Read Online All the Hopeful Lovers by William Nicholson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Nicholson
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that to you youngsters,’ says Tom. Richard Graves is at most ten years his junior. ‘In my day only the charlatans advertised.’
‘Oh, the charlatans are advertising, all right,’ says Richard. ‘Any quack can offer cosmetic surgery these days. That’s why we have to get out there, make our case, save the suckers from their own stupidity.’
Tom has now been made aware that his attentions to Meg have not gone unnoticed. What do you expect in a place this size? A staff of a hundred and twenty or so, everyone knows everything. They’ll be joking about it, maybe expressing surprise, Meg isn’t an obvious candidate for seduction in her sober business suit and her sober business face. Not exactly a beauty, they’ll be saying. Nothing to write home about. And there’s the wonder of it. Beauty turns out not to create desire after all. Desire creates beauty.
These things take you by surprise. He has almost no memory of Meg in the first weeks after her arrival. Once she stopped him on the corridor to tell him that she needed case histories to feed to journalists, how rhinoplasty saved my life and so forth. But he paid her no attention until the BAAPS conference in London.
They found themselves in a lift together, in the Waldorf Hilton. It was the end of the last session, they were both tired. He noticed that her hands were shaking. They made polite conversation. Then she closed her eyes. No more than the kind of thing you do if your eyes are hurting at the end of the day. She was telling him how much she was learning, her lips moving, her eyes closed, and he studied her face, and there were her hands, shaking. Then she opened her eyes and met his gaze without her defences in place, and he saw it as naked as a kiss: she desires me.
The lift doors opened. They went their separate ways. But from that moment on he looked at her differently. She changed under his eyes. She became beautiful.
So in a little while, in about an hour and a quarter, he’ll pull in to one of the parking spaces reserved for residents of the Victorian mansion called Ridgewood Grange. There, in a two-bedroom flat with views of the communally-maintained park, Meg will be waiting.
8
Chloe has to run, dragging her wheeled suitcase with the worn wheels that bang like a machine-gun, and only just gets onto the train before the doors close for departure. She left masses of time to get from Paddington to Victoria but of course no Circle line train came for ever. Now she feels hot and cross and the train is full.
She jerks her suitcase down the aisle through four carriages to get into the half that will go on to Lewes after the train divides at Haywards Heath. The only empty seat is a foursome occupied by a fat young mother and two fat young children. The children are sprawled on the seats in such a way that there’s no room for a fourth.
Chloe stands her suitcase in the aisle beside them and says as sweetly as she can, ‘Any chance of a seat?’
‘Move, Wayne,’ says the mother. ‘Out of the way, Jordan.’
The children don’t move.
Chloe waits, smiling, wanting to smack their fat bored faces. Their mother goes red, raises one hand, and screams.
‘ Move or I belt you one!’
The children move, slowly, sulkily. Chloe sits down. The small fat boy starts to whine.
‘Mu-um. I’m hungry.’
‘No you’re not. You had chips.’
‘But I’m hungry.’
‘Me too,’ says the girl. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Not now,’ says their mother. ‘Later.’
‘But I’m hungry ,’ says the boy. ‘My tummy hurts.’
‘And mine,’ says the girl. ‘My tummy hurts.’
‘Will you be quiet !’ shrieks the mother. ‘I said no !’
Both children begin to cry. ‘Jesus God!’ says the mother.
She stares at the children as if she hates them. Undeterred they maintain their steady snivelling. Chloe hates them too. She puts her iPod earpieces into her ears but she can hear the children crying over the beat of the music. People on trains complain
‘Oh, the charlatans are advertising, all right,’ says Richard. ‘Any quack can offer cosmetic surgery these days. That’s why we have to get out there, make our case, save the suckers from their own stupidity.’
Tom has now been made aware that his attentions to Meg have not gone unnoticed. What do you expect in a place this size? A staff of a hundred and twenty or so, everyone knows everything. They’ll be joking about it, maybe expressing surprise, Meg isn’t an obvious candidate for seduction in her sober business suit and her sober business face. Not exactly a beauty, they’ll be saying. Nothing to write home about. And there’s the wonder of it. Beauty turns out not to create desire after all. Desire creates beauty.
These things take you by surprise. He has almost no memory of Meg in the first weeks after her arrival. Once she stopped him on the corridor to tell him that she needed case histories to feed to journalists, how rhinoplasty saved my life and so forth. But he paid her no attention until the BAAPS conference in London.
They found themselves in a lift together, in the Waldorf Hilton. It was the end of the last session, they were both tired. He noticed that her hands were shaking. They made polite conversation. Then she closed her eyes. No more than the kind of thing you do if your eyes are hurting at the end of the day. She was telling him how much she was learning, her lips moving, her eyes closed, and he studied her face, and there were her hands, shaking. Then she opened her eyes and met his gaze without her defences in place, and he saw it as naked as a kiss: she desires me.
The lift doors opened. They went their separate ways. But from that moment on he looked at her differently. She changed under his eyes. She became beautiful.
So in a little while, in about an hour and a quarter, he’ll pull in to one of the parking spaces reserved for residents of the Victorian mansion called Ridgewood Grange. There, in a two-bedroom flat with views of the communally-maintained park, Meg will be waiting.
8
Chloe has to run, dragging her wheeled suitcase with the worn wheels that bang like a machine-gun, and only just gets onto the train before the doors close for departure. She left masses of time to get from Paddington to Victoria but of course no Circle line train came for ever. Now she feels hot and cross and the train is full.
She jerks her suitcase down the aisle through four carriages to get into the half that will go on to Lewes after the train divides at Haywards Heath. The only empty seat is a foursome occupied by a fat young mother and two fat young children. The children are sprawled on the seats in such a way that there’s no room for a fourth.
Chloe stands her suitcase in the aisle beside them and says as sweetly as she can, ‘Any chance of a seat?’
‘Move, Wayne,’ says the mother. ‘Out of the way, Jordan.’
The children don’t move.
Chloe waits, smiling, wanting to smack their fat bored faces. Their mother goes red, raises one hand, and screams.
‘ Move or I belt you one!’
The children move, slowly, sulkily. Chloe sits down. The small fat boy starts to whine.
‘Mu-um. I’m hungry.’
‘No you’re not. You had chips.’
‘But I’m hungry.’
‘Me too,’ says the girl. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Not now,’ says their mother. ‘Later.’
‘But I’m hungry ,’ says the boy. ‘My tummy hurts.’
‘And mine,’ says the girl. ‘My tummy hurts.’
‘Will you be quiet !’ shrieks the mother. ‘I said no !’
Both children begin to cry. ‘Jesus God!’ says the mother.
She stares at the children as if she hates them. Undeterred they maintain their steady snivelling. Chloe hates them too. She puts her iPod earpieces into her ears but she can hear the children crying over the beat of the music. People on trains complain
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