Part 2 · Chapter 17Lying to Cecil

He was totally thrown. He had nothing to say. He wasn’t even mad, just standing there with a glass of whiskey in his hands, trying to figure out what had led her to that conclusion.

She’d picked the moment right before bed, when, like they always did, she’s serve drinks to the guys. Freddy and Mr.

Floyd were sure to head to bed with their glasses, while Cecil would always linger, sipping his while she locked up the sideboard.

"I’m really sorry about this," she said. " I’ve thought things over a lot. We’re just too different. I need you to let me go, and try to forget I ever was such a silly girl."

It sounded like a good speech, but she was more angry than sorry, and her voice showed it. "Different - how - how - ?"

"I didn’t get a really good education, for one thing," she continued, still kneeling by the sideboard. " My trip to Italy came too late, and I’m forgetting everything I learned there.

I’ll never be able to talk to your friends, or act like a wife of yours should."

"I don’t get you. You’re not yourself. You’re tired, Lucy."

"Tired?" she snapped, instantly getting defensive. " That’s exactly like you. You always think women don’t mean what they say."

"Well, you sound tired, like something’s been bothering you."

"Okay, maybe I am. But that doesn’t stop me from seeing the truth. I can’t marry you, and you’ll thank me for saying so someday."

"You had that bad headache yesterday - Okay" - because she’s exclaimed indignantly: "I see it’s more than headaches. But give me a sec." He closed his eyes. " You gotta excuse me if I say dumb things, but my brain is fried."

"Part of it’s living three minutes back, when I was sure you loved me, and the other part - I’m having a hard time - I’m probably going to say the wrong thing."

It struck her that he wasn’t acting that badly, and her irritation grew. She wanted a fight, not a discussion. To push things to a breaking point, she said:

"There are times when you just see things clearly, and this is one of them. Things have to come to a head eventually, and it’s happening today.

If you want to know, something pretty small decided me to talk to you - when you wouldn’t play tennis with Freddy."

"I never play tennis," said Cecil, totally confused. " I’m terrible at it. I don’t understand a word you’re saying."

"You can play well enough to make up a four. I thought it was really selfish of you."

"No, I can’t - well, forget the tennis. Why couldn’t you - why couldn’t you have warned me if you were feeling this way? You were talking about our wedding at lunch - well, you let me talk, anyway."

"I knew you wouldn’t understand," said Lucy, sounding annoyed. " I should have known there would be all these explanations. It’s not about the tennis - that was just the last straw for everything I’d been feeling for weeks."

I thought it was better not to say anything until I was sure. She elaborated on this. " I’ve often wondered if I was fit to be your wife - like, in London, for example - and are you fit to be my husband? I don’t think so.

You don’t like Freddy, or my mom.

"There was always a lot working against our engagement, Cecil, but everyone seemed happy, and we saw each other so much, and it wasn’t a good time to mention it until - well, until everything came to a head. That’s today.

I’m seeing things clearly. I need to say it. That’s all."

"I don’t think you’re right," said Cecil gently. " I can’t explain why, but even though everything you’re saying sounds true, I feel like you’re not treating me fairly. It’s all so awful."

"What’s the point of a scene?"

"Nothing. But shouldn’t I get to hear a little more?"

He put down his glass and opened the window. From where she knelt, jangling her keys, she could see a sliver of darkness, and, peering into it, as if it would tell him that "little more," his long, thoughtful face.

"Don’t open the window; and you’d better draw the curtain, too - Freddy or anyone could be out there."

He did what she said. " I really think we should just go to bed, if you’re okay with it. I’m just gonna end up saying stuff I’m gonna regret later. You said it was all too horrible, and talking about it isn’t helping."

But to Cecil, now that he was about to lose her, she seemed totally different. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since they got engaged.

She wasn’t just a Leonardo painting anymore; she was a living, breathing woman, full of secrets and her own kind of power, with qualities that even art couldn't capture.

He shook off the shock, and in a burst of real emotion, he said: "But I love you, and I really thought you loved me!"

"I didn’t," she said. " I thought I did at first. I’m sorry, and I should have told you sooner."

He started pacing the room, and she got more and more annoyed by his calm, collected behavior. She’d been hoping he’d be petty. It would have made things easier for her. But ironically, he was showing the best parts of his personality.

"You don’t love me, clearly. I guess you’re right not to. But it would sting a little less if I knew why."

"Because" - the words came to her - "you’re the type who can’t really know anyone."

A horrified look crossed his face.

"I don’t mean it exactly like that. But you’re always questioning me, even though I’m asking you not to, and I have to say something. It’s kind of like that.

