And His Letters Grew Colder

This is a newly discovered short story by Daphne du Murier, a British novelist most famous for the novel Rebecca. The story is believed to have been written during her early 20s, and many a critic is amazed by the cold, mistrust and infidelity described by a young girl.

Or only a young girl has the chance to such encounters, and thus the insights? He meets you in the least expected circumstances, sings you the lovely praises and remembers every little thing you say. You are almost taken aback by the impossible frequency of "I love you" messages, albeit flattered. In the most insane hour of the day, he send you this: "Do you love me?" Then the change in his tone with the passing of the seasons - in fact, months.

And you grow up, years wiser than 10 months ago.

This sends shrivers down my spine.

The following is from The Times' website.


And His Letters Grew Colder

Daphne du Maurier


Dear Mrs B:

Forgive me writing to you like this without the slightest introduction.The fact is, I know your brother out in China, and having successfully wangled six months’ furlough, arriving in England a few days ago, I am seizing this opportunity to tell you how very pleased I should be if you would let me look you up sometime and give you news of Charlie. He is extremely fit, and sends you many messages, of course.

Please excuse me for blundering in upon you in this abrupt manner. I am,

Yours sincerely,
X.Y.Z.

June the fourth

Dear Mrs B:

I shall be delighted to come to your cocktail party on Friday. It is very charming of you to ask me.

Yours sincerely,
X.Y.Z.

June the seventh

Dear Mrs B:

I cannot let the day pass without telling you how much I enjoyed your party yesterday, and the very great pleasure I had in meeting you. I must have appeared horribly gauche and awkward, for I am afraid three years in China have played the deuce with my manners and my conversation! You were so sweet and kind to me, and I am certain I babbled a great deal of incoherent nonsense.

It is a little bewildering to find oneself back in civilization, and in the company of a woman of your beauty and intelligence. Now I have said too much! Do you really mean I may come to see you again soon?

Yours very sincerely,
X.Y.Z.

June the tenth

Dear Mrs B:

I shall certainly accept your invitation to dine this evening. Will you excuse my poor bridge?

Yours,
X.Y.Z.

June the twelfth

Dear Mrs B:

I have taken you at your word and have secured a couple of seats for that revue you wanted to see.

You won’t break your promise about coming, will you?

If you care about it, we might go on to supper somewhere afterwards and dance.

X.Y.Z.

June the fourteenth

Dear A,

Do you really mean I may call you A? And did you mean one or two other things you said last night? Whether you meant them or not, I want to thank you for a marvellous evening. I was so happy, I don’t believe I ever apologized for my atrocious dancing! Thank you.

X

June the seventeenth

Dear A,

Sorry! I know I behaved like a bear on the telephone, but I was so wretchedly disappointed that you could not manage to come out, after all. Will you ever forgive me? Of course I understand. May I come round some time tomorrow?

X

June the nineteenth

I’m glad you put me off that evening, because if you hadn’t rung me up to tell me so, and if I hadn’t been rude over the telephone, then I should never have come round to see you this afternoon.

Why were you so wonderful to me? Perhaps you were merely taking pity on a poor dull dog arrived from the ends of the earth! I don’t think ever in my life I have been able to talk to anyone as I have to you.

You made me feel as though things really are worth while; that there is more to look forward to in life than a dreary plantation surrounded by coolies. D’you know, I’ll make a confession to you. Out in China I used to go to Charlie’s place merely to look at the photograph of you that he had hanging over his desk.

In a way, I believe I idolized it; I could not believe that there really existed anyone so lovely. And then, when I came over here and knew I was going to meet you for the first time, I felt as nervous and shy as any schoolboy?

When I saw you – well, I could go on for pages and pages just describing how you looked and what I felt. But what’s the use? You would probably throw it unread into the wastepaper basket, and who would blame you!? You must be sick and tired of all the men who tell you you are beautiful. Can we be friends, though — real friends?

