fast. I have to grit my teeth not to mushily give in – I don’t want to fight but APPARENTLY HE DOES – the trick is to get him to see it. He thinks I’m just “resistant” and “demanding.” Resolved to bring his unconscious processes into consciousness.


    Dinner = trout grilled in spinach. Melon & cold veg salad.


    Reading PD James’ Innocent Blood – just awful. What bone does she have to pick, that’s the curiosity. Feels like she hates females. Probably thinks she must go “male” to write – or how can female “fluidity” direct a story?

  • Film Review: The Crown VS Saltburn

    Film Review – Scammers Get Scammed – Saltburn VS The Crown

    Well, it’s finally happened – The Crown has fallen in love with its subjects and a syrupy lot of over-privileged spoiled babies they are. When the nausea rises to projectile-vomiting level, try Saltburn, Emerald Fennell’s revenge on all twits everywhere.

    There’s an obvious reason Fennell can’t call this new enterprise Promising Young Man to remind us of her magnificent first outing, Promising Young Woman ,because its subject, Oliver Quick, is pure evil. And that, of course, is the problem with this movie. If there’s anything more sickening than the self-confident blathering of nitwits, it’s the triumph of evil. No thanks! Sadly, it ruins the film because it “jumps the shark” into unbelievability. The twits certainly can become silly enough to be overtaken by the more intelligent but the sad truth of reality is, there’s always someone smarter and meaner coming along.

    One of my great pleasures, as a Plot Maven, is re-writing bad endings and Saltburn’s is easy. Aristocrats of the Saltburn type are surrounded by servants whom they vigorously try not to see. But the servants see them. Try Joseph Losey’s magnificent The Servant as a helpful restorative.

  • Film Review – “Stoker” by Alysse Aallyn

    Stoker – Arche-tripe

    Stoker’s screenplay started out as fan-fiction to Alfred Hitchcock’s much more enjoyable Shadow of a Doubt, which has a moral center, plus victims we care about and characters we can root for.

    Stoker has a good, even beautiful movie buried in it but park Chan-Wook kept messing it up, very deliberately, probably under the pressure (and pleasure) of his personal fetishes. It starts WONDERFULLY – psychologically interesting, visually compelling, achieving an apotheosis of eidetic perfection hen a shot of hair dissolves into quivering grasses but jumps the shark on story sanity. Anyone who want to write about crime (and criminal psychology) need to STUDY it carefully or they risk sounding like nine year old girls guessing about sex – majorly clueless and missing all the real points – ultimately creating an uninteresting world too obviously made up.

    Subjects like mental illness, spies, the foreign service, rituals of different countries, etc., can’t be persuasively invented, and threadbare simulacrums relentlessly reveal unpleasant truths about immature people who just don’t want their fantasies interrupted.

    I used to write fantasies, too, until I began an in-depth study of crime. It changed what I wrote, how I think about the world, even how I live my life. Devlyn is a fantasy – but Find Courtney can actually happen. (Versions of it already have.) This is the reason I usually don’t like sci fi. It is possible to completely make up a world – for example Alice in Wonderland – but if it doesn’t satirize the rules of the real one it collapses like a bad soufflé. Michelangelo felt he couldn’t create a credible physicality of angels without studying dead bodies in morgues.

    I understand that in Stoker our “Oldboy” doesn’t want to be “bothered” by all that stuff – he’s an “artist” who wants to create visual poetry so hypnotic it gets away with breaking the rules and it almost works! But by the end of the film real life insistently intrudes with its message that the “impossible” is ultimately boring.

    The acting in Stoker is very good – especially Matthew Goode who seemed creepily young and was almost perfect – he would have BEEN perfect if the director had allowed him to be a little less vampiric and a little less “ka-razy” and a little more human. That would have made him more appealingly believable. But of course everyone has to submit to becoming an “archetype” to satisfy this director. India Stoker’s amoral, murderous sexuality has been a fetish for middle-aged men seeking to relieve their guilt (and excuse their behavior) for literally HUNDREDS of years. “Some girls” don’t have “proper feelings” so can be ruthlessly used and heartlessly exterminated.

    Poor Mia Wasikowska! I have admired her ever since In Treatment with Gabriel Byrne – she deserves better. That said, I have to admit a personal failing – Nicole Kidman’s frozen weirdness always gets my back up. I have been rolling my eyes over her rigidity since Cold Mountain.

