“She never was especially intelligent, she won’t miss it,” Mark responded. He was busy writing another book, which he expected as a matter of course that Tricia would type for him, chapter by chapter, and then again with corrections. Georgie was a fussy baby, fussier than either of the others. He did not nurse well, and she had to give him bottles to keep up his weight.
Tricia asked the sympathetic doctor about Malthusian belts. He laughed, and explained that there were contraceptives and he could prescribe them for her, but there was nothing she could use without her husband’s knowledge. She endured another pregnancy that ended in a stillbirth, and another that resulted in a baby—Catherine Marian, born in November of 1959. When she visited after this birth there was no denying that Tricia’s mother was becoming forgetful.
The doctor told Mark that he was endangering Tricia’s life by insisting on more children. All the same he persisted, and she had another stillbirth in the autumn of 1960. In the summer of 1961 the doctor prescribed Tricia the new contraceptive pill. She told Mark it was a tonic and he believed her. Childbirth was over.
11
Real: Pat 1957–1964
Pat’s editor wanted her to write a guide to Rome. She found the letter on the mat when she came in on a chilly November evening. She turned on both bars of the electric fire and sat down next to it, removing only one glove to open the letter. The brindled cat, Dante, came up and rubbed against her ankles, then flopped down on her feet in the circle of the fire’s heat.
Rome was the logical next step after Florence and Venice, the editor said. The books were selling extremely well, and Constable were certainly interested in producing new and updated editions as she had suggested. They saw no reason why the books couldn’t remain in print in the long term, being updated from time to time as necessary. They understood that Rome wasn’t (ha ha) built in a day, and that the book would take her some time, but they wished she would start planning it with a completion date of September 1958 for publication in spring 1959, or September 1959 for publication in spring 1960. Then came the offer—three times as much as for either of the other books.
Pat was still sitting staring at the letter when Bee came in and snapped the light on, startling her.
“What’s wrong?” Bee asked, immediately coming over to the sofa and putting an arm around Pat.
“Nothing’s wrong. They want me to write a guide to Rome.” Pat relaxed against the rough wool of Bee’s coat.
“That sounds like a logical next step,” Bee said.
“That’s what they say. It’s just—Rome. Rome is so immense. I could write three books the length of my Venice one and hardly scratch the surface. And I don’t know it well. It would be so much work. And we’ve just got our house in Florence. But—” she hesitated and looked into Bee’s capable, interested face. “The truth is that the one time I went to Rome I was so unhappy. It was right after I broke it off with Mark. Even though that trip was when I discovered Italy, all the Roman sites seem drenched in misery in my memory.”
Bee hugged her more tightly. “Then we should go back together and make some new memories.”
Pat felt tears pricking behind her eyes. “You’re right, of course,” she said.
“And you should face up to your fears instead of letting them chase you into corners. It does no good in the end.”
“I’m going to tell them it will take two years,” she said, turning the letter over in her hands. “The other thing is the advance. It would be enough to buy a house in Cambridge, or out in the country if you prefer that, where we could grow things.”
“They don’t give mortgages to unmarried women,” Bee said.
“Without a mortgage, just buying it outright, the same as we did in Italy.” Pat straightened the letter. “The other books are selling well, I’m making royalties. They think they’ll do new editions when they sell out.”
Bee frowned slightly. “You know, if we owned a house near Cambridge we could both live on what I earn and your royalties. You could write guidebooks more rapidly if you weren’t teaching.”
“But I love teaching,” Pat said.
“Oh well then. It was just a thought. We should get started on dinner if we’re going to eat before the concert.”
Bee took off her coat and hung it on the hook beside the door, then without looking put out her arm for Pat’s coat.
As she chopped leeks, Pat thought about what Bee had said about facing her fears. “There are things I love about teaching, but there are also things that would be good about writing guidebooks full time,” she said as she slid the leeks into the pan, where they immediately began to sizzle in the olive oil.
“I don’t know if they’ll keep me here at the end of this fellowship. I’d like to stay in Cambridge, but with a research career it can be difficult.”
“Especially for a woman,” Pat said, stirring the leeks. “The water’s boiling.”