X

June the twenty-second

My dear,

I explained myself badly on the telephone this morning. I called round at once after you rang off, but your maid told me you had already gone out? You did not understand what I meant about this evening. It’s only that it’s so marvellous talking to you that I feel as though the hours were somehow wasted by going to a theatre! Yes, I agree; I am idiotic and unreasonable. Somehow, I had imagined us dining somewhere quietly in Soho — and then perhaps going back to your house. But of course I will do anything you want.

Incidentally, I forgot to tell you that I am moving from this hotel. The service is bad and there seems to be no privacy. I’m thinking of taking a furnished apartment. But we will talk about that this evening.You aren’t angry with me, are you?

X

June the twenty-third

A,

What am I to say? What can you think of me?

I am so desperately ashamed of myself. No; there is no excuse, of course. I must have been mad? I never went back to the hotel after I left you. I’ve been walking about all night, miserable and out of my mind.

It is impossible for you to imagine my agony of reproach. I don’t know if for one moment you can understand what it means for someone who has spent three lonely, uncivilized years, living like a savage among other savages, to find himself all at once treated as a human being by a lovely and adorable woman like yourself. It proved too much for me — too intoxicating.

Yes, I lost my head; I behaved as I should never dreamed it possible that I could behave. Can’t you see how difficult you made it for me? No; how should you? You were gentle; you were wonderful; you were you. I am to blame entirely. I will do any mortal thing if only you will try to forget what I said.

I swear to you solemnly by all I hold most dear that I will never make love to you again. Never? never?

We will start once more at the beginning. My dear, I want to be your friend: somebody you feel you can trust; someone with whom you can relax?

Words? words? How can I explain? A, is there a chance of my being forgiven? A word from you will rouse me from my present depths of desolation. I shall be waiting all day, in case. Forgive me.

X

June the twenty-fifth

When I heard your voice on the telephone, I trembled so that I could hardly answer! Absurd, isn’t it? But none of that matters now. The only thing that matters is that you have forgiven me, and we are friends again. It is all right, isn’t it? We are friends, aren’t we? Yes; let’s drive into the country tomorrow to some little place miles from anywhere, and talk and talk. I have so much to tell you.

Bless you,

X

June the twenty-seventh

A, here are some flowers for you in memory of yesterday. I wonder if you have the remotest idea of what the day meant to me! You said you loved it too. Did you? I can’t forget that little inn by the side of the water, and how we sat there dreaming. I’m so glad the country appeals to you as it does to me. You know, we think alike in most things. In some ways, my dear, your brain is most extraordinarily like that of a man. You see straight; you don’t muddle your ideas — and you have such a sense of values. And then on the other hand, you are perhaps the most feminine person imaginable.

I have taken the apartment I told you about. The sitting room wants only one thing now — your photograph?

Yes, I’ll call for you this evening at ten, and we’ll go some place and dance. It will be perfect, of course.

Wear your green dress, will you? I saw some beads exactly that colour. May I bring them for you?

X

July the first

A, darling, it’s no good, I couldn’t help myself. You looked so lovely. I’m not made of iron, but flesh and blood. What am I going to do about it? I value your friendship more than anything in the world, but why aren’t you old and ugly? It would be so much easier for me. You like me a little bit, don’t you? Or don’t you? I don’t know what I’m writing. When am I going to see you?

X

July the fifth

My darling, you made me so absurdly happy last night. I can’t believe they are true — the things you said. You told me you liked orchids. Here are all the orchids I could find.

I’ll rob every hothouse in England if you want me to. I’ll do anything you want, give you anything you want — if only you’ll let me see you every day.
I won’t ask for much in return — just to be allowed to sit at your feet and worship. Nothing more than that.

You’re lovely, lovely, lovely.

X

July the seventh

I can’t exist like this. I tell you it’s impossible. You’re driving me insane. You let me see you, and then you expect me to stand like a dummy without senses.

I’ve been at the telephone all day and have had no answer from you. Where were you and whom were you with?

Oh! Yes, laugh at me, I don’t care. Of course, I agree I have no right to ask you questions? When you laugh like that I want to strangle you — then I want to love you.

I must see you.