    Mostly I feel sorry for actors who are talked into limiting the range of their gifts by these visual directors who set out to make a cohesive, visually stunning objet d’art, not a complex story about humans. As proud professionals they know how to give the director what he wants, thereby betraying their actual abilities which could create something much more intriguing, provocative and mentally long-lasting.

    I watch a fair amount of crime and it’s always entertaining for me to speculate about how people could have gotten away with it. In this case, easily with a modicum of adulthood & sanity which seemingly bores our first-time scriptwriter (Wentworth Miller) who needs to be more “in your face”. Too bad. But I did enjoy seeing it because I relish being given a puzzle mistakenly assembled – in my view. Then I have the mental fun of putting it together more effectively myself – an amusing occupation for a winter afternoon Ah.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 41. Puzzle Pieces

    Thus began the busiest week of Scarlet’s life, but at first, the happiest. The weather was sharp and clear emitting occasional puffy snowflakes; the sky was wide and open and even in London one could see forever. The streets were festive with Christmas lights and bustling shoppers. There were visits to the Victoria and Albert museum where Kirby Crousam gave Scarlet, Miss Bottomley and Pom a guided tour. Scarlet had never imagined early, high and late Victoriana could all be equally interesting. They thoroughly enjoyed an auction at Christie’s where Miss Bottomley wanted to bid on everything but allowed herself to be guided to a gorgeous big green and grey Larry Rivers at an excellent price – dinners at Simpson’s, drinks at The Gay Hussar and ices at Largo’s.

    Miss Bottomley even talked them into attending a pantomime where she clapped as excitedly as a child.


    The front door had been endowed with a coded lock and two peepholes – one specifically placed at Miss Bottomley’s height – not that she ever bothered to answer the door any more. Now that she had Enid. All three residents approved and declared this entry was “much less bother”. A “panic button” was installed promising to start up a loud siren signal anytime the Norfolk Crescent Irregulars felt themselves threatened.


    Pom behaved like a perfect gentleman, but he looked less haunted and so Scarlet relaxed into guiltless joy. He studiously avoided body contact with Scarlet but his eyes maintained a reassuring glow of intimate promise. Scarlet was mentally relieved but her body was less cooperative – her whole soul ached for him. According to Pelham, the divorce case proceeded swimmingly: Ian had expressed relief to see from their divorce proffer that Scarlet wanted only maintenance for Nick and was offering nanny-supervised visitation. Scarlet felt confident Enid was not Ian’s “type”, and that if he pretended that she were, Enid would see through his gambit.


    “Between you and me I think he’ll sign,” said Pelham. “He’d be a fool not to with what we’ve got on him. Ian will agree to be the guilty party and only the judge will ever have to know the details of the harrowing time you’ve been through. Should be over fairly soon when they accept our bargain.”


    Scarlet welcomed the days when Miss Bottomley conferenced with Bob Thomas leaving her free to drop into Coltsfoot & Briggins and liase with Mr. Mountjoy. She finally met the elusive Jemima Plympton “pleased to meet you I’m sure” and was given an introduction to the printer, Prollops & Daughters. She was rejoiced at this Dickensian name and accepted it as a very good omen for their future venture! She had already contacted Francesca Joringel, asking to see her manuscript.


    The interview she coveted, however, was with Mr. Beebee, head of the advertising firm Coltsfoot & Briggins had used for, quoting Mountjoy, “donkey’s years.” And what she had found out as Mr. Beebee made his pitch caused her to think nobody but a donkey would ever use this firm, but rather than tell them that, she resolved to ask Pom at the first opportunity if he knew anyone in advertising. She had already discovered through happy experience that his art school connections were invaluable.


    Once again, she was lucky. On her way out, she saw a young woman – she couldn’t have been more than twenty – showing a portfolio to the bored receptionist who almost certainly had no clout whatsoever.


    “I’m sorry,” said the woman frostily in a not-sorry way, “Mr. Beebee’s in meetings.”


    Scarlet held the door open for her as the girl marched dejectedly out.


    “You’re casting your pearls before swine,” Scarlet remarked.


    The girl flushed, “They don’t want to hire a woman, that’s the truth. I doubt they have a single woman working there other than that bloody receptionist.”


