The house on the cliff

“The car is waiting,” I announced, walking into her room. “Anthoúla, for God’s sake, how many times have I told you? You can’t disappear all day like that without let me know where you are. We’ve been worried.” Her room looked like a church, lit as it was with a multitude of candles. The candelabras all gleamed silver, but the candles themselves were beeswax brown, the colour and scent of the Good Friday mourning candles at church. We did have a store of the more expensive white candles, but those were lit only when we had guests. We had paraffin lamps for the other rooms - they were safer and more practical, and the rest of us weren’t bothered by the strong petrochemical smell. She was ready, elegant and sitting at her dressing table, as Mrs Sergeant, my supposed governess, adjusted her coiffure. She, herself was putting the final touches to her face and looking at me in the mirror, awaiting an answer. “Loxándra doesn’t worry about me being out. She knows I’m capable and careful.” “Accidents can happen to anyone. I don’t understand why you can’t just tell us where you’re going.” “It’s very simple,” I said, with exaggerated patience, as if I were speaking to to someone of limited intellect, “I don’t tell you where I’m going because when I set out, I don’t necessarily know. I know I’m there when I get there. In any case, when I get where I’m going, wherever that is, I might not like it, and set off for somewhere else.” “Chasing the White Rabbit no doubt, my Alice.” She was always doing that. Instead of admitting defeat, she’d say something to make me laugh, dissipating the force of the steam I’d built up. “And without a hat on, in the full force of the sun. You’re as brown as a nut. You have no idea the harm you’re doing your complexion. When you get to my age you’ll be all wrinkles. And you’re late for your bath, which is a pity. The water will be cold by now.” “It’s summer. Cold water is fine.” “I’ve told you a hundred times. Cold water doesn’t get you properly clean. You need hot water to open up the pores and get the dirt out. Let me see your elbows.” There followed a minute examination and exclamations of horror over the state of my knees and elbows where the skin was rough and dark, the familiar injunctions over soaking and pumice stone and anointing with glycerine. She summoned Loxándra and delegated to her the supervision of this ritual, as Mrs Sergeant would be riding with her into town to visit some friends in the Anglican congregation there.