graph was published it would not betray the
fact that it was riddled with worm.
That was really all I had to offer the three million
readers of Women���s Own, unless I went upstairs
and jumped into bed. But that would mean
that the Empire bedside table would have to
be dragged into prominence again, and by then
people would be beginning to get rather sick of
it. Besides, I had not even got a bed-head. Just
a plain bed, with its back to a white wall. Indeed, my bedroom was about as glamorous as
a sergeant���s hut, which suited me rather well,
but might not appeal to the photographers....
Something must be done.*
Now don���t you find that that reassuring? I know I do. After grinning ear to ear at that passage the other night, I
set the book down on my night table, surveyed my bare
bedroom and, noting all the things it lacked -- curtains,
a mirror for over the fireplace, a reading chair -- I felt
slightly giddy thinking that more than a half-century later,
I knew exactly how dear old Beverley was feeling.
*Excerpt from from Laughter on the Stairs.
HYLAND
