One evening in December 1975 David Plante called on his friend, the novelist Jean Rhys, who was staying in a hotel in South Kensington: 'a big dreary hotel', she said, 'filled with old people whom they won't allow to drink sweet vermouth'. She was sitting in what the receptionist called 'the pink lounge', wearing a pink hat. She was then in her eighties. He kissed her and told her she was looking marvellous. 'Don't lie to me,' she said, 'I'm dying.' After supper and a great deal of drink, they went up to her room: 'sometimes her cane got caught between her legs and I had to straighten it.' They drank some more and talked about her life. Five hours later, David Plante got up, took a pee and told her he had to leave.' "Before you go," she said, "help me to the toilet." ' He took her there and left her, in her pink hat, holding onto the washbasin. Sometime later she called to him.

LRB 3 March 1983 | PDF Download