When we were just friends, you let me be myself, but now you’re always trying to protect me."

Her voice got louder. " I don’t want to be protected. I’m going to choose what’s ladylike and right for myself. Shielding me is an insult! Can’t you trust me to face the truth? Do I have to get it second-hand through you?

A woman’s place!" -

she stood up - "You look down on my mom because she’s conventional and worries about pudding; but, oh my gosh!" - she rose to her feet - "You’re conventional, Cecil!

You might appreciate beautiful things, but you don’t know how to use them."

You wrap yourself up in art and books and music, and you’re trying to wrap me up in it, too. I won’t be stifled, not even by the most amazing music, because people are even more amazing, and you’re hiding them from me.

That’s why I’m calling off the engagement.

"You were cool as long as you stuck to things, but when you came to people - " She stopped.

There was a pause. Then Cecil said, filled with emotion: "It’s true."

"Mostly true," she corrected, feeling a little embarrassed.

"True, every word. It’s a revelation. It is - me."

"Anyhow, those are my reasons for not being your wife."

He repeated: "‘The sort who can’t really know anyone. It’s true. I totally fell apart the first day we got engaged. I acted like a jerk to Beebe and to your brother. You’re even better than I thought.

She took a step back. " I’m not going to stress you out. You’re way too good to me."

I’m never going to forget your insight; and, honestly, I only blame you for this: you could have warned me earlier, before you felt like you weren’t going to marry me, so I could have had a chance to improve.

I haven’t really known you until tonight.

"I’ve just been using you as a way to figure out what I thought a woman should be. But tonight, you’re a different person: new thoughts - even a new voice - "

"What do you mean by a new voice?" she asked, suddenly furious.

"I mean a different person seems to be talking through you," he said.

Then she lost her cool. She cried: "If you think I’d be with someone else, you’re way off."

"Of course not. You’re not like that."

"Oh, yes, you do think it. It’s your old idea, the idea that’s held Europe back - I mean the idea that women are always thinking about men.

If a girl breaks off her engagement, everyone says: ‘Oh, she must have someone else in mind; she’s hoping to get someone else. It’s disgusting, brutal!"

"As if a girl can’t break it off for the sake of freedom."

He answered, really touched: "I might have said that before. I won’t ever say it again. You’re teaching me better."

She started to blush, pretending to check out the windows.

"Seriously, there’s no question of ‘someone else’ here, no getting dumped, or anything like that. I’m so sorry if my words made it sound like there was. I just meant there’s a side of you I didn’t know about until now."

"Okay, Cecil, that’s enough. Don’t apologize to me. It was my bad."

"It’s a conflict between our beliefs, our pure, abstract ideas - and yours are the better ones. I was stuck in old, messed-up ways of thinking, and all the while you were amazing and new.

His voice cracked. " I actually have to thank you for what you’ve done - for showing me what I really am."

"Seriously, I thank you for showing me a real woman. Will you shake hands?"

"Of course," said Lucy, twisting her other hand in the curtains. " Goodnight, Cecil. Goodbye. It's all good. I’m sorry about everything. Thank you so much for being so understanding."

"Let me light your candle, okay?" They went into the hallway.

"Thank you. Goodnight again. God bless you, Lucy!" "Goodbye, Cecil."

She watched him head upstairs, while the shadows from three staircases passed over her face like the beat of wings. On the landing he paused, strong in his decision to let go, and gave her a look she’d never forget.

Even with all his sophistication, Cecil was a deeply spiritual person, and nothing about his love shone through like the moment he decided to let it go.

She could never get married. That was solid in her heart. Cecil believed in her; she had to eventually believe in herself.

She had to be one of the women she’s praised so much, who care about freedom and not about guys; she had to forget that George loved her, that George had seen through her and given her this honorable release, that George had gone away into - what was it? - the darkness.

She turned off the lamp.

It wasn’t helpful to think, or even to feel. She stopped trying to figure herself out and joined the massive group of people who are lost, who follow neither their hearts nor their brains, and march towards their fate using trendy phrases.

The group is full of nice and religious people.

But they’ve given in to the only enemy that matters - the enemy within. They’ve messed up with passion and truth, and it’s going to be useless for them to strive for goodness. As the years pass, they’re judged.

Their pleasantness and their religion show cracks, their humor turns cynical, their selflessness becomes hypocrisy; they make everyone uncomfortable wherever they go.

They’ve messed up with Eros and with Pallas Athene, and not by any divine intervention, but by the natural course of things, those allied deities will get their revenge.

Lucy joined this group when she pretended to George that she didn’t love him, and pretended to Cecil that she loved no one. The night received her, just as it had received Miss Bartlett thirty years before.