When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.
Of course you came back. You couldn’t resist me, you never could ‘’Age has not withered you nor custom staled your infinite variety’’. You and Cleopatra commingle in my mind, two temptresses fighting it out for the sake of my heart. How I treasure our secret life together. Sometimes I even dream of you staying on here again, and I weep. I doubt if any other lovers could surpass our beauty my darling- or our adventures as you called them when everyone went home but us.
Look at you now, once again on my staircase, the scene of so many triumphs, still using that old trick of yours, with your long hands high in the air: flying, heaven bound, deserting me. I feel your absence still. I do.
My lady, let me introduce you once more because your name still works on me like some dark enchanted charm- let us welcome here once again: ’’Our celebrated Mrs Davies, MA, Oxon. OBE.’’
There you are darling. I am as fascinated as ever.
You look smaller tonight, more vulnerable somehow. Do you fear your own nature perhaps? How can you be afraid my darling, when you are home and so utterly accepted? Later, I promise, I will embrace you. For the moment just look about you and be proud Mrs Davies, be proud.
With your famously acute vision you may notice of course that our polished wood has been supplanted by discreet crimson carpet on this, probably the most famous Neo-Gothic staircase in the whole of Northern England. Your reign may have been grander than today’s casual re-entrance, yet I think you will find us happier too- less anxious, less watchful for your approval.
Observing you once more, I am reminded how our stairs provide the perfect stage for your artistry. And even now, years later, I salute your genius- for aren’t these conversations of yours perfectly casual, spontaneous, dare I say, natural?
Such asides!
‘Mrs Davies, what a delight! You’re with us again! ‘
‘Mrs Davies, you are as remarkable as ever!’
‘A triumph Mrs Davies-how you captivate us all.’
I could never decide if you liked your left or right profile best. I prefer your left I think. It tells more of the truth, especially at night. And this is a night appointment you know. Stay close by and learn.
Yes, you are right, many apologies my darling. Our new Head Dr Regent replaced your life size mirror with that rather dismal still life. Ripe fruit I think. She’s a Quaker and occasional chemist.
How flattering – so many people are gathered here this winter’s evening, for your very special talk. Rows upon rows of listeners, all for you darling. The air is heady- charged with our anticipation, our desire for you.
By the way, may I say what a lovely pale blue suit you are wearing tonight: elegantly approachable, yet subtly aloof?
Our prodigal ice Queen has returned and is smiling. Laughing now. We love her still.
Remember how the staff used to worry about the secret codes of your suits? Messages would telegraph, correction, sprint along my corridors, practically as soon as you stepped through our doors. Miss Taylor on reception could never let by a dashing red scarf without a breathless word with lovely Jennifer on C floor.
Those were the days. Your killer heels darling. I sigh inside. Let it go I tell myself, and I have. Well nearly darling, just not quite, yet.
Since your OBE, I hear all your business cards are to be revised yet again, this time inscribed with gorgeous silver swirls. Understated ostentation. That’s you, my gorgeously oxymoronic darling. I’m afraid our days now Mrs Davies are not like your sovereignty as you used to tell everyone every Tuesday morning, 8 am sharp. We seek only quiet nowadays. We are mindful of calm.
So, I must confess we felt a tinge of alarm when the new Governors insisted upon your nostalgic tour of our past glories. The Sergeants unrolled the old dark crimson carpet and now once more from the entrance hall, a visitor may detect the searching, yet reflective glance of your splendid portrait commissioned to celebrate your first year in post. Your likeness in oil I am sorry to admit, had to be rescued from the silent corridors of D block for this evening’s performance. Darling you had been cast out- relegated to the Department of resistant materials. C’est la vie. Even Quakers can feel the tiny prick of jealousy.
A few hours of your presence dearest however, and my corridors will be awash with your special scent. Shalimar. Your vanilla trace. We will bathe in you, inhale you, and then like a miracle, you will desert us. After all, you informed us that this can be only a short visit. How very sweet of you to attend.
But I have to tell you Mrs Davies, that secretly there may be a subtle change to this evening’s performance, a small amendment to our wonderful programme here at St Winifred’s College. (I know you like surprises and that you love to wait for pleasure. I do remember making you wait. We were pleasure’s archers together that evening weren’t we? Your cries filled me with joy. We were fated. Sealed forever. You Cleopatra, me-well I freely admit some confusion, some ambivalence shall we say about my nature). But changes are afoot. So prepare to be surprised my darling, prepare to be overtaken by chance.
I must stop teasing you though; but I know you only appear to be speaking to those parents; you are really listening to me. You are inclining into my warmth already. And it feels so good doesn’t it? You want me to hold you again. Resistance is futile. Character is fate. Patience darling. I smoulder for you.
But by the way, didn’t you frown when you came in just before? I noticed. Always the carer wasn’t I? You looked hurt. Poor darling. Was it the portrait? The dust?
So many alterations have been carried out without your famous disapproval. ‘I do not consent to this.’ I think that must have been your favourite phrase here. Sometimes you even sounded apologetic. But we both knew you were mistress of all you surveyed; even me darling when I let you. That was part of our game, our pleasure’s strategy. I do not consent… I do not consent. Perhaps I over enthuse Mrs Davies. We are all in awe.