Read Online The Bay of Angels by Anita Brookner - Free Book Online

sure that she looked after him carefully, entertained his elderly neighbours, played her part as conscientiously as she had played her part with me in our days in Edith Grove.
    ‘You talk a lot about your mother,’ said Adam, sprawling on the bed.
    ‘Well, she is my mother.’
    ‘I don’t go on about my mother, do I? I know where she is. That’s enough.’
    ‘Don’t you want to know that she’s happy?’
    ‘Good God, no. That’s her business, not mine.’
    And yet he had all the hallmarks of a successful upbringing. I had not liked his mother, had been uncomfortably aware that she had not much liked me. My upbringing too had been successful, but perhaps our straitened lives had left their mark, had made us careful, in a way that Adam could not recognize. That was why he took his freedom for granted, as I could not quite manage to do. I could not even understand the freedom to behave badly, which he exercised without remorse.
    ‘Did you manage to see your friend?’ I asked casually.
    He smiled, and swung his legs off the bed.
    ‘Where shall we eat tonight? Did you manage to find somewhere half-way decent?’
    We wandered out into the beautiful greenish dusk. Despite our hunger we were not in a hurry to sit down in a restaurant, with all the other tourists. We walked in silence through glamorous streets, far from regular students’ haunts. We felt pleasantly in harmony, all tedious discussions left far behind. I think that this was the best time for both of us: the cool evening, the stately streets, the passers-by, subdued, like ourselves, by the majesty of the darkening sky. Although we had a little time left I knew that it would be an anti-climax. I had a fateful sense of things coming to an end: at the same time I knew that this memory would never fade. We progressed as if in a dream, not caring where we went, and it was only when we felt the chill of the air that we turned back. That night we both slept.
    We awoke on the following morning knowing that the holiday was over. Instinctively we packed our bags, paid our sizeable bill. On the way to the Gare du Nord Adam held my hand; again there was no need to speak. The journey passed in that way. At Victoria we parted, again with few words. We kissed, and I went back to the flat.
    Even London looked presentable. There was light, there were leaves, even flowers. I wondered if my so-recent happiness had brought all this into being, but once at home I was forced to realize that nothing had really changed. Adam had gone back to Langton Street without a word about our next meeting, but I was supposed to be used to that. I made coffee, unpacked, took another bath. On the other side of the party wall I could hear my neighbour’s dog bark. The barks faded, and could then be heard in the street. I could count on half an hour of quiet reminiscence before they returned.
    I telephoned my mother to tell her that I was home. I had not much looked forward to this call, which was why I had preferred to send postcards—‘Love to you both’—while we were travelling. But this could no longer be postponed. I did not want to think of Nice, of that house, of those people, for whom I felt a certain exasperated impatience. Even my mother seemed old, out of touch. In future I would reserve my time for Adam, despite the fact that he might not want me to do so.
    The telephone rang only once before it was picked up.
    ‘Darling! Where have you been? We were worried.’
    ‘Still in France, working our way home by stages. I’m back now.’
    ‘We were disappointed that you left so abruptly.’
    ‘I felt it wasn’t going too well,’ I confessed. I did not tell her of the footsteps in the corridor, the breathing and humming outside our door. She may have known about this, but it would not be discussed.
    ‘It’s true that Simon was a little shocked. He still thinks of you as a little girl. He couldn’t quite get used to the idea of your friend being with you.’
    Your friend. Not