Letter to Lydia

by Pil Lee

Lydia

It is very difficult to send you the news you request. I don’t mean that I mind, for I do not. There are many favours you could have asked me, and even though I was puzzled it seemed at first glance a simple and tiny thing. But I’m afraid I haven’t much to report.

Mr Wolfson has barely emerged from his room in the last week. Some days one could be mistaken in thinking he had left, or even died in the night, as poor Mr Olaf did three years ago, for his gas meter is not used and nor is the second floor bathroom, which I told him he could use exclusively, if you remember, when Miss Abel left us in spring.

I’m sorry, this is not the detail you wanted. I tend to ramble a little now the house is so empty. I even miss Mr Pottier’s little dog from time to time.

I made a few notes when I received your letter for I did not want to disappoint you, and I have kept them for the last five days.

On Monday, I have written “He did not come for breakfast” but his gas meter did turn on at about 6am so he must have made a little tea for himself. Then I have written “did not use the bath” (I must have checked it for dampness several times throughout the day for I did not want to miss any news for you) and my note also says “no dinner” and “no tea”. Tuesday he did have breakfast in the front room and he was writing very busily the whole time. I tried to see what it was, and you know Lydia that I would never do such a thing but for your asking it, but he hunched over it, with that way he has so you can only see that little bit of darning on the top of his beret. I have often wondered why he keeps that old beret, surely a man of means as he seems to be could afford a new one, have you ever asked him?

I am sorry Lydia to pry, I have never imagined you speaking to Mr Wolfson of course, I hesitate to ask you and I beg you not to think that I suspect you of any impropriety and indeed I am ashamed of myself for I did not mean to question you in this letter, but have you ever spoken to him? Your request was so simple a thing, I have done my best to acquire as much news as possible for you, but I am wondering my dearest why you want to know everything Mr Wolfson does in your absence. And now I know you will be angry at me for finding fault in so small a favour, and truly I do not, I just wonder.

I see from my notes that on Tuesday and Wednesday he had both breakfast and tea, but no dinner, and he used the bath as well. On Thursday he did not come down in the morning but at noon, just as I was preparing soup, an itinerant came to the main door to ask for a little diner or a roll and Mr Wolfson was right beside me at the door. I did not hear him come down, but he must have started his descent the moment the bell was rung. His look was so strange the street fellow was almost scared and bowed so low he almost couldn’t hear my whisper that he should come round to the kitchen door, what was he thinking at the main entrance, my goodness Lydia what are things coming to.

I am sorry to say that I don’t know if Mr Wolfson went back to his room or if he went outside because when I looked around he was just gone. I hope this does not vex you, but I was preoccupied by the other fellow and I just couldn’t say. I did go up to the second floor as soon as I realised I assure you, and I listened as close as I dared at his door but there was no sound. Maybe it is that he did not go out at all, because I certainly didn’t hear him come back in and I stayed up as late as I could, my notepad ready beside me, and heard nothing, but in the morning his gas meter turned on at 6am.

That was Friday morning and then I have quite a few notes for the rest of the day, you will be pleased to hear. He didn’t come down for breakfast, but he had a bath and then at 8 o’clock on the dot he left, wearing a hat this time and not his beret. In fact he looked very smart, I only caught the swiftest glimpse of him as he passed my sitting room door, but he looked almost handsome I blush to say.

He came back in at noon, had his dinner in the front room and then left again immediately after. He was writing again during dinner and I have an idea that it was a letter and that he finished it and went to post it, for he took a little package with him and returned only a bare half hour later without it.

And then the strangest thing happened, and I hope you will forgive the paucity of news in the beginning of this letter, but I am not sure how much you want to know. When he came back from the post he walked right into my sitting room, which he has not done in the whole year he has been here and asked me how I was. I wrote down my conversation as soon as he left because I thought that this might be the kind of news you meant me to tell you. He said, “Excuse me Mrs Maddes,” and I replied, polite though quite startled, “Not at all Mr Wolfson, good afternoon.” “And to you, Mrs Maddes,” he said and then he paused for a while and he removed his hat, and he said, “How are you?” “I’m very well Mr Wolfson,” I replied, with my darning on my lap but I stopped working while he was in the room of course. And then he moved into the room and sat down, would you believe, and not only that, that is the least of it, but the thing is Lydia, that even though the broken chair was the one closest to him and I was just opening my mouth to say “I beg your pardon Mr Wolfson, but please do not use the green chair,” he went right past it, as if he knew, though how that could be, I am sure you would ask yourself as well, and then he sat in the good blue chair and placed his hat upon his knee and made further conversation.

“A fine winter it has been, Mrs Maddes,” and I agreed, for it has been fine, uncommon fine, and then we sat there for a minute longer and it was not a companionable silence, as we might share Lydia, but an uncomfortable silence, and I tried my best to find my manners and think of something else to say, but thank goodness then he rose and did me a politeness and then he replaced his hat and left and went back upstairs. I was careful not to forget your request, even though I was quite disturbed, but there was nothing else to record for the rest of the day. He did not come down for tea and he didn’t even use the gas meter late at night for his supper.

I see looking back over this letter that I have had very little news to report and in fact it is a very poor letter and I hope you will forgive me. I hope you do not mistake my lack of information for inattention or carelessness, for the days are long and in fact I am glad of this little favour to do for you.

I hope you will not take offence if I say that I hope that you will return soon. I know your life is your own and there is not much to offer here but I do miss you.

Take care of yourself.

I remain always,
your affectionate sister.