    “The more fools they,” said Scarlet. “That’s what keeps them living in the past like a pack of dinosaurs. And the same thing that happened to the dinosaurs is going to happen to them. The ideas they showed me were hideously hidebound. Positively strangled at birth.”


    The girl looked at her with more interest as they stepped into the elevator together.


    “I’m Lalage Sumner-Locke,” she said. “I just finished up at Durham Technical College and my parents gave me two weeks at a hotel as a graduation gift to see if I could get a job in the City.”
    Scarlet knew this naïve introduction would have been counted against her anywhere except in front of a member of The Norfolk Crescent Irregulars.


    “My publishing firm is planning a hardbound reprint of the Miss Clew books of sixty years ago. I wonder if you’d read the books and mock up a advertising plan to get people excited about them.”
    “I think I’ve heard of those!” gasped Lalage. “My aunt read them through regularly every year. I’d certainly love to try my hand.”


    And so Lalage Sumer-Locke came to tea in the Norfolk Crescent kitchen, showed everyone her amusing portfolio and was given ten pounds – “This gives me an extra two weeks!” – and a full set of Miss Clew books.


    “She was lucky to have found you,” commented Enid and the two women cleared up afterwards when Lalage had departed and Miss Bottomley, worn out from a morning with Bob Thomas (“Money’s a terrible responsibility!”) had gone to lie down.


    “I was lucky to find her! What did you think of the portfolio?”


    “I loved the Piccadilly swan lording it over the Mayfair ducks! She’s clever, that one!”


    This cleverness was confirmed when, the very next day, Lalage phoned from the Royal Park Hotel (“My parents said I could stay anywhere with Royal in the title”) and suggested she’d also like to illustrate the books.


    “The illustrations can be part of the advertising,” she said. “We’ll seize on say, ten moments or however many you want – show an exciting scene – and get people caught up in speculation. “Can Miss Clew escape this time? Is Miss Clew’s number up? Can the world exist without Miss Clew?” That sort of thing.”


    “I love it,” said Scarlet. “How are you getting along with the books?”


    “I’m loving them so much I have to put them down and force myself to draw. I’m on The Jade Monkey Puzzle right now.”


    “Keep up the good work,” said Scarlet.


    She was interrupted by Branner of Palace Security.


    “That back entrance going to take us longer, miss,” he explained. “We need to sub-contract a masonry job – mortar’s so friable you can put your fist through it.”


    “So, you’ll be opening up the wall, then? How can you keep us safe?”


    “We’ll hang tarpaulins. And of course, there’s the night guard, ma’am.”


    Forever after, Scarlet was to regret not demanding extra guards. Was it possible to be too happy? It could make you careless.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 49. An Appointment With the Past

    And they both managed a full night’s restful sleep.


    Scarlet was breakfasting alone at the dining table, scanning the papers when the phone call came.
    “You’ll never believe what Ian told the magistrate,” said D’Arcy. “By the way, our detective lost him at the BBC – there are just too many entrances – so he very sensibly dispatched himself to your current place of residence. He obtained one long distance photo of Ian backing you up against a wall – no kissing, but the buttons of your coat undone.”


    “What did Ian say?”


    “He said you were disguised as the nanny! Is that possible, Scarlet?”


    Scarlet flushed. She had not expected this. “I did borrow the nanny’s greatcoat. And hat.”
    “Why on earth?”


    “I wanted to get a good look at any loiterers.”


    “Please leave that to us and don’t do it again. We are presenting ourselves as the innocent parties here – if a judge gets a whiff that the two of you are playing some marital game he’ll toss the whole case out as collusive.”


    “I’m sorry,” said Scarlet. “I guess I didn’t think. So, what did the magistrate do?”


    “Well, he absolved Ian of contravening a court order but of course one isn’t supposed to slam nannies against walls, either. Since the detective testified to some kissing, Ian said he was having a “try-on.” It certainly doesn’t help his case and he was unarguably too close to your residence. The judge has added the nanny to the order and repeated “Stay away.” On the whole, I think we can call this a win.”


    A hammering at the front door vaulted Scarlet to her feet. Must be the security crew.
    “I must go. Is that all?”


    “That covers it. You be a good girl, now.”


    Scarlet promised, too distracted to argue that girlhood felt very long past now and never to come again.


    A woman wearing an old-fashioned duster stood on the doorstep, arm akimbo.
    “I’m here to see why I was fired. Mollie Jarviss of Jarviss Cleaning.”


