Chapter Four

 

 

When Splash came up out of the coal cellar, a big bucket loaded full of coal in her hands, the thin, sharp metal handle biting into her palms, she was surprised to find Lawrence in the kitchen and Louise chatting amicably to him.

It was the next morning. Splash’s sleeping quarters had been a room on the top floor, bare, uncomfortable and extremely cold; furthermore she’d been left to sleep in her restraints, which caused her to wake up whenever she rolled over on to the chains. At six o’clock she’d been roused and put to work around the house. It appeared that Pauline had formerly been called upon to do a great deal of skivvying, which her imprisonment in the mask prevented her from doing and which had been left mostly undone since. It was as if Splash hadn’t noticed how dusty and grimy so much of the place was, not before she had to clean a little of it up under Louise’s eye. But she did as she was told and on her side Louise seemed to be in an unaggressive mood. Possibly that was because Pauline wasn’t with them.

“She’s sitting with the boss.”

Splash remembered Pauline’s fingernail, scratching in the mist: I WAS MEANT FOR HIM. NOT MARRIAGE. SEX. But she didn’t say anything.

At lunchtime they were in the kitchen where the fire had burned low, so Splash had been sent down a dark little flight of steps to refill the scuttle. When she came back there was Lawrence, sitting on the edge of the table with one knee over the other, evidently at liberty in the house again.

His costume and make-up were more than careful, they were elaborate: beneath a full-skirted crimson dress with scarlet polka dots, padding gave him a full bosom and a round backside. Past black lace cuffs, his wrists and hands were covered by short gloves of soft red leather, and the crossing of his legs lifted his skirt enough to show a pair of fancy cowboy boots of the same bright hue, with built-up heels. Splash heard Johnny’s voice saying ‘queer’ with brutal relish. Johnny was a creep.

“Here she is,” said Louise.

Lawrence gave Splash a tired, pale look, which contrasted strangely with his gaudy appearance. “How are you?”

“I’m all right.”

“She’s been a good worker this morning. And you’re looking very pretty yourself, Larry.”

To Splash’s surprise, Lawrence’s lips twisted and puckered in an involuntary smile. “Don’t call me Larry, Lousy,” he retorted.

Louise laughed. She was standing beside him, and leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. “You must wanna see Pauline. She’s with the boss. Splash is just gonna take him his lunch. Why don’t you give me a rest from minding her? Pull the thing at the back of her neck if she acts up, but I don’t reckon she will. Thanks,” she called after him as he escorted Splash out of the kitchen.

“Lawrence ...” began Splash when she thought they were out of earshot.

“If you’re thinking this is a chance to run, forget it.”

“I wasn’t, really,” she said thoughtfully. “I know what happened to you.”

He pulled down a lace cuff, turned up a glove and held his bare hairless forearm next to Splash’s, which was supporting one side of a lunch tray. Both were disfigured by deep brown furrows in the skin, in which the weave of the cords that had bound them was clearly imprinted. “Snap.”

“And Johnny hit you. Louise kicked me.”

“Johnny kicked me, too. He hit me everywhere except my face. I can take that. I didn’t much like his putting his fingers up my bum.”

Splash stared. “You mean actually up your asshole?”

“Yes.”

She shuddered. “I’m sorry for you.”

But they were at the door of Mr Lovedrool’s sitting room and Lawrence raised a fist to tap.

Mr Lovedrool was in his armchair, with Pauline perched upon his knee. He held a book open in one hand. “Ah, here’s Lawrence. I’m sure you’re more interested in him than in any story.” He gave her a pat on the back and she climbed down from her place, groping eagerly in the direction of the door. “I’m over here.” He let her stumble into his arms and held her, stroking her nose, the only feature of her face not obliterated by leather.

Splash laid out Mr Lovedrool’s lunch. “Thank you. Who cooked this? You, or Johnny?”

“Me.”

He began to eat. “Well, you can only do your best. After all, Johnny is a splendid cook and Pauline an even better one. It was a happy day for my stomach when she came to live with us.”

“I guess so.”

He chewed meditatively on a mouthful, swallowed, and then said, “As a matter of fact ...” Instead of finishing his sentence, he reached out a hand and gave a smart slap down on the bell that communicated to the kitchen.

Louise came striding brightly in a few moments later. “Something wrong with your scoff, boss?”

