Read Online Incidents in the Rue Laugier by Anita Brookner - Free Book Online
Authors: Anita Brookner
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know dinner has been ready for a few minutes, and Marie gets so put out … Here they are.’
Maud and her mother stood up in honour of the epochal arrival of Xavier’s friend, who now emerged from the car, rose to his full amazing height, and with every appearance of pleasure surveyed the house.
‘Mother,’ said Xavier, ‘may I present my friend, David Tyler?’
‘So good of you to invite me,’ murmured the visitor. ‘I wonder if I might have a quick bath before dinner? I seem to have been travelling for most of the day.’
Mme de Bretteville, who was not used to having her hand kissed by so handsome a stranger, and who was agreeably impressedby his manners—by his courtliness, in fact—said, in a voice which was only minimally flustered, ‘By all means … Xavier will show you … And if there is anything you want …’
‘So kind. I usually bathe in the evening, if that is all right with you. But of course you must tell me the house rules. I don’t want to be a nuisance.’
When he reappeared they all—Maud, Xavier, Xavier’s mother, Maud’s mother—gazed at him as if he had successfully survived some initiation ceremony. Across the dinner table they inhaled the aroma of Yardley’s lavender soap. The dinner was ruined, but seeing him eat with such good appetite they felt that this did not, for once, matter. Conversation, largely between Mme de Bretteville and the guest, was delicate, muted, almost flirtatious.
‘And have you chosen a profession?’ enquired Mme de Bretteville with a girlish smile.
‘Advertising,’ said the guest, manoeuvring a burnt and adhesive slice of apple fritter to his mouth.
‘Fascinating,’ approved Mme de Bretteville, ardently. ‘And such an enterprising choice.’
‘Not really,’ he said, gazing into her eyes. ‘My father owns an agency.’
Maud, noting that this man was probably very wicked, suppressed a smile. At this stage the honour of her family, of her mother and herself, was uppermost in her mind. She was by no means averse to her aunt being made to look a fool. In herself she registered nothing more portentous than an agreeable lightening of the spirits. This holiday might, with a bit of luck, be a little more entertaining than the others.
FIVE
F ROM THE RUE LAUGIER ONE CAN TAKE ONE OF THREE MAIN walks. One can turn left into the Avenue de Wagram and go due north until one hears the shunting of the trains in the goods yard beyond the rue de Tocqueville. Another, more promising, way leads one through the Place des Ternes, again along the shorter arm of the Avenue de Wagram to the Place de l’Etoile. The third, and most attractive, takes one to the Place des Ternes, then down the rue du Fauborg Saint-Honoré, which leads straight to the Place du Palais Royal and the centre.
By the end of this third day Harrison had taken all these routes, preferring the third, which released him from the oppression of all the commanding avenues and delivered him to a more recognisable Paris, the city he remembered from previous visits and which he flattered himself he knew quite well. But on those previous visits he had not been alone, had beenwith his parents, or with Bibi, had taken the Métro with an air of triumph at how easy it all was. Now he felt duty bound to walk, had in fact walked several miles, only to discover that crossing the wide streets was hazardous, even in this month of August, when Paris was supposed to be empty. His head buzzed with noise; he drank too much coffee, just for an excuse to sit down. He would have worried about the amount of money he was spending, had he not been aware of the fact that in the bank, at home—for he supposed that London was now home—was the comfortable sum left to him by Mr Sheed. Nevertheless it pleased him to think of himself as a poor student: indeed, for several reasons he felt a sense of genuine penury which for the moment he did nothing to dismiss. In this place, so large, larger than he remembered it,
Maud and her mother stood up in honour of the epochal arrival of Xavier’s friend, who now emerged from the car, rose to his full amazing height, and with every appearance of pleasure surveyed the house.
‘Mother,’ said Xavier, ‘may I present my friend, David Tyler?’
‘So good of you to invite me,’ murmured the visitor. ‘I wonder if I might have a quick bath before dinner? I seem to have been travelling for most of the day.’
Mme de Bretteville, who was not used to having her hand kissed by so handsome a stranger, and who was agreeably impressedby his manners—by his courtliness, in fact—said, in a voice which was only minimally flustered, ‘By all means … Xavier will show you … And if there is anything you want …’
‘So kind. I usually bathe in the evening, if that is all right with you. But of course you must tell me the house rules. I don’t want to be a nuisance.’
When he reappeared they all—Maud, Xavier, Xavier’s mother, Maud’s mother—gazed at him as if he had successfully survived some initiation ceremony. Across the dinner table they inhaled the aroma of Yardley’s lavender soap. The dinner was ruined, but seeing him eat with such good appetite they felt that this did not, for once, matter. Conversation, largely between Mme de Bretteville and the guest, was delicate, muted, almost flirtatious.
‘And have you chosen a profession?’ enquired Mme de Bretteville with a girlish smile.
‘Advertising,’ said the guest, manoeuvring a burnt and adhesive slice of apple fritter to his mouth.
‘Fascinating,’ approved Mme de Bretteville, ardently. ‘And such an enterprising choice.’
‘Not really,’ he said, gazing into her eyes. ‘My father owns an agency.’
Maud, noting that this man was probably very wicked, suppressed a smile. At this stage the honour of her family, of her mother and herself, was uppermost in her mind. She was by no means averse to her aunt being made to look a fool. In herself she registered nothing more portentous than an agreeable lightening of the spirits. This holiday might, with a bit of luck, be a little more entertaining than the others.
FIVE
F ROM THE RUE LAUGIER ONE CAN TAKE ONE OF THREE MAIN walks. One can turn left into the Avenue de Wagram and go due north until one hears the shunting of the trains in the goods yard beyond the rue de Tocqueville. Another, more promising, way leads one through the Place des Ternes, again along the shorter arm of the Avenue de Wagram to the Place de l’Etoile. The third, and most attractive, takes one to the Place des Ternes, then down the rue du Fauborg Saint-Honoré, which leads straight to the Place du Palais Royal and the centre.
By the end of this third day Harrison had taken all these routes, preferring the third, which released him from the oppression of all the commanding avenues and delivered him to a more recognisable Paris, the city he remembered from previous visits and which he flattered himself he knew quite well. But on those previous visits he had not been alone, had beenwith his parents, or with Bibi, had taken the Métro with an air of triumph at how easy it all was. Now he felt duty bound to walk, had in fact walked several miles, only to discover that crossing the wide streets was hazardous, even in this month of August, when Paris was supposed to be empty. His head buzzed with noise; he drank too much coffee, just for an excuse to sit down. He would have worried about the amount of money he was spending, had he not been aware of the fact that in the bank, at home—for he supposed that London was now home—was the comfortable sum left to him by Mr Sheed. Nevertheless it pleased him to think of himself as a poor student: indeed, for several reasons he felt a sense of genuine penury which for the moment he did nothing to dismiss. In this place, so large, larger than he remembered it,
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