apartment where he lived with his family. He walked around the rooms and came into the living room and smiled at her and shrugged.
‘Nice,’ he said.
‘Is it better than where you live?’ she asked.
He did not reply, and she took this to mean that it was much better indeed.
‘You can have it for nothing,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘Because I need someone to cut the grass and paint the fence and maybe grow some flowers, and check my house is not broken into while I’m away.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Nothing else.’
Slowly, however, when she discovered that Ito’s wife, Rosario, was as reticent and quietly smart as her husband, she found more things for them to do. They had gradually taken on the role of part-time housekeeper and part-time driver while Frances paid for their daughters’ school and made the cottage as comfortable as they wanted it, adding on two small rooms. She had also managed to get them documents and then finally paid what it cost to get them citizenship.
They liked it, she believed, when she gave parties in the house, or when she had visitors to stay. It allowed them a glimpse of her when she was not working, an involvement in her real life that was otherwise denied them, just as they denied her any part in their domestic and intimate lives. Over years, she learned little more about them than she already knew, but she grew used to their tactful friendship and found evidence, sometimes at the most unlikely moments, that they trusted her and felt affection for her, and maybe, she thought, as she grew older, they came to worry about her.
Their daughters were grown up now, and on Sundays the house and the garden were full of the sounds of their grandchildren, and, as these sounds made her happy and did not disturb her at all, she made clear to them that on such occasions the garden belonged to them and she would not need anything at all, and she was careful to refuse any invitation to eat with them. It was their day with their family and she did not think they needed an outsider with them, no matter how long they had all been living in close proximity. In any case, she always had things to do, even on hot Sundays when she was at home.
When she was away working as she was now, and then came home, she found the refrigerator full and the bed aired, her clothes washed and fresh and the garden full of flowers. Ito, unless he was working for the studio, collected her at the airport. Now that she had more money she paid them more, and when she made her will she asked Ito and Rosario to come with her to the lawyer’s office along with witnesses to see that she had left them the entire property, which had grown more valuable with the years, and whatever money she had. By that time there was no one more important in her life and she knew that there would not be again.
She walked out of the hotel and along Merrion Row and then down Merrion Street to the National Gallery. She wondered if looking at the colours of the Irish paintings might give her ideas for some scenes in the film. As she was checking her bag for her purse to find the entrance charge she realized that it was free, that she could walk in, that no one even wanted to inspect her bag. She remembered from years back that there had been a long room with two staircases leading out of it and in her mind this room was straight in front of the entrance hall, but what she found instead was a set of smaller rooms leading into each other.
The pictures seemed to go from the eighteenth century to the nineteenth and were full of stock scenes of bucolic happiness and figures standing near waterfalls. No wonder these rooms were empty of people, she thought; most of the pictures were not worth a second glance. It was only when she came to the last two rooms that the paintings began to interest her; they were by men with Irish names trying to paint like French painters. All of these artists, she thought, must have left here to get away from the dreary
‘Nice,’ he said.
‘Is it better than where you live?’ she asked.
He did not reply, and she took this to mean that it was much better indeed.
‘You can have it for nothing,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘Because I need someone to cut the grass and paint the fence and maybe grow some flowers, and check my house is not broken into while I’m away.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Nothing else.’
Slowly, however, when she discovered that Ito’s wife, Rosario, was as reticent and quietly smart as her husband, she found more things for them to do. They had gradually taken on the role of part-time housekeeper and part-time driver while Frances paid for their daughters’ school and made the cottage as comfortable as they wanted it, adding on two small rooms. She had also managed to get them documents and then finally paid what it cost to get them citizenship.
They liked it, she believed, when she gave parties in the house, or when she had visitors to stay. It allowed them a glimpse of her when she was not working, an involvement in her real life that was otherwise denied them, just as they denied her any part in their domestic and intimate lives. Over years, she learned little more about them than she already knew, but she grew used to their tactful friendship and found evidence, sometimes at the most unlikely moments, that they trusted her and felt affection for her, and maybe, she thought, as she grew older, they came to worry about her.
Their daughters were grown up now, and on Sundays the house and the garden were full of the sounds of their grandchildren, and, as these sounds made her happy and did not disturb her at all, she made clear to them that on such occasions the garden belonged to them and she would not need anything at all, and she was careful to refuse any invitation to eat with them. It was their day with their family and she did not think they needed an outsider with them, no matter how long they had all been living in close proximity. In any case, she always had things to do, even on hot Sundays when she was at home.
When she was away working as she was now, and then came home, she found the refrigerator full and the bed aired, her clothes washed and fresh and the garden full of flowers. Ito, unless he was working for the studio, collected her at the airport. Now that she had more money she paid them more, and when she made her will she asked Ito and Rosario to come with her to the lawyer’s office along with witnesses to see that she had left them the entire property, which had grown more valuable with the years, and whatever money she had. By that time there was no one more important in her life and she knew that there would not be again.
She walked out of the hotel and along Merrion Row and then down Merrion Street to the National Gallery. She wondered if looking at the colours of the Irish paintings might give her ideas for some scenes in the film. As she was checking her bag for her purse to find the entrance charge she realized that it was free, that she could walk in, that no one even wanted to inspect her bag. She remembered from years back that there had been a long room with two staircases leading out of it and in her mind this room was straight in front of the entrance hall, but what she found instead was a set of smaller rooms leading into each other.
The pictures seemed to go from the eighteenth century to the nineteenth and were full of stock scenes of bucolic happiness and figures standing near waterfalls. No wonder these rooms were empty of people, she thought; most of the pictures were not worth a second glance. It was only when she came to the last two rooms that the paintings began to interest her; they were by men with Irish names trying to paint like French painters. All of these artists, she thought, must have left here to get away from the dreary
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