“Louise, you are incorrigible!” said Mr Lovedrool with a chuckle. “I gave you the key to Pauline’s mask, I trust you’ve still got it about you? I want her to make tonight’s dinner and she can go unmasked for the rest of the day as well,” he explained as Splash, Lawrence and Pauline all stared at him.

Lawrence took the tiny, thin key, which fitted all the mask’s padlocks. Once the locks were out of the way, it was a practicable, but still complicated procedure to unbuckle the straps; under Pauline’s chin, at the back of her neck, behind her head, across the crown of her head. He bent and tilted her one way, then another, to get at them. Pauline let herself move as he determined, submitting to his touch.

The straps were all loose, flapping in different directions with a faint, metallic rattling. Pauline’s long, sand-coloured hair was released, to fall this way and that around her shoulders; the leather covering came away and her face was revealed.

She was pretty, in an unusual style; like her nose, her eyes and mouth were delicate, but her chin was pointed and prominent. If her face showed character, it could be seen now that she was very young, probably younger even than Lawrence. He stood before her with the empty mask in his hands, and she smiled up. “Hiya.” She lifted her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth.

“Sweet things,” said Louise, with a sarcasm that was almost good-natured.

Pauline let go, and rubbed her eyes, which seemed to be watering in the light. It was then that she noticed Splash. “You must be ...”

“Yeah.”

She surveyed Splash’s appearance. “I knew you’d be nice-looking.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t blame you not wanting to wear that. It’s horrible.” She touched her lips and cheeks and examined her fingertips.

“Put the mask away, please, Lawrence” said Mr Lovedrool. “Pauline, go and wash your face - and when you’ve done that, put on some warm clothes. Go with her, Lawrence. Louise, take Susan and get her dressed to go out. Find Johnny, too. Bring my overcoat and hat. We’ll all brave the elements together, like a real family.”

 

*****

 

“In the meadow we can build a snowman,

And we can pretend its Pastor Brown,

He’ll ask us, ‘are you married?’ we’ll say ‘no, man,

But you can do the job when you’re in town’...”

Louise had started singing it and somehow everyone had wanted to join in. Except Splash.

She was wrapped up warmly, with two sweaters, a thick coat and a long scarf; but the restraints had been locked back on before the party went out. They’d wandered together, a long way from the house, across field after snow-covered field, into a wood of pine trees. The air was grey with mist and white frost clung to the pine branches. When Louise broke into song, there was nothing forced or unnatural about it; everyone - all five of them - had been talking, cheerfully exchanging identical remarks about how cold it was and how deep the snow was underfoot, discussing what to have for that evening’s dinner, since Pauline could cook anything beautifully, making mysterious allusions to past events which now seemed very funny. Louise called Lawrence ‘Larry’ and he called her ‘Lousy’. Sometimes one or another of them addressed Splash and though she answered in monosyllables or not at all, nobody passed any comment.

They couldn’t remember all the words to the song, tending to revert to “in the meadow we can build a snowman” etc., about which everyone was more or less sure. Finally somebody suggested actually building a snowman and then it developed into a contest, with Louise and Johnny on one side, Lawrence and Pauline on the other, rolling together huge lumps of snow in their rival efforts.

Suddenly a snowball burst full in Louise’s face. “Pauline, you little cow! I’m gonna get you for that!” But she was laughing and all four of them chased in and out among the trees, snowballing each other and trading insults.

“Why not join in?” said Mr Lovedrool to Splash.

“I don’t want to.”

“So sullen and withdrawn. You seemed so bright when you came into my sitting room and sat in the chair with your legs crossed. That enchanted me.”

“Did it make you do this?” said Splash, after a minute of silence. “I mean, me crossing my legs got you so excited that you just had to see Louise and Johnny torturing me? And then you found me in your gigantic collection of porno pictures, so that clinched it, she’s not leaving?”

He laughed. “You could learn to live with us, if you’ll try. Look at the children. They are children, all of them.”

“I’m twenty-four,” said Splash.

The snow ballers had vanished into the distance, out of sight and hearing. But now they were coming back, three of them: Louise was on the run, under a barrage from Lawrence and Pauline, holding her arms up around her head to protect herself. They were gaining on her and pelting her harder as they got closer. Clouds of loose flakes were kicked up around Louise’s boots as she ran; then she hit her own earlier footprints and skidded. She stumbled and fell and Lawrence and Pauline were on top of her, both of them jumping on her together. They seized big handfuls of the snow and plastered it over her.

