Read Online The Finishing School by Muriel Spark - Free Book Online Page B

how it would be if Chris were dead. It wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t be enough. There would always remain the fact that Chris had lived, had been writing a novel while still at school, had prevented Rowland from writing his novel.