    “I’m sure we didn’t fire you,” said Scarlet, who had been expecting the security men. “Why don’t you come in and we’ll sort this out?”


    She seated Mollie in the dining room and found Miss Bottomley toasting her toes in the kitchen, “keeping Enid company” which seemed to be her favorite new pursuit. She was wearing Scarlet’s bulky red anorak.


    “I hope you don’t mind,” she apologized, “it just fits me so well, it’s so hard to stay warm and it’s so comfortable.”


    “Not in the least,” said Scarlet. “You can have it. It doesn’t really fit me anymore. Clearly, I need new outerwear. By the way, was there any problem with the cleaning company that you can remember?”


    “Our cleaning company? I can’t think of any,” said Miss Bottomley. “I never saw them. But they certainly seemed honest, quiet and best of all from my point of view – they were fast.”


    “Mrs. Jarviss is claiming she was fired.”


    “I didn’t fire her,” snorted Miss Bottomley, “I fired Mr. Inkum. Bob Thomas and I did.”


    “So you won’t object if I re-hire her?”


    “Not in the least. I wouldn’t care to audition anyone new at this late stage.”


    Scarlet carried the good news to Mrs. Jarvis.


    “It’s Inkum who’s been let go,” she averred. “We’ll be paying you from now on.”


    Relief melted Mrs. Jarviss’ face, followed by embarrassment.


    “That’s all right, then,” she said. “I apologize if I was forceful. I thought we’d been found wanting but nobody told me. Fix anything the customer doesn’t care for is my motto. My girls are honest and hard-working.”


    “That’s great, then. Miss Bottomley is well satisfied.”


    “Four o’clock today, then? Two pounds ten.”


    “Certainly,” said Scarlet, trying not to show how surprised she was at such a low figure for this vast place. She escorted a much-subdued Mrs. Jarviss to the door. “We’ll see you this afternoon, then.”
    If it was once a week, she thought, there wouldn’t be a need to give Mrs. Jarviss the code. But she must remember to get a cheque from Miss Bottomley.


    The security men were pulling up at that very moment.


    “Good morning,” said Mr. Dyson. “This is Bert, who will work on keying your front door. John Truax here will oversee the job at the back.”


    Bert was all business in a gray oil-stained boiler suit He immediately knelt to study the door locks with scarcely a glance at Scarlet. Truax was more personable. He looked ex-military with his shoulders bulging out of his turtleneck and tweed jacket.


    “Miss Bottomley’s favorite number is 881,” whispered Scarlet. “Some childhood address.”


    “That’s where we’ll start, then. If you could walk us to the back?”


    Miss Bottomley was delighted by the company and offered tea all round, which the men did not take up. Elevenses, they averred, at eleven, would be welcome.


    “I will need a chair, if that’s all right,” said Truax. “For my post.”


    It was certainly all right.


    Three trucks had already pulled up in the forecourt.


    “I wish I could watch,” said Miss Bottomley regretfully, “But I must get ready for Mr. Thomas. We’re going to the bank.”


    “Nick and I can keep watch,” said Enid.


    Scarlet thought it was really the handsome Truax who had drawn Enid’s attention.


    “I have some things to do upstairs,” said Scarlet.


    But it was not to be. The front door bell summoned her yet again. Who’s the housemaid now? Wondered Scarlet but her disgruntled expression changed when she saw Pom and a sweet-looking young man standing before her on the doorstep.


    “Finally, someone I want to see!” she gasped. Pom and the stranger broke into smiles immediately.
    “Kirby Crousam,” Pom introduced, “From the Victoria and Albert. We went to art school together.” They had to step over locksmith Bert to enter.


    Scarlet bit her tongue to avoid telling poor Mr. Crousam that he didn’t look old enough to be running his own affairs, much less anyone else’s. The boyish-looking man produced a very professional portfolio with pages of checklists. He insisted on a complete tour.


    “Oh, my goodness,” gasped Crousam, “I can’t believe my eyes. Wells Antiquarian chairs, St. George cabinets –and this washstand – simply priceless!’


    “I thought it was a prie-dieu or something,” muttered Scarlet.


    “No, this rather strange piece of marble was simply laid on top. I suppose they thought they were repurposing it. But the upholstery looks original.”


