it.
David Pulborough was heterosexual but extremely self-seeking, and so anxious to escape from the stultifying world of lower-middle-class Sorley (where his mother actually worked in a draper’s shop and his father as a clerk in the traffic department at the Town Hall) that he was prepared to use his looks to achieve his own ends with either sex.
Women were drawn to his rather spiritual beauty, particularly as he had perfected a technique of standing very close, gazing into their eyes, and flattering them outrageously. He had also realized that an almost effortless way up the social scale was to become the plaything of some rich, grand old queen, and with luck be remembered in his will.
In his first two years at Cambridge, unbeknownst to each other, he had been enjoying the favours of his homosexual tutor and that tutor’s good-looking unsatisfied wife. He had only needed to let a slender arm rub against the shoulders of the former during tutorials to gain excellent marks, along with invitations to smart parties and the task of looking after the famous Raymond Belvedon when he visited the college.
The tutor’s wife, Petra, was very demanding in bed. In fact young David had improved so dramatically under her tuition that she was threatening to leave her husband. David had countered this move, which would have caused an awful scandal and jeopardized his degree next summer, by persuading Petra to lend him her running away money of £500 to pay off his pressing end-of-term debts. Instead he had blued the money on the second-hand Ford, which appeared to be a write-off, new clothes and presents for the Belvedons.
David knew that Raymond was attracted to him, but Raymond was not an old queen, he was hugely glamorous, and could introduce David to everyone in the art world.
For two months, I am going to live on the fat of the land, thought David as he soaked in a green-scented bath. The waterfall outside sounded like a running tap. What bliss not to be shouted at for leaving it on. As he dried himself on a soft emerald-green towel, admiring his slender body, which would look even better when he had a tan, he could hear Raymond talking loving nonsense to Maud as he took her out for a last walk.
Happily David slid between cool white linen sheets. On his bedside table was a Collected Tennyson, a wireless switched to Radio Three and a harebell-blue enamel box filled with pink iced biscuits.
‘Not after you’ve cleaned your teeth.’ He could hear his mother’s reproof, as he defiantly bit into one.
Poetry recited last thing at night could often be retained perfectly in the memory the following morning.
‘Till last by Philips farm I flow
To join the brimming river,’ mumbled David,
‘For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.’
As the waterfall outside converged with Tennyson’s ‘Brook’, he fell into a deep sleep.
For the next few days David absorbed the wonder of Foxes Court: the glorious pictures, the vast library of books and records, the romantic garden, the barns and cottages, the prettiest of which he had earmarked for himself in the future, and Galena’s studio off to the left through ancient woodland.
He helped Alizarin dam the stream which ran through the water trough under the house, down the garden to the river, which gave him ample opportunity to quote Tennyson’s ‘Brook’. He taught Alizarin to crawl in the swimming pool, the bottom of which was all looking-glass. In addition, he bowled endlessly to Jupiter, and let the little beast beat him at tennis, croquet and chess – not difficult with the hangovers he had most mornings after drinking and talking long into the night with Raymond.
As he suspected, his new boss was under colossal strain and, despite his sweetness, had a short temper. He would shout if anyone forgot to fill up Maud’s water bowl, or opened his beloved Times in the morning before he did. When he wasn’t working in his study, Raymond spent a lot of the day
David Pulborough was heterosexual but extremely self-seeking, and so anxious to escape from the stultifying world of lower-middle-class Sorley (where his mother actually worked in a draper’s shop and his father as a clerk in the traffic department at the Town Hall) that he was prepared to use his looks to achieve his own ends with either sex.
Women were drawn to his rather spiritual beauty, particularly as he had perfected a technique of standing very close, gazing into their eyes, and flattering them outrageously. He had also realized that an almost effortless way up the social scale was to become the plaything of some rich, grand old queen, and with luck be remembered in his will.
In his first two years at Cambridge, unbeknownst to each other, he had been enjoying the favours of his homosexual tutor and that tutor’s good-looking unsatisfied wife. He had only needed to let a slender arm rub against the shoulders of the former during tutorials to gain excellent marks, along with invitations to smart parties and the task of looking after the famous Raymond Belvedon when he visited the college.
The tutor’s wife, Petra, was very demanding in bed. In fact young David had improved so dramatically under her tuition that she was threatening to leave her husband. David had countered this move, which would have caused an awful scandal and jeopardized his degree next summer, by persuading Petra to lend him her running away money of £500 to pay off his pressing end-of-term debts. Instead he had blued the money on the second-hand Ford, which appeared to be a write-off, new clothes and presents for the Belvedons.
David knew that Raymond was attracted to him, but Raymond was not an old queen, he was hugely glamorous, and could introduce David to everyone in the art world.
For two months, I am going to live on the fat of the land, thought David as he soaked in a green-scented bath. The waterfall outside sounded like a running tap. What bliss not to be shouted at for leaving it on. As he dried himself on a soft emerald-green towel, admiring his slender body, which would look even better when he had a tan, he could hear Raymond talking loving nonsense to Maud as he took her out for a last walk.
Happily David slid between cool white linen sheets. On his bedside table was a Collected Tennyson, a wireless switched to Radio Three and a harebell-blue enamel box filled with pink iced biscuits.
‘Not after you’ve cleaned your teeth.’ He could hear his mother’s reproof, as he defiantly bit into one.
Poetry recited last thing at night could often be retained perfectly in the memory the following morning.
‘Till last by Philips farm I flow
To join the brimming river,’ mumbled David,
‘For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.’
As the waterfall outside converged with Tennyson’s ‘Brook’, he fell into a deep sleep.
For the next few days David absorbed the wonder of Foxes Court: the glorious pictures, the vast library of books and records, the romantic garden, the barns and cottages, the prettiest of which he had earmarked for himself in the future, and Galena’s studio off to the left through ancient woodland.
He helped Alizarin dam the stream which ran through the water trough under the house, down the garden to the river, which gave him ample opportunity to quote Tennyson’s ‘Brook’. He taught Alizarin to crawl in the swimming pool, the bottom of which was all looking-glass. In addition, he bowled endlessly to Jupiter, and let the little beast beat him at tennis, croquet and chess – not difficult with the hangovers he had most mornings after drinking and talking long into the night with Raymond.
As he suspected, his new boss was under colossal strain and, despite his sweetness, had a short temper. He would shout if anyone forgot to fill up Maud’s water bowl, or opened his beloved Times in the morning before he did. When he wasn’t working in his study, Raymond spent a lot of the day
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