X

July the eighth

3 A.M.

Beloved,

It’s absurd to write to you, isn’t it, after this evening? The room is full of you still. I can’t think of anything else. I know now that I have been waiting all my life for this. Sleep well. God bless you. Take care of yourself.

Do you love me?

X

July the ninth

Sweet,

Of course it’s all right. Expecting you this afternoon between five and six.

X

July the tenth

My darling,

No: come tomorrow. You must, you must! I can’t wait for you until Saturday, not after yesterday.

Couldn’t we possibly lunch somewhere first, and then come back here afterwards?

Please! I love you so much.

X

July the fifteenth

Beloved,

Your maid answered the telephone this morning when you were out, so I disguised my voice and gave another name. Couldn’t we go out into the country? You remember that little place we went to in June, by the water? Then after luncheon we could stroll in those woods? They look very lonely and deserted.

Say yes, will you??

Your
X

July the nineteenth

What about four o’clock?

X

July the twentieth

My dearest,

I think we had better go to the other place, it’s quieter. Besides, there are two entrances. What bad luck, your knowing the fellow who lives here in the same block! We’ll have to be careful.

X

July the twenty-first

Angel,

Very well; I’ll pick you up tomorrow outside your club. Leave the car parked outside with the hood up, and I’ll sit inside and wait for you. I suggest we go to the country again. There’s less chance of running across anyone.

By the way, I’ve found out that the fellow you know is out all day, doesn’t get back until the evening, so we needn’t worry about him when we’re at the apartment.

I don’t know how to wait until tomorrow.

You know that question you asked me? The answer is Yes — a thousand times!

You are adorable!

X

July the twenty-fifth

Yes, I know I was nervy and irritable today. You must forgive me. But seeing you as I do, at odd hours, makes me dissatisfied. I don’t know. It’s as though I wanted to be with you all the time. Couldn’t we go away somewhere, for the weekend? Some place where we could be by ourselves. We would be very careful; no one need ever find out. What do you think, my sweet?

Your

X

July the twenty-seventh

Angel,

But you are marvellous! What a brilliant idea! I should never have thought of a sick friend in Devonshire! Yes; you can rely on me to be discreet. I’ll be at Paddington at a quarter to eleven.

X

August the fifth

My beloved Sweet,

I haven’t dared ring you up in case it should seem odd. These few days with you have been so marvellous, so utterly unspeakable. Darling, I don’t know how I am going to go on as we did before.

Those wretched, hurried meetings after the hours we spent together. I’m so happy and so miserable. I’ll wait at the apartment all day in case you should come.

Your own

X

August the seventh

Yesterday was heaven. What time tomorrow? I think the afternoons are safest.

X

August the twelfth

Dearest,

What about suggesting your idea and seeing how it is taken? After all, if you are in the habit of going to Aix every year for this cure, why should it look strange suddenly? You can say you are tired of Aix itself and have heard of a smaller place just as good but not nearly so expensive. That is sure to go well! You see, sweet, I could go out there about the nineteenth and you could join me a few days later? Anyway, there’s no harm in trying, and you can tell me tomorrow what happened.

See you after seven.

X

August the fourteenth

My own,

To think that it will really come true — that we shall be together night and day for three weeks, perhaps a month. It’s too wonderful, my precious; it’s like a dream out of which one will be wakened suddenly.

Tell me you are happy, too. Hours and hours of each other, and nothing to separate us. I’m never going to stop loving you for one single instant.

Your very own,

X

August the twentieth

I’m just off, sweet. I’m so excited! Three days of agony until you follow me South — and then?

X

September the twenty-sixth

Darling,

I arrived back in town about two hours ago. I can scarcely believe we’ve been away a month? Thank you for your sweet letter? When am I going to see you?

X

September the twenty-ninth

My darling,

It was lovely being with you all yesterday. It was almost as though we were down in the South again. And the little inn by the river was just the same as ever, wasn’t it?

Now, dearest, about our seeing each other. We must be terribly careful because if our names get coupled and people start talking, and it all came out about our being away together — well, you can imagine what would happen. We had better go very slowly at first. You do understand, don’t you? It’s all for your sake.

