Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. Going involved two things that all Ann Veronica’s tact had been ineffectual to conceal from her aunt and father. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Why don’t you just tell me what is going on with you! Why the police questioned you! Why they’re looking for your mother? I’ll understand! Just tell me and I swear to God Lucy I’ll understand. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. Men do services for the love of women, and the woman who takes must pay. I suppose the phrase—the word—originally meant a man who searched for food on the beach. ‘It is to say goodbye, you understand.
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