I know that I can discuss things and argue better than Mummy, I know I’m not so prejudiced, I don’t exaggerate so much, I am more precise and adroit and because of this— you may laugh—I feel superior to her over a great many things. If I love anyone, above all I must have admiration for them, admiration and respect. Everything would be all right if only I had Peter, for I do admire him in many ways. He is such a nice, good-looking boy!
Yours, Anne
Sunday, 19 March, 1944
Dear Kitty, Yesterday was a great day for me. I decided to talk things out with Peter.
Just as we were going to sit down to supper, I whispered to him, “Are you going to do shorthand this evening, Peter?” “No,” was his reply. “Then I’d just like to talk to you later!” He agreed. After the dishes were done, I stood by the window in his parents’ room awhile for the look of things, but it wasn’t long before I went to Peter. He was standing on the left side of the open window, I went and stood on the right side, and we talked. It was much easier to talk beside the open window in semi-darkness than in bright light, and I believe Peter felt the same.
We told each other so much, so very very much, that I can’t repeat it all, but it was lovely; the most wonderful evening I have ever had in the ‘Secret Annexe.’ I will just tell you briefly the various things we talked about. First we talked about the quarrels and how I regard them-quite differently now, and then about the estrangement between us and our parents.
I told Peter about Mummy and Daddy, and Margot, and about myself.
At one moment he asked, “I suppose you always give each other a good night kiss, don’t you?”
“One, dozens, why, don’t you?”
“No, I have hardly ever kissed anyone.”
“Not even on your birthday?”
“Yes, I have then.”
We talked about how neither of us confide in our parents, and how his parents would have loved to have his confidence, but that he didn’t wish it.
How I cry my heart out in bed, and he goes up into the loft and swears.
How Margot and I have really begun to know each other well for a little while, but that, even so, we don’t tell each other everything, because we are always together. Over every imaginable thing we spoke—oh, he was just as I thought!
Then we talked about 1942, how different we were then. We just don’t recognise ourselves as the same people any more. How we simply couldn’t bear each other in the beginning. He thought I was much too talkative and unruly, and I soon came to the conclusion that I’d no time for him. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t flirt with me, but now I’m glad. He also mentioned how much he isolated himself from us all. I said that there was not much difference between my noise and his silence. That I love peace and quiet too, and have nothing for myself alone, except my diary. How glad he is that my parents have children here, and that I’m glad he is here; that I understand his reserve now and his relationship with his parents, and how I would love to be able to help him.
“You always do help me,” he said. “How?” I asked, very surprised. “By your cheerfulness.” That was certainly the loveliest thing he said. It was wonderful, he must have grown to love me as a friend, and that is enough for the time being. I am so grateful and happy, I just can’t find the words. I must apologize, Kitty, that my style is not up to standard today.
I have just written down what came to my head. I have the feeling now that Peter and I share a secret. If he looks at me with those eyes that laugh and wink, then it’s just as if a little light goes on inside me. I hope it will remain like this and that we may have many, many more glorious times together!