X

October the fourth

Yes darling, come along if you like between six and seven, but do remember not to bring the car. Sorry about not having telephoned. I thought it safer.

X

October the ninth

Dearest,

Wouldn’t you rather do a theatre and dance afterwards than spend the evening here? I mean, there’s always the chance of your being seen.

I’ve heard the new Wallace play is a thrill. What do you say? Let me know so that I can get seats.

X

October the twelfth

Sweetheart,

You mustn’t be so unreasonable. You don’t seem to understand what the consequences would be if we were found out. I’ve thought it all over very carefully from every angle, and it would be hopeless — quite hopeless?

You know I want to see you as much as you want to see me, but it’s no use running into danger. You were in a difficult mood yesterday, and deliberately misunderstood every word I said. I don’t mean to be hard, but you do see, don’t you? Come for luncheon tomorrow and we’ll talk?

All love,

X

October the sixteenth

Sorry, darling, I was out when you telephoned, and didn’t get back till late, so couldn’t ring you. Was your message for dinner on Thursday? I can’t manage Thursday, darling. What about Friday afternoon? We might go to a picture. Do remember to ring me up from your club and not from your house. Servants might be listening. Haven’t you any sense of discretion? See you soon.

X

October the twenty-fourth

Darling,

Don’t you realize it would be madness to go away for the week-end? Surely we’ve been over that question time and time again. We’ve only to take a wrong turn and the whole affair is broadcast to the world. To say we did so in July is no answer to the present argument.

It’s absurd to say I’m different. I’m just the same as ever. I wish you wouldn’t be so feminine and unreasonable. You don’t see straight at all, darling.

By the way, the price they asked for that necklace was sheer robbery. Perhaps we can find something else. I’ll ring you up at the end of the week.

X

October the twenty-ninth

Isn’t it rather cold for the country? Let’s have luncheon Saturday instead.

X

October the thirty-first

Here are some chrysanthemums for you. Of course I love you. But you mustn’t behave in that absurd way again, darling, or I shall be very angry. I can’t bear scenes. See you Monday.

X

November the fifth

Darling,

I’m afraid this week is very difficult. I’ve got loads of things that must be done. I might be able to snatch an hour on Thursday. Keep the afternoon free.

In haste,

X

November the ninth

My dear,

Why must you spoil everything? I was perfectly ready to enjoy our afternoon together, and you needs must cross-question me as though you expected every word I said to be a lie? What’s to be the outcome of it? Is it always to be this incessant quarrelling whenever we meet? It looks that way, doesn’t it? And why this new thing of jealousy? It’s ridiculous and nerve-wracking. Can’t we be friends without all this nonsense?

X

November the thirteenth

All right. Wednesday at one. But don’t come to the apartment. I’ll meet you at the Savoy.

X

November the sixteenth

Just a line to say I can’t manage tomorrow night, after all. So sorry not to let you know before. Will ring the club tomorrow.

X

November the eighteenth

A, dear,

I should be glad if you would cease spying on my movements. If I chose to spend the evening talking business with a friend it’s my affair entirely. Remember this once and for all. Aren’t you making yourself slightly ridiculous?

Yours,

X

November the twentieth

My dear A,

I received your extremely incoherent message on the telephone but scarcely know what it is all about. I accept your apologies, but need we go into that?

About seeing you — I can’t definitely say when. I have so many things to see to. I will try to let you know.

X

November the twenty-fourth

Dear A,

How ridiculous you are! As if I should disguise my voice on the telephone. It was the servant who answered. I was out all day. No, I’m afraid I shan’t be able to see you this evening. I’ll let you know when I can.

X

November the twenty-seventh

Dear A,

Why not be frank with yourself and admit that it isn’t because you have messages to send to Charles that you want to see me? I know only too well that it will mean another scene of reproach, more tears, more nerves.

I’ve had enough. Can’t you realize that it’s finished?

I shan’t be able to breathe until I get out of this over-civilized, oversexed country, back to the peace and security of my plantation. Now you know the truth.

Good-by.

X

Telephone message sent December first to Mrs B:

'Mr X.Y.Z. sailed for China today.'