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Authors: Anita Brookner
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me.’
Richard unwound his arms from his head, opened his eyes to their fullest extent, and beamed a dark blue gaze in her direction.
‘Now I wonder why you said that.’ His tone was that of someone catching out a child in a trivial but unbecoming offence. ‘Just put yourself in her place. Twenty-two years old, saddled with a screaming brat, and a husband who is all set to be something in the city, on tranquillizers, drinking a bit too much, and clearly at the end of her tether. Just to talk to someone about it helped her.’
The wan light of Edith Grove seeped slowly from the room. It was all going wrong. Worse, it had gone wrong. Why should she worry about this Harriet when he was doing it so well all by himself? She had hoped that they might make love, that they might at least make some further plans for meeting again. But instead she was being usurped by Harriet who was not even there. She could not go through this again. But even realizing this, she longed to have the chance to do so.
There was no redeeming the situation and she wanted to be alone.
‘What were the other things you were worried about?’
He gave a sigh of genuine heaviness.
‘So many things, Ruth, so many. Responsibilities and choices all the time. Other people’s lives depending on what one says and does.’
She sensed a more immediate, a more intimate danger. Was there an equivalent of ‘la jeune Aricie’ somewhere in the background? Did she have rivals? Of course, she thought dismally, I must have.
‘I still think Harriet ought to go home,’ she said, piling the coffee cups on to the tray. ‘Even if she didn’t want to have a baby she can’t refuse to look after it. Anyway, nobody said she had to drink and take tranquillizers. And she could go to evening classes for her pottery.’
Richard, after a minute’s silence, relaxed still further on the sofa.
‘Sometimes, Ruth,’ he murmured, letting his golden-lashed eyelids slowly fall, ‘I wonder if you’re really a caring person.’
The following day, after a night made sleepless by misery and hunger, she sought him out and forced him to take a cheque for a hundred pounds. This would help Harriet and her ilk to get back to the potter’s wheel in Somerset, and would buy food for the unfortunates who had unlimited access to Richard’s flat and to his larder. She was well aware that she was paying to remove the stigma of being an uncaring person.
‘I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back,’ said Richard, who was charmed by her gesture. ‘I’ll see it gets put into the right hands. By the way, thank you for dinner.’
She would have to move out of Edith Grove and go home, of course. There was no point in keeping the flat on now, and in any case she would be going to France in the autumn. And she would need every penny of the rest of her grandmother’s legacy if she wanted to stay in France for a full year. It would be cheaper to pay rent at home.
They were not surprised to see her back. She pretended that the landlord was putting up the rent and that she would not pay it. George helped to move her in the car; the knives and forks were restored to the dining room, the napkins went to the laundry.
‘Well,’ said Anthea, ‘did he turn up?’
‘Of course,’ said Ruth. ‘We had a very interesting evening.’ She did not tell Anthea about the cheque. But when she mentioned that she had moved back to Oakwood Court, Anthea refused to speak to her for two whole days.
8
Sally Jacobs’s flat in Bayswater was very clean and very warm. Even in September the central heating was on, and with the curtains half pulled to keep the sun out the effect was of entering a seraglio. George, who had taken to driving Mrs Jacobs home from the shop, was pleased with what he saw although he knew it to be in faintly bad taste; this, if anything, increased his pleasure. He particularly delighted in a coffee table covered with a sheet of mirror glass, and when he went into the
Richard unwound his arms from his head, opened his eyes to their fullest extent, and beamed a dark blue gaze in her direction.
‘Now I wonder why you said that.’ His tone was that of someone catching out a child in a trivial but unbecoming offence. ‘Just put yourself in her place. Twenty-two years old, saddled with a screaming brat, and a husband who is all set to be something in the city, on tranquillizers, drinking a bit too much, and clearly at the end of her tether. Just to talk to someone about it helped her.’
The wan light of Edith Grove seeped slowly from the room. It was all going wrong. Worse, it had gone wrong. Why should she worry about this Harriet when he was doing it so well all by himself? She had hoped that they might make love, that they might at least make some further plans for meeting again. But instead she was being usurped by Harriet who was not even there. She could not go through this again. But even realizing this, she longed to have the chance to do so.
There was no redeeming the situation and she wanted to be alone.
‘What were the other things you were worried about?’
He gave a sigh of genuine heaviness.
‘So many things, Ruth, so many. Responsibilities and choices all the time. Other people’s lives depending on what one says and does.’
She sensed a more immediate, a more intimate danger. Was there an equivalent of ‘la jeune Aricie’ somewhere in the background? Did she have rivals? Of course, she thought dismally, I must have.
‘I still think Harriet ought to go home,’ she said, piling the coffee cups on to the tray. ‘Even if she didn’t want to have a baby she can’t refuse to look after it. Anyway, nobody said she had to drink and take tranquillizers. And she could go to evening classes for her pottery.’
Richard, after a minute’s silence, relaxed still further on the sofa.
‘Sometimes, Ruth,’ he murmured, letting his golden-lashed eyelids slowly fall, ‘I wonder if you’re really a caring person.’
The following day, after a night made sleepless by misery and hunger, she sought him out and forced him to take a cheque for a hundred pounds. This would help Harriet and her ilk to get back to the potter’s wheel in Somerset, and would buy food for the unfortunates who had unlimited access to Richard’s flat and to his larder. She was well aware that she was paying to remove the stigma of being an uncaring person.
‘I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back,’ said Richard, who was charmed by her gesture. ‘I’ll see it gets put into the right hands. By the way, thank you for dinner.’
She would have to move out of Edith Grove and go home, of course. There was no point in keeping the flat on now, and in any case she would be going to France in the autumn. And she would need every penny of the rest of her grandmother’s legacy if she wanted to stay in France for a full year. It would be cheaper to pay rent at home.
They were not surprised to see her back. She pretended that the landlord was putting up the rent and that she would not pay it. George helped to move her in the car; the knives and forks were restored to the dining room, the napkins went to the laundry.
‘Well,’ said Anthea, ‘did he turn up?’
‘Of course,’ said Ruth. ‘We had a very interesting evening.’ She did not tell Anthea about the cheque. But when she mentioned that she had moved back to Oakwood Court, Anthea refused to speak to her for two whole days.
8
Sally Jacobs’s flat in Bayswater was very clean and very warm. Even in September the central heating was on, and with the curtains half pulled to keep the sun out the effect was of entering a seraglio. George, who had taken to driving Mrs Jacobs home from the shop, was pleased with what he saw although he knew it to be in faintly bad taste; this, if anything, increased his pleasure. He particularly delighted in a coffee table covered with a sheet of mirror glass, and when he went into the
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