“Help!” she shouted breathlessly. “Tell them to get off, boss! Johnny, where are you, you twat?” But all the while she was laughing almost hysterically, indeed her lack of breath was due to laughter much more than to being handled roughly. Lawrence and Pauline were laughing, too. Less than twenty-four hours ago Louise had kicked him in the balls and hit her hard enough to knock her off her feet; if this was their revenge, it was a gentle one.

 

*****

 

“I wish I could make you happy, Splash,” said Pauline.

Dinner was cooking and she was mistress of the kitchen, with Splash as her maid. She’d driven everyone else away while she worked, even Lawrence. Splash assisted her, physically unable to leave the room: a long, thick chain ran from the kitchen range to the leather girdle around her waist and now and then Pauline had to skip over the chain while moving from one task to another. But Pauline’s troubles seemed to have been abolished. Between being let out of the mask, given an opportunity to do something which it soon became apparent was a pleasure to her and being fussed over and treated as somebody important, making the dinner was plainly a sheer enjoyment. When they were alone, Splash asked her how old she was. “I’m sixteen.”

“How do you come to be here? I mean, you told me a little of it yesterday ...”

Pauline looked uncomfortable. “Mr Lovedrool wanted someone.”

“What do you mean, he wanted someone?” said Splash irritably. “Someone to fuck? How come you got the job?”

“He’s never done that with me. He’s done other things. When he wanted to, I wouldn’t, because of Lawrence. Because I’d fallen in love with him.”

“But how did you get here? I mean, are you related to anybody, or are you an orphan? Where’s your mom and dad?”

“My mother’s dead. My dad’s still alive ...” began Pauline, but she broke off. “Do we have to talk about it?”

“I guess not.”

“I loved Lawrence as soon as I saw him, I think. He’s just really beautiful,” she said, changing the subject and becoming enthusiastic. “He does what he wants and nobody can hurt him.”

“Does he love you?”

Just then Mr Lovedrool put his big bald head around the kitchen door. “May I come in? Please, Pauline?”

She nodded.

He wandered about the room, inspecting the dishes in their various stages of preparation. “Excellent, excellent. And are you pleased to be our little chef again?”

“Yes, sir, it’s great,” said Pauline. “I’d ... I’d try and be good if you’d let me off wearing the mask anymore.”

“Your punishment can be brought to an end at any time, Pauline, by your own choice. Only sleep with me once, of your own free will, and never again. That’s all I ask.” He took hold of her chin and lifted it, raising her face. “Would it be so awful an experience? Worse than the mask?”

There was a long unhappy silence. At last, to Splash’s relief, he released her. “You shan’t be masked again tonight, at all events. You are an excellent cook. You can be forgiven much for that.”

“Thanks, sir.” She cast a look at Splash. “Could I ask you a favour, just for tonight ...? Can Susan have the belt and chains taken off her, too?”

Mr Lovedrool raised his eyebrows. “Are they inconvenient in her kitchen work?”

“No - I mean, yeah - “she lied hastily and clumsily. “I mean, she’s had a long face while we’ve all been enjoying ourselves ... I’ll put them on instead, if you want.”

He gave a delighted chuckle. “She’s putting you to shame, Miss Gilfillan!”

“Thanks a lot, Pauline,” said Splash dryly.

“No, don’t blame her, she means to do you a favour. What’s more, I’ll grant her wish.” He took from the pocket of his dressing-gown a key which had already become a familiar sight to Splash. “Give me your hands ...” He removed the cuffs from her wrists and elbows. Splash couldn’t restrain herself from sighing with relief, nor from taking immediate advantage of her restored freedom to stretch out her arms and lift them above her head. The aches and cramps of hours past were dispersed in a few moments; it was almost a pleasure.

“Everything should soon be ready to serve, don’t you think?” said Mr Lovedrool to Pauline. Without waiting for an answer he strolled out of the kitchen.

Splash clenched her hands together and flexed her elbows, raising them level with her chin. Pauline looked at her uncertainly. “I meant him to take the belt off, too.” The unfastened cuffs hung from Splash’s sides, attached by their chains to the leather girdle. “Then you could go out into the yard. Just for a walk ...”

