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Authors: Muriel Spark
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her knees, with glittering glass beads of various colors falling to her feet. She wore green platform sandals, which made her taller than red-haired Chris. They made an emphatic couple. Rowland concealed his fury with Chris from all but Nina, who noticed that the sight of Chris swinging up the fashion gangway with the lovely little Italian girl on his arm had infuriated Rowland. He, in fact, was clutching his throat as if to control a scream.
Albert was on the catwalk now, in a cream tropical suit with a silk scarf of dark blue and white spots. He had bought it ready-to-wear in the supermarket. It fitted perfectly. In his breast pocket was the tip of a red silk black-spotted handkerchief and he wore red espadrilles without socks.
“Really—your gardener?” said Israel Brown. Albert looked fabulously rich. The applause went on so long that he had to turn round and do it all over again. “I imagine he won’t be our garden boy for long,” said Nina to Israel. The manageress of the hotel next door was also carried away by Albert’s elegance. She had been appointed one of the judges of the show and it was in fact eventually to Albert that the first prize was to be awarded. He was, indeed, a young beauty. And one of the truths about him was, he was devoted to gardening.
Elaine and Célestine Valette concentrated respectively on a spectacular raincoat and a tennis dress, the first being a multicolored tent which gave a rainbow effect as Elaine moved. She wore knee-length red shiny boots and carried a white closed umbrella. Célestine’s tennis outfit resembled a ballet dancer’s tutu, her two-layered skirt projecting and bouncing as she moved her tawny stalklike legs up the walk.
The whole process took place again, more quickly and boisterously. Finally, Nina and Rowland walked along the planks, hand in hand, dressed only as they were, bowed to right and left and retreated to considerable explosive noise and applause. Refreshments were then ardently served. And so ended the College Sunrise fashion show.
11
According to the catechism of the Roman Catholic faith, into which Rowland had been born, six sins against the Holy Spirit are specified. The fourth is “Envy of Another’s Spiritual Good,” and that was the sin from which Rowland suffered.
“Suffered” is the right word, as it often is in cases where the perpetrators are in the clutches of their own distortions. With Rowland, his obsessive jealousy of Chris was his greatest misfortune. And jealousy is an affliction of the spirit which, unlike some sins of the flesh, gives no one any pleasure. It is a miserable emotion for the jealous one with equally miserable effects on others.
After the fashion show Olive, that manageress of the nearby hotel, who, with Israel, had distributed the prizes, had said in her speech, “How I wish I could have spent part of my youth in a school like yours. And no exams . . . It could have been a wonderful memory.”
“And this evening,” Israel added, “is going to be a wonderful memory.” He smiled at Nina, and she at him. This exchange of smiles was noticed by Rowland. Almost to his own surprise he didn’t feel in the least jealous of his wife. He was watchful of Chris who was telling Olive how much he enjoyed sitting in one of the hotel’s capacious public rooms, working at peace on notes for his novel.
“You’re writing a novel?”
“Oh yes. I’m well ahead with it.”
Olive turned to Rowland, “You must be terribly proud of your student-novelist. What a distinction for your school—” and turning to Chris—“Do come any time and use our writing rooms. You can bring your laptops and things. We’ll be delighted.”
“He hasn’t got a publisher yet,” said Rowland. “That’s the sine qua non of a book.”
“He’ll get a publisher,” said Olive, brimming with goodwill and middle-aged glow.
“I could kill him,” thought Rowland. “But would that be enough?”
Many times, now, Rowland thought of
Albert was on the catwalk now, in a cream tropical suit with a silk scarf of dark blue and white spots. He had bought it ready-to-wear in the supermarket. It fitted perfectly. In his breast pocket was the tip of a red silk black-spotted handkerchief and he wore red espadrilles without socks.
“Really—your gardener?” said Israel Brown. Albert looked fabulously rich. The applause went on so long that he had to turn round and do it all over again. “I imagine he won’t be our garden boy for long,” said Nina to Israel. The manageress of the hotel next door was also carried away by Albert’s elegance. She had been appointed one of the judges of the show and it was in fact eventually to Albert that the first prize was to be awarded. He was, indeed, a young beauty. And one of the truths about him was, he was devoted to gardening.
Elaine and Célestine Valette concentrated respectively on a spectacular raincoat and a tennis dress, the first being a multicolored tent which gave a rainbow effect as Elaine moved. She wore knee-length red shiny boots and carried a white closed umbrella. Célestine’s tennis outfit resembled a ballet dancer’s tutu, her two-layered skirt projecting and bouncing as she moved her tawny stalklike legs up the walk.
The whole process took place again, more quickly and boisterously. Finally, Nina and Rowland walked along the planks, hand in hand, dressed only as they were, bowed to right and left and retreated to considerable explosive noise and applause. Refreshments were then ardently served. And so ended the College Sunrise fashion show.
11
According to the catechism of the Roman Catholic faith, into which Rowland had been born, six sins against the Holy Spirit are specified. The fourth is “Envy of Another’s Spiritual Good,” and that was the sin from which Rowland suffered.
“Suffered” is the right word, as it often is in cases where the perpetrators are in the clutches of their own distortions. With Rowland, his obsessive jealousy of Chris was his greatest misfortune. And jealousy is an affliction of the spirit which, unlike some sins of the flesh, gives no one any pleasure. It is a miserable emotion for the jealous one with equally miserable effects on others.
After the fashion show Olive, that manageress of the nearby hotel, who, with Israel, had distributed the prizes, had said in her speech, “How I wish I could have spent part of my youth in a school like yours. And no exams . . . It could have been a wonderful memory.”
“And this evening,” Israel added, “is going to be a wonderful memory.” He smiled at Nina, and she at him. This exchange of smiles was noticed by Rowland. Almost to his own surprise he didn’t feel in the least jealous of his wife. He was watchful of Chris who was telling Olive how much he enjoyed sitting in one of the hotel’s capacious public rooms, working at peace on notes for his novel.
“You’re writing a novel?”
“Oh yes. I’m well ahead with it.”
Olive turned to Rowland, “You must be terribly proud of your student-novelist. What a distinction for your school—” and turning to Chris—“Do come any time and use our writing rooms. You can bring your laptops and things. We’ll be delighted.”
“He hasn’t got a publisher yet,” said Rowland. “That’s the sine qua non of a book.”
“He’ll get a publisher,” said Olive, brimming with goodwill and middle-aged glow.
“I could kill him,” thought Rowland. “But would that be enough?”
Many times, now, Rowland thought of
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