The Thorn in the Flesh. Paul Wenz

allow things to take their course. She wanted John to suffer, she wanted the woman whose photograph was enshrined in the bedroom to suffer also, she wanted Tilfara to have its share of suffering.

      Her spite seemed, in its feverish agitation, to well up with all sorts of ideas. She thought of Ned, of his land, of his application: to live next door to them, to plague them in every way possible. She began to laugh out loud, for hatred, like love, promises infinite satisfactions.

      Susie went off to find Ned. She read in his eyes that he still desired her.

      “When you get title to your land, Ned, if you still want me...”

      “I’ll probably have it within two weeks,” replied the boundary-rider.

      Trixie Roberts had many friends in Adelaide, so she received many congratulations and good wishes as soon as the news of her engagement was known. She received many letters and visits as a result, and for a whole week she had to wield the tea-pot and pass the sugar as she had never done before in her life.

      Among the friends who came to congratulate her, she managed to distinguish between those who were sincerely happy at the news and those who could not completely conceal a certain envy. In the voices of some she heard: “You are lucky and I am happy for you”; she interpreted what the others said as: “You have the luck that I should have had.” The nuance was barely perceptible, but could be seen in the brightness of eyes which can only lie with the help of tears.

      Mrs Richard Smith came to Trixie’s house one afternoon when the tea was growing cold and the sandwiches and cakes were no more than a few crumbs at the bottom of their plates, Mrs Richard Smith often arrived late at her friends’ teas, for she was so busy with her charity work! She was president of several societies which protected poor people, children and animals: she looked after shelters for the indigent, nurseries for children, and a home for abandoned cats. In short, charity had taken over nearly all of Mrs Smith’s time.

      The President of the A.B.C.D. (the Adelaide Benevolent Charity Delegation) had a rare elocutionary gift and possessed a mine of all sorts of information, often of an unexpected kind. The President of the Home for Cats had a wicked tongue.

      Having assured Trixie that she preferred her tea lukewarm and strong, that she really didn’t want anything to eat, she rhapsodized over the happy event. John Iredale was well known in Adelaide; he came there scarcely once a year, but he was well liked.

      “Only the day before yesterday, somebody told me that a barmaid from the South Australian, very pretty it seems...”

      “Yes,” Trixie said simply, “John told me all about that; she has been his housekeeper for the past three months, and what’s more, a perfect housekeeper. John finds only one fault in her: she is too pretty and too much the lady.”

      Mrs Smith gave a little frown as if someone had just taken from her a sandwich that she was about to put into her mouth. But she hadn’t finished yet.

      “Her name is Susie; she is much missed in the bar of the South Australian, everyone is astonished that she has stayed more than a fortnight buried away on the banks of the Darling. A woman who was surrounded by admirers, who is really beautiful, apparently.”

      “Fortunately, Mrs Smith, I don’t know what jealousy is. Until now I have never felt a need to resort to it in order to obtain thrills that the imagination dispenses like an automatic machine. I think jealousy is above all stupid; jealous people are not all imbeciles, but I think that almost all stupid people are jealous.”

      “This barmaid,” added Mrs Smith, who hadn’t exhausted her topic, “had a very congenial send-off. Speeches were made, they gave her presents, and I must add” (Mrs Smith had a hint of regret in her voice) “that no-one ever spoke any ill of this woman. You know, these men are all the same; with a pretty face, a barmaid or, a... housekeeper is as good as a queen. We’ll never change them. The Good Lord created us second because He saw that He had made a mistake with the first specimen.” Trixie remained serene, even smiled at this account of Creation. Mrs Smith had a vague notion that the pebble she had cast on the calm waters had made a very small splash and its ripples had quickly disappeared.