“I’d walk like hell if I did, and he knows it.” Splash shrugged. “Let’s get on with the cooking.”

 

*****

 

Dinner hadn’t been so bad after all. When the time came for it to be served, Louise and Johnny had arrived to do the honours and had insisted on Pauline and Splash going to take their places in the dining-room. Even Splash appreciated the food, though her lips remained straight and firm while everyone else smiled. It was a relief to be able to eat like an adult and not have Louise grinning across the table at her awkwardness.

Pauline burped and blushed. “Sorry, I’ve had too much.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” said Louise agreeably. “Fart if you want to.”

Pauline giggled. “I don’t. I wish I’d ate less now. I feel all swollen up inside, like a balloon.”

“So do I,” said Lawrence. “Still, it’s been a terrific meal.”

“Lovely,” agreed Louise. “Thanks for cooking it, Pauline - and Splash.”

“Well said, Louise. Susan is one of us now,” said Mr Lovedrool gravely. “Yet she still has only a fragmentary knowledge of our past life together. A sense of collective history is indispensable to a true sense of belonging. We should tell her everything about ourselves, and you, Susan, should relate to us your life story. The telling will bind you to the group.”

“I guess I prefer not to be bound, sir,” said Splash.

“Well, you know that Louise and Lawrence are my children. The death of my wife and the decline of the Lovedrool family fortune were not related events, but they occurred almost simultaneously. For several years we three lived alone here, in which time Lawrence reached adolescence and Louise became a young woman. Then Johnny came - like you, he was only a chance visitor, but we persuaded him to stay, and he’s now been with us almost two years. Pauline joined the household only recently, in the summer. We all became fond of her immediately, but ...”

There was a long silence. The smile had faded from Pauline’s face, and she seemed not to have been listening to what was said, as if distracted by her own thoughts. “Haven’t you got anything to say, Lawrence?” said Splash.

“Not really, no,” said Lawrence irritably. He took Pauline’s hand. “Don’t fret.”

“I’m not fretting,” she said. “I don’t feel well. It’s my stomach, and the rest of me. I’ve got a bellyache, and I feel - I dunno, wobbly.”

“You too? That’s just how I feel. About here?” He touched a place below his padded breasts, around the bottom of his rib cage.

Pauline nodded. “All the stuff we put in was all right. I saw all of it.”

Lawrence looked around at the others. “Tastes fine to me,” said Splash.

“Excellent,” agreed Mr Lovedrool. “Now, Susan, give us the outline of your history.”

“You know the outline already. I was born in California. I dropped out of high school and went to Hollywood. Then I came to England. I’ve done a lot of normal jobs, but I’ve always wanted to do glamorous ones. What else did you want to know?”

Mr Lovedrool smiled. “You must have led a precarious life at times. You must have been short of money, for instance.”

“I made out.”

“Were you ever a prostitute?”

His right hand was below the level of the table. “Why, sir? What’s your attitude to prostitutes?” asked Splash. “Do you like them, or hate them, or something in between?”

“I neither like or dislike them, as a class. You haven’t answered my question and seem rather offended, so far as you venture to take offence at what I say. But really, whether you’ve maintained some kind of moral standard in your behaviour or not, it doesn’t make the least difference to my view of you. I neither respect you if you have, nor condemn you if you haven’t. To me all women are on the same level, every single one of you. All vehicles for sex.”

“Including your own daughter?”

Louise clicked her tongue. “Nasty!”

“It doesn’t matter what she says, dear. It doesn’t, you know, Susan. You can’t leave this house and while you’re here you may be violated in any way I choose. You may be stripped, bound, gagged, beaten, imprisoned, humiliated ..” The visible portion of his right arm was moving slightly, in a regular, repetitive way. “You’re a strong, brave girl, but I can reduce you to the status of a ...” He sighed.

“You having fun, sir?” said Splash.

Mr Lovedrool sighed again; but his sigh was drowned by a loud, painful gasp of breath. It was Pauline.

Her face had turned completely white and was damp with sweat. Her eyes were bulging and full of alarm. “Oh, God - Lawrence - I don’t know what’s the matter. I feel really terrible.” She turned to him as if to throw herself into his arms, but was arrested by the realisation that his colour and expression were a match for her own.

