E.M. Delafield

The Provincial Lady in America

Warsaw 2022

Contents

THE PROVINCIAL LADY IN AMERICA

THE PROVINCIAL LADY IN AMERICA

July 7th.–Incredulous astonishment on receiving by second post–usually wholly confined to local bills and circulars concerning neighbouring Garden Fêtes–courteous and charming letter from publishers in America. They are glad to say that they feel able to meet me on every point concerning my forthcoming visit to the United States, and enclose contract for my approval and signature.

Am completely thrown on my beam-ends by this, but remember that visit to America wasonce mooted and that I light-heartedly reeled off stipulations as to financial requirements, substantial advances, and so on, with no faintest expectation that anybody would ever pay the slightest attention to me. This now revealed as complete fallacy. Read contract about fourteen times running, and eyes–figuratively speaking–nearly drop out of my head with astonishment. Can I possibly be worth all this?

Probably not, but should like to see America, and in any case am apparently committed to going there whether I want to or not.

Long and involved train of thought follows, beginning with necessity for breaking this news to Robert at the most auspicious moment possible, and going on to requirements of wardrobe, now at lowest possible ebb, and speculating as to whether, if I leave immediately after children’s summer holidays, and return just before Christmas ones, it would not be advisable to embark upon Christmas shopping instantly.

All is interrupted by telephone ring–just as well, as I am rapidly becoming agitated–and voice says that it is Sorry to Disturb Me but is just Testing the Bell. I say Oh, all right, and decide to show publishers’ letter to Robert after tea.

Am absent-minded all through tea as a result, and give Robert sugar, which he doesn’t take. He says Am I asleep or what, and I decide to postpone announcement until evening.

It rains, and presently Florence appears and says If I please, the water’s coming in on the landing through the ceiling, and I say she had better go at once and find Robert–it occurs to me too late that this attitude is far from consistent with feminist views so often proclaimed by myself–and meanwhile put small basin, really Vicky’s sponge-bowl, on stairs to catch water, which drips in steadily.

Return to writing-table and decide to make list of clothes required for American trip, but find myself instead making list of all the things I shall have to do before starting, beginning with passport requirements and ending with ordering China tea from the Stores, 7 lbs. cheaper than smaller quantity.

Just as I am bringing this exercise to a close Robert comes in, and shortly afterwards I hear him stumble over sponge-bowl, on stairs, about which nobody has warned him. This definitely precludes breaking American news to him for the present.

He spends the evening up a ladder, looking at gutters, and I write to American publishers but decide not to post letter for a day or two.

July 8th.–Robert still unaware of impending announcement.

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