Read Online Learning to Dance by Susan Sallis - Free Book Online

it would be good to … be with people for a while.’
    Irena brought in coffee and a baize-topped card table. Martin Morris, who obviously knew the room’s layout well, opened a drawer in an ornate chiffonier and produced playing cards. The four of them settled themselves aroundthe table. Bart came in with two boxes of dark chocolate peppermints; he went to the chiffonier and brought a large album to the sofa.
    ‘We found it here. Pictures of Castle Dove when it was built. It’s not that old, actually – there’s a steam-driven crane on one of the pages.’ He smiled and left them to it.
    Judith ran her hand through her short hair and grinned. ‘I haven’t had any chocolate since last Christmas! And I shouldn’t now – but – shall we?’
    Sybil said, ‘Why not?’ She opened the box and took out two of the small envelopes. ‘I find one is hopeless. It has to be closely followed by another one in order to be savoured – even tasted!’
    ‘Ye-e-es.’ Judith removed three envelopes. ‘You are right, of course. The second one is to be tasted. A third one, however, is necessary for the savouring.’
    They smiled at each other; Judith felt herself melting with the chocolate. The calves of both legs were aching from those fifty-five stone steps, her head still throbbed from the total concentration of the afternoon. She said through her second chocolate, ‘I’m obviously out of condition – feel a wreck.’
    Sybil said, ‘You don’t look it. Your hair just … sort of … goes. Is it naturally curly?’
    ‘Yes.’ She was surprised again; she had not expected salon talk from Sybil Jessup. ‘And you’re right, it does just go. I’ve had it styled so that it sweeps around my head, but within an hour of leaving the hairdresser, it’s back like this again. They can straighten hair now, I might try that.’
    ‘Please don’t!’ Sybil looked almost stricken. ‘You’ll regret it. You’ll end up with a blonde ponytail.’
    ‘I would do what you have done and pile it up with a comb – it looks distinguished.’
    ‘It falls about. It’s a bloody nuisance. Don’t even consider it.’
    They smiled, each taking another chocolate. Sybil said, ‘Why is it that women always talk about hair?’
    ‘You started it.’ Judith pushed the box away. ‘Were you testing the water?’
    ‘Not really. I thought we should talk about ordinary things, and I couldn’t think of anything else!’ Sybil fastened the lid of the box and put it on the table, then picked up her coffee. ‘Apparently my reaction to Robert’s work this afternoon was the same as yours this morning. Luckily I was lurking in one of the alcoves, and Nathaniel was trying to tell Jennifer that Robert’s work has been likened to Constable’s … I apologized to him later and he told me that you had been similarly …’ She smiled ruefully, ‘… afflicted.’
    ‘Oh dear.’
    ‘Don’t apologize. The more of us who can see what he is really doing, the more he will be appreciated. He is seen as a nostalgic artist. Yet he is painting contemporary ’scapes.’
    ‘You have followed his career?’
    ‘Always.’
    There was a silence, during which Sybil ate another two mints and Judith wondered why Jack had never spoken of Hausmann’s work. And then continued to wonder why Jack had never gone further with his own work. And whether he had been an artist or a cartoonist or a political commentator or a newspaper journalist … she felt her head thump again and closed her eyes. She was nearly fifty. Was this the menopause? Never mind that, where was Jack?
    Sybil’s voice was very quiet; Judith opened her eyes in an effort to listen.
    ‘Moss promised that when he was well again we would look him up. Go to galleries. Make enquiries. Start a Hausmann revival!’ She smiled. ‘Moss was a publicist, he could have done it. But then … he died.’ She looked at Judith’s face. ‘Moss Jessup was my husband. Have you heard of him?’
    Judith swallowed.