Lawrence took hold of her. His hands and arms were shaking. “Come on. Don’t be frightened.”

Johnny laughed. “You two better go and throw up.”

“It’s too late for that, Johnny,” said Louise. “Much too late.”

“Oh, God!” Pauline shivered with terror and sickness. “Lawrence!”

“Come on,” groaned Lawrence. “We’ll go to the kitchen and find some mustard or something. Come on - “ He retched, so violently that the whole upper part of his body was flung forward over the table. As he recovered, he lifted Pauline out of her place and half carrying her, half using her to support himself, moved away from the table; but as they stood both were suddenly bent almost double and they staggered blindly across the room.

“The door’s that way,” called Louise.

“Lawrence, we’re gonna die ...”

“Rubbish ... ohh - oh - “Both twisted, and mouthed cries of pain, as if the invader in their guts was torturing them to a final, climactic pitch of cruelty. Pauline’s knees had already given way beneath her and when Lawrence lost the strength to stand they collapsed together to lay writhing in each other’s arms on the polished floor, quivering all over, in the grip of convulsions which gradually subsided and left them still and silent.

“What did they eat?” said Splash at last.

“Don’t look horrified. They’re not dead,” answered Louise. “Lawrence knew us better than that. They won’t feel too good when they wake up, that’s all.” She rose from her place. “We don’t all like Pauline, boss.”

Mr Lovedrool chuckled. “Indeed not.”

Looking at him as he spoke, Splash was aware that something had altered in her own inner condition, at a moment she couldn’t pinpoint. He seemed a long way away, at the other end of the table. So did Johnny, sitting next to her. So did her hands, down there below her with a knife and fork held in them, resting distant and remote from her, like a pair of empty pink gloves. “Did you put something in mine, too?”

“Yeah,” said Johnny. “Not the same as what we gave them.”

“I don’t feel sick. Just weird.”

“You’re losing consciousness, Susan. There’s no need to fear your sensations. I suffer from insomnia and use the same drug myself most nights. Gradually you withdraw from reality, ever so slowly and softly - but since when you become unconscious you are unconscious, you never experience the precise moment when sleep comes over you ...”

 

*****

 

She was lying on a big, soft bed, in a room lit by a lamp turned low. From what she could see, it was a man’s bedroom. She was fully dressed; she could see her feet in their boots, tied at the ankles with a thick, rough rope. The same length had served to bind her hands behind her. Her legs were bent at the knees, and when she tried to stretch them the cord pulled at her arms. The rope hurt, but trying to squirm free would only make it hurt more. She turned over, on to her other side, and found Louise sitting beside the bed. “How long was I out?”

“About four hours. It’s past one in the morning.”

“Did Pauline and Lawrence come round yet?”

“Yeah. They puked up a bucketful each and we put them to bed.”

“Like this?”

“On the same bed. We didn’t gag them, either, just in case one or the other had a bit left to hurl. So they’re probably whispering sweet nothings to each other now.”

“Kissing, even.”

“Oh, no. You know what we did? We tied them lying opposite ways on the bed and fixed their feet to the head and foot. Pauline might be able to give Lawrence a blow-job, if she could get his frilly knickers out of the way with her teeth.”

“What an excellent suggestion.”

Mr Lovedrool had entered the room. He was wearing his dressing gown, but it hung open and revealed a suit of pyjamas underneath. There was a bulge in his pyjama trousers which he stroked appreciatively, without a shade of reticence. “You can go to bed now, my dear. Yes, we should make the youngsters act out such a scene at some point - though at the moment I imagine neither is in a condition to perform sexual gymnastics. They’ve been very sick indeed. Goodnight,” he called to Louise as the door closed after her. “How are you, Susan? None the worse for my sleeping pill, I hope?”

“I feel all right,” admitted Splash. “But you’re gonna hurt me now, right?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed. His large head and broad shoulders leaned over Splash’s face, and blocked the light of the lamp, which threw him into silhouette above her. “Yes, I’m going to hurt you.”

He reached down, but his hand came to rest gently on her shoulder. “Do you understand why?”

“Cuz you’re a sadist?”

“No, I mean, do you understand why I am a sadist? Why it gives me pleasure to hurt women? Even women I care for? Women I like, admire, and respect?”

