Possession

by A.S. Byatt

Beatrice Nest’s face was bland and patiently questioning. “It isn’t only my secret,” Maud hissed. “Or I wouldn’t have been disingenuous. I—I don’t know what I’ve found, yet. I promise I’ll tell you first when I do. I think I know what Blanche Glover told her. Well, one of two or three things it might have been.” “Was it important?” asked the grey voice, with no indication of whether the “importance” was scholarly, passionate or cosmic. “I don’t know. It might change our views of—of his work, I suppose, a bit.” “What do you want of me?” “A Xerox of those two letters. If it can be done, a copy of the Journal, between those dates. Not to tell Professor Cropper. Or Professor Blackadder. Yet. We discovered this ourselves—” Beatrice Nest seemed to think for a longish time, her face propped in her hands. “This—what you’re so excited about—it won’t—it won’t expose her to ridicule—or—misapprehension? I’ve become very concerned that she shouldn’t be—exposed is the best word I suppose—exposed.” “It isn’t primarily to do with her.” “That is not necessarily reassuring.” A maddening silence. “I suppose I shall trust you. I suppose I shall.”