    “Well, no one has ever sat there,” said Scarlet, while Pom echoed, “Who would WANT to?”
    “It’s true these pieces are thoroughly out of fashion now,” Crousam agreed. “But they are living history. All the more reason they should be protected.”


    “They belong in a museum,” said Scarlet, and Kirby Crousam flushed with pleasure at a comment which in her country would be more of an insult. Scarlet’s conscience smote her and she offered Kirby Crousam a cup of tea.


    “After I’ve finished that would be most welcome,” said Crousam.


    “After you’ve finished you may be ready for dinner,” said Pom. “There are three floors of this stuff.”


    “I feel like I’m dreaming,” said Crousam. “It’s a treasure trove!” Closer up, Scarlet saw the network of wrinkles. He looked more like a jockey, really – boyish at a distance but seen close-to he was prematurely aged, more like a chimneysweep .


    “How can everything possibly be in such perfect condition?” Crousam continued. “It’s a curator’s dream come true.”


    “Well, the old lady who lived here before Miss Bottomley seemed to prefer luxury cruise ships.”


    Kirby turned up the carpet to study the weave.


    “It usually comes down to some old party too frightened to make a will.”


    Pom flashed his charming smile. “And whose relatives were all too shy –“


    “Or too snooty –“ teased Scarlet –


    “To get married or have children and so when the old lady died the whole property went to another old lady the first old lady had never even met.”


    “How Dickensian,” murmured Crousam.


    “And our heiress old lady was a novelist who believed in finding the proper place for everything,” Scarlet finished. “These pieces should be where people can enjoy them.”


    “And learn from them. The museum would be so honored to receive any of these pieces. We have such a small endowment – people don’t realize – but sometimes we can raise funds for certain items -“


    “I think you’ll find Miss Bottomley wants to be as generous as possible. Why don’t you get in touch with Bob Thomas of Thomas & D’Arcy – he’s her man of business.”


    “Of course,” said Crousam, making a note. “Are there any rooms I shouldn’t enter?”


    “I’d say the kitchen and the rooms behind it. Those are Miss Bottomley’s private quarters,” said Scarlet. “Why don’t I let you know when she’s available?”

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 45. Norfolk Crescent Irregulars

    It turned out Pom had just the same idea. He appeared at the door – six o’clock exactly – with a bottle of good burgundy and a crop of invitations to upcoming gallery shows.
    “These belong on the mantelpiece,” said Miss Bottomley excitedly, using the scraps of pasteboard to ornament her previously under-used drawing room.


    “I see what you mean about these paintings,” commented Pom, as he walked slowly around a large daub depicting haymaking. “This one’s so filthy they seem to be performing farm work after dark.”
    “What’s the point of cleaning them?” Miss Bottomley complained. “They’re SO hideous. Just get rid of them.”


    “I think it’s a Stubbs,” Pom assured her. “Someone will want it. And this furniture is probably worth quite a bit of money,” he opined. “It looks original to me but I’m no expert.”


    These dark, heavy furnishings represented the ugliest pieces of the Victorian era to Scarlet’s mind. The nice Directoire bits were all upstairs.


    “We don’t care anything about money around here,” Miss Bottomley asserted loftily. “My man of business Mr. Bob Thomas assures me I have more than enough and can choose to suit myself and I say this room is too uncomfortable.” Scarlet couldn’t argue. It was a very cold room. “I prefer a good squashy chair from Heal’s. In a nice Liberty print.”


    “You might enjoy looking at the beautiful rosewood tables and chairs made by Dansk,” offered Pom. “Very light and airy. I’ll take you any time you like. As for this stuff, I know a fellow at the Albert and Victoria who would offer an appraisal – they’d be delighted to have them if you don’t want to sell.”


    Miss Bottomley’s face shone. “The Albert and Victoria Museum? That would be lovely! Would there be a plaque – “gift of Esmé Hope Bottomley? That sort of thing?”


    “Certainly,” said Pom. “Exactly that sort of thing.”


    Scarlet had one of those flashes of insight that seemed to come to her around Miss Bottomley.


    “You could say on behalf of The Miss Clew Trust,” she offered. “Get a bit of free advertising.”


    Miss Bottomley’s eyes closed in ecstasy as she clutched Scarlet’s arm.


    “Well done!” she gasped. “You are a good, good girl. Hiring you was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Everything in its proper place, isn’t that what Miss Clew always said?”