“I thought you rated us all about equal as spunkbags.”

Mr Lovedrool drew a deep breath, something between a sigh and a grunt of pleasure. He took hold of Splash’s other shoulder, and lifted her into a sitting position. “I like you, Susan. I admire you. You’re a brave, tough, beautiful girl. To have you as my guest was a wonderful privilege ... But - “ The grip of his large, powerful hands tightened around her bare elbows. “Do you understand the anger I feel? The rage, the hatred? I admire you, I want you, I - I - I resent you - “ Words failing him, he began to shake her by the shoulders, with a force that made her head rock back and forth. He brought his face closer and closer to hers. “Pah!”

He’d spat full in Splash’s face, it hit her between the eyes and ran down either side of her nose.

“Pah! Pah! Pah!” He covered her in spittle, taking care to aim at her eyes, forehead, nose, mouth and chin, ejecting big warm white gobs of the stuff, drenching her in it. She was half blinded - and Christ, she couldn’t stop herself tasting some. She tried to shut her lips hermetically tight; if I open up, I’ll get one sent right inside ...

With a violent shove, he pushed her back down on to the bed and held her there. Rivulets of spit changed course on her cheeks. “Still beautiful. You must have had many lovers.”

Her stomach was turning. “Some,” she said at last, barely parting her lips for as long as the word took to say.

“I could love you. I could make you the centre of my universe. I could live for you. But I choose not to.” He breathed quickly, with deep, short grunts as he exhaled through his nose: huhh, huhh, huhhh, huhhh, gathering speed; the grip of his big hard hands tightened, and became acutely painful. Suddenly he lifted Splash again and hurled her back down. He did it again and again and again, hitting her body against the bed; he gave low, resonant noises, somewhere between snarls and groans. Splash’s eyes were shut tight, her back ached from the repeated concussions; something worse was about to happen, she knew it.

“Aaarrrrrgghh!!”

He bellowed in an intoxication of physical excitement and let Splash go. The back of her head hit the mattress, he’d yanked the pillow out from under her; she opened her eyes and he was holding it above her, raised in both hands. A long breath was hissing out of him, and as it tailed off, he brought the pillow down, slamming it over Splash’s face, holding it there with all his strength.

Splash’s head was enclosed in suffocating blackness and her body was writhing in frenzy, so far as her bonds and the immense strength of her tormentor permitted. She was shrieking in terror although the thick, heavy pillow robbed her of the power to articulate words; but even as she was engulfed by panic, her thoughts were clear. It’s as if the mind splits into two under the final stress of fear, and the I voice in your head abdicates all responsibility: he’s killing me, she told herself, he’s killing me, he’s killing me ...

Not quite.

An interval of timeless unconsciousness had passed, not sleep, not even the sleep Splash had had from being drugged: just nothing. She was still alive.

She was still tied. Mr Lovedrool sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her, and his head sunk between his shoulders. His hands were clasped together on his lap, one thumb stroking another reflectively. The pillow lay discarded at the foot of the bed, an oval impression in its centre.

Maybe she made a different sound on coming round, because he looked over his shoulder. His eyes and lips were sombre, pitying even. “How do you feel?”

There was a dull, nauseating ache somewhere up behind Splash’s eyes. “My head hurts.”

“I’ll give you an aspirin.” He reached down and laid a hand on her breasts, stroking one, then the other, through the fabric of Pauline’s summer frock, his touch was casual, as if he was merely enjoying the sense of their availability. His hand travelled upwards and caressed her cheek, still damp with his spittle. “I would like to make love to you. Very slowly, very tenderly. Please don’t imagine that brutality is an essential prerequisite of my erection. I can give a woman great pleasure.”

Splash said nothing and looked straight up at the ceiling.

“I’ll never take you against your will, you know. Ask Pauline. She has lain where you now lie and I said the same to her. I want you to give yourself to me, willingly, gladly, happily.”

“No way,” answered Splash, still not looking at him. “You make me sick. You like hurting people. You’re cruel, and you’re sick - and you’re old,” she said, and now she looked him in the eye. “You’re an old man hungry for young girls. That’s always disgusting.”

He grinned, and the corners of his mouth lifted up above the ends of his white moustache. “Pauline never said that. Wonderful courage, great beauty - even in your present condition.”