Read Online Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont by Elizabeth Taylor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Taylor
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painted dragons and tasselled lampshades. So different was it from the glare of the Coin-Op Laundry.
‘Every
other
week-end,’ she went on, screwing her greasy fingers into her paper napkin, ‘I go down there to stoke up for the next week. It’s worth the fare, because I eat like crazy. Roast beef and Yorkshire. All those things I loathed when I lived there. And I pinch great slabs of fruit cake out of the larder.’
She now dabbed at her glistening chin with the shredded napkin. ‘They live in another world,’ she said: and Ludo realised that this covered everything – all the differences in age and outlook. Her parents would not have understood that, for the girl flat-dwellers, clothes came before food; fun before comfort; privacy nowhere. To him, the priorities were reversed, with privacy first, the assuagement of hunger next (which was different from having a meal), and clothes last. The Chinese supper was instead of buying a new pair of shoes, as he had intended, and guessed that Mrs Palfrey hoped.
‘Yes, they live in another world,’ he agreed, keeping things going, while Rosie ate the last spare-rib. ‘My mother has a love-nest in Putney. She is a sort of kept woman.’
‘So?’ was all she said, beginning at one end of the bone and going fast up to the other, as if playing a mouth-organ. ‘Only sort of?’ she asked, when she had finished. She leaned back and sighed. ‘Kept woman, I mean?’
‘She does a part-time job as a receptionist; but I think the Major pays the rent.’
‘Another world,’ sighed Rosie, looking round and putting a finger-nail between two teeth, grimacing, thensliding her tongue about her mouth. They never had any fresh ideas, did they? Oh, sweet and sour pork, how super!’ Her eyes flew fast from dish to dish, as the waiter arranged the table. ‘I’m sorry I was rather shirty in the coin-op,’ she went on, ‘but truly I thought you were a bit etcentric.’
‘Try again,’ he urged her. ‘I just can’t understand it.’ He took the five-pound note from his pocket and held it once more in front of her.
She put thumb and finger nearly together, leaned forward ready, and he saw the note flutter down to the carpet.
‘That’s how it’s meant to work,’ Ludo said, satisfied at last, bending to pick up the note.
‘Crispy noodles I dote on,’ she said, with a rapt and solemn look as if she were in church.
‘Well, I’m glad of that, about your not catching it, I mean. Now you won’t think me quite so “etcentric”, perhaps.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Rosie, and she looked up at the Chinese waiter and her smile, rising from the corners of her lips, spread all over her face, seemed to lift her into the air. ‘Oh, water-chestnuts!’ she said softly, looking up into his pouchy eyes.
But water-chestnuts are expensive. They were sliced thinly and scattered only sparsely over the chicken. Rosie sorted them out with her chopsticks, savoured them. ‘They’re so inscrutable,’ she complained. ‘They never say anything or listen.’
‘It’s a texture quite on its own,’ Ludo said, and hepicked out all of his water-chestnuts and spooned them into her bowl. ‘Nothing else quite like them.’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ she agreed, accepting his share, looking thoughtfully into her bowl. ‘But what about you?’
‘As a matter of fact, my need isn’t as great as yours. I had a very good dinner last night.’
‘Where?’
‘At the Claremont.’
‘I never ever heard of it.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you did. I was invited there by an old lady I picked up.’
‘You’re a great one for that.’
‘Literally picked up, I mean. Off the pavement. She’d had a fall.’
Rosie wasn’t interested in old ladies falling about, or in Ludo’s chivalry. ‘What does your mother look like?’ she asked, finding the subject more to her liking.
‘She has bags under her eyes. Auburn hair, dark at the roots most of the time. Nice figure.’
‘Well, that’s
‘Every
other
week-end,’ she went on, screwing her greasy fingers into her paper napkin, ‘I go down there to stoke up for the next week. It’s worth the fare, because I eat like crazy. Roast beef and Yorkshire. All those things I loathed when I lived there. And I pinch great slabs of fruit cake out of the larder.’
She now dabbed at her glistening chin with the shredded napkin. ‘They live in another world,’ she said: and Ludo realised that this covered everything – all the differences in age and outlook. Her parents would not have understood that, for the girl flat-dwellers, clothes came before food; fun before comfort; privacy nowhere. To him, the priorities were reversed, with privacy first, the assuagement of hunger next (which was different from having a meal), and clothes last. The Chinese supper was instead of buying a new pair of shoes, as he had intended, and guessed that Mrs Palfrey hoped.
‘Yes, they live in another world,’ he agreed, keeping things going, while Rosie ate the last spare-rib. ‘My mother has a love-nest in Putney. She is a sort of kept woman.’
‘So?’ was all she said, beginning at one end of the bone and going fast up to the other, as if playing a mouth-organ. ‘Only sort of?’ she asked, when she had finished. She leaned back and sighed. ‘Kept woman, I mean?’
‘She does a part-time job as a receptionist; but I think the Major pays the rent.’
‘Another world,’ sighed Rosie, looking round and putting a finger-nail between two teeth, grimacing, thensliding her tongue about her mouth. They never had any fresh ideas, did they? Oh, sweet and sour pork, how super!’ Her eyes flew fast from dish to dish, as the waiter arranged the table. ‘I’m sorry I was rather shirty in the coin-op,’ she went on, ‘but truly I thought you were a bit etcentric.’
‘Try again,’ he urged her. ‘I just can’t understand it.’ He took the five-pound note from his pocket and held it once more in front of her.
She put thumb and finger nearly together, leaned forward ready, and he saw the note flutter down to the carpet.
‘That’s how it’s meant to work,’ Ludo said, satisfied at last, bending to pick up the note.
‘Crispy noodles I dote on,’ she said, with a rapt and solemn look as if she were in church.
‘Well, I’m glad of that, about your not catching it, I mean. Now you won’t think me quite so “etcentric”, perhaps.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Rosie, and she looked up at the Chinese waiter and her smile, rising from the corners of her lips, spread all over her face, seemed to lift her into the air. ‘Oh, water-chestnuts!’ she said softly, looking up into his pouchy eyes.
But water-chestnuts are expensive. They were sliced thinly and scattered only sparsely over the chicken. Rosie sorted them out with her chopsticks, savoured them. ‘They’re so inscrutable,’ she complained. ‘They never say anything or listen.’
‘It’s a texture quite on its own,’ Ludo said, and hepicked out all of his water-chestnuts and spooned them into her bowl. ‘Nothing else quite like them.’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ she agreed, accepting his share, looking thoughtfully into her bowl. ‘But what about you?’
‘As a matter of fact, my need isn’t as great as yours. I had a very good dinner last night.’
‘Where?’
‘At the Claremont.’
‘I never ever heard of it.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you did. I was invited there by an old lady I picked up.’
‘You’re a great one for that.’
‘Literally picked up, I mean. Off the pavement. She’d had a fall.’
Rosie wasn’t interested in old ladies falling about, or in Ludo’s chivalry. ‘What does your mother look like?’ she asked, finding the subject more to her liking.
‘She has bags under her eyes. Auburn hair, dark at the roots most of the time. Nice figure.’
‘Well, that’s
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