    “She did!” agreed Scarlet. “When you put the pieces in their proper places, the meaning of the puzzle reveals itself.”


    “I wrote that?” sighed Miss Bottomley. “What a clever, hopeful young woman I must have been.”


    And at that very moment Enid announced dinner.


    It was a rollicking evening of delicious food and pleasant company. Pom’s delicious burgundy was soon exhausted.


    “You know, there’s a wine cellar downstairs,” said Miss Bottomley. “I’ve never been. The key is hanging behind the kitchen door.”


    Scarlet was about to refuse further alcohol but when she saw the way Pom’s face lit up she knew they’d at least be obliged to take a look.


    Hanging as it was beneath aprons, the key was difficult to find.


    “Better take care,” Pom said as the tiny door squeaked open, “These steps look treacherous. I’ll go first.”


    When the light switch failed to perform its job, Pom produced a pen light from his pocket allowing them to proceed downstairs. They were confronted by a cellar full of wine.


    “Oh my God” said Scarlet at the sight of dusty racks going on forever.


    “It’s like the treasures of the Thousand and One Nights,” said Pom and Scarlet added “With Miss Bottomley as our Sharhazad.”


    She chose a bottle at random from the closest rack.


    “Romanée-Conti. It’s a burgundy but I can’t see the year. Will this do?”


    “I hope so,” said Pom. “I’ve never actually worried about being worthy of a wine before. In fact, I would have said such people are idiots. But that’s seems to be definitely what I’m feeling now.”


    “I think it’s Miss Bottomley we have to struggle to be worthy of,” said Scarlet.


    “You’re absolutely right. What a good way to put it.” He squeezed her shoulder.


    “Is there is a store of electric bulbs anywhere?” Pom asked Miss Bottomley when they were back at the table.


    “I’ve no idea,” Miss Bottomley replied.


    “On the second floor are lots of unused lamps,” suggested Scarlet. “Some of them must have working bulbs.”


    “There’s a good plan,” said Pom and Enid offered up her glass.


    “I’ll drink to that.”


    As Pom dusted the bottle he said, “1937. Let’s hope that was a good year for French reds.”


    “Probably the last for awhile,” said Enid. “Considering what was going on in the rest of the world.”


    He opened it with some ceremony, poured out a smidgen for Miss Bottomley and waited attentive as a sommelier.


    She sipped.


    “I’ve never cared for wine,” she said, “But this tastes lovely.”


    It was. Rich and subtle, flavored with sunlight, the wine brought tears to their eyes.


    Scarlet choked up.


    “I’d like to toast our hostess,” she offered, rising to her feet.


    “Oh please,” Miss Bottomley disparaged, “Don’t bother. You’ve brought me so much. I’m so proud to be the founding partner of the Norfolk Crescent Irregulars.”


    Everyone laughed at this dedication but Scarlet pressed forwards.


    “But I want to say it. I was at the worst time in my life – I couldn’t allow myself to think quite how bad it really was, because I had Nick to consider. And you – rescued me. Thank you.”


    “Hear, hear,” said Pom and Enid seconded, “Aye, aye.”


    Miss Bottomley’s cheeks were pink. “That three month trial period we discussed? Consider it over – you’re both hired as long as you care to stay, Enid and Scarlet. Think how you’ve helped ME! I was hiding in my kitchen – I think eventually I’d have signed any document Mr. Inkum put in front of me just to get rid of him – and the only thing that stirred me was the thought of my novels lying mangled and bloody two for a penny on a railway stall. And look where I am now!” She raised her glass. “Here’s to you! All three of you!”


    Pom and Enid also rose.


    “We accept,” said Pom. “To us.”


    Solemnly they drank their delicious wine.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 41. Candi’s Game

    Dr. Spock’s Commonsense Book of Baby and Childcare was in the Medical section. She was immersed in its pages, reading almost in a state of bliss the doctor’s opinion that mothers were always the best judges and should “follow their instincts” – God Bless America! – when her elbow was roughly grabbed, and she was jerked around face to face with Candi Pourfoyle.


    Candi looked terrible. She seemed to have given up the Cleopatra eye makeup, instead wearing peculiar white eyeliner and white lipstick that only made her sleepless face look bonier – positively skeletal.


    Her voice was rough as she pulled Scarlet closer.


    “Why don’t you just give him up?”


    Scarlet studied her pityingly. “I have given him up.”’


    “Then divorce him.” There was a definite note of desperation in Candi’s voice now as she scrabbled for a tissue in her bag. Scarlet saw pill bottles.


    “I AM divorcing him,” said Scarlet, “You must speak to Ian. He’s the one who doesn’t want a divorce.”


    Candi’s face collapsed before this terrible truth. She smeared her makeup with the tissue as she dabbled at her eyes. This was a far cry from the confident seductress who’d visited Wyvern a few short weeks before. Was this what Ian did to women? Or was this what Ian so, so subtly suggested women should do to themselves?


    Scarlet pulled away from this depressing spectre, fearing that she herself had looked like this, only days ago.


    “He says he can’t divorce you,” gasped Candi. “I’m warning you, you can’t get away with that.”


    “You can stop worrying,” Scarlet told her. “Whether Ian likes it or not, we are definitely getting a divorce.”


    It’s none of my business if he lies to his girlfriend, she thought, stepping with relief into a stream of foot traffic headed for the cashier’s box. She would expect nothing less of the new Ian she had come to know. He said whatever was convenient for the moment, but made no effort to bring his lies into a consistent story. And soon she was once again free, outside in the brisk London December, clutching her parcel, signaling a cab and giving the address of her solicitor.

    Bob Thomas immediately poured her out a welcoming cup of tea, ushered her into a chair and acted as if he had all the time in the world.


    “Miss Bottomley hired me to help edit her novel series,” she told him. “I wonder whether you know that.”


    His broad face expressed confusion. “It wasn’t mentioned,” he said shortly. Scarlet was not surprised that poor Miss Bottomley had not thought to mention her authorship of a long sold series as any part of her current assets.


    “Our Miss Clew – published sixty years ago? I don’t know if you recollect the titles.”


    “Ladies novels?” His face became if anything more impassive. “I’m sorry, no.”


    Scarlet thought of David Pourfoyle’s enthusiastic recommendation, which had started her on the long path leading her to this very office, but she couldn’t explain it to Mr. Thomas. Instead, she shared with him just the facts he needed to know.


    “Let’s say they are highly regarded by the literati. Miss Bottomley was forced by pecuniary imperative to sell the series to Coltsfoot & Briggins, Publishers, forty years ago and now they are suggesting an updated re-issue. Miss Bottomley doesn’t trust them to edit the series – er – respectfully, you understand – and suggested she submit her version first, to which they agreed.
    I went to see Mr. Mountjoy yesterday and we had what I can only describe as a ghastly meeting. He showed me other series they have done – Rod the Spy if you recognize that –“ horrifyingly, his face lit up. It seemed that he did. She took a strengthening cup of tea and pressed on in spite of the fact that she feared this was about to go all wrong.


    “And I came away with no faith whatever that these publishers are going to preserve any of the wonderful charm and special interest of those books – which I may say are personally beloved by many, many people, including me.”


    Luckily, he didn’t insert a dismissive comment. His attentiveness emboldened her. She sharpened her point. “I also noticed that these particular publishers seem to be in dire need of cash.”
    Mr. Thomas said, “Most publishers are. Dicey business, publishing. They’re in the fashion business more than anything.”


    Scarlet felt cheered and suitably strengthened. “When I returned to Norfolk Crescent, I told Miss Bottomley I thought she ought to buy an equity stake in those publishers and bring out her books her own way. She was delighted with the idea.”


    At last Bob Thomas slid a memorandum pad towards himself and began taking notes.


    “Capital idea,” he said. “Miss Bottomley sorely needs a losing business. All her current rentals are bringing in money hand over fist. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I make some preliminary inquiries – sound them out so to speak to see what such a stake might cost without letting out who wants to know, and when I see Miss Bottomley tomorrow afternoon – I’m coming by tomorrow afternoon with some documents for her to sign – she can let me know how she wishes to proceed.”


    “Marvelous,” said Scarlet, rising immediately, “She’ll be so pleased. I can’t thank you enough.”


    Really, she was just grateful he hadn’t thrown her out on her ear. I mean why on earth should this solicitor discuss Miss Bottomley’s business with her?


    As she was putting on her coat Pelham D’Arcy thrust his head around his door.


    “Mrs. Wye, could you stop by for a moment?” he requested. “I’ve got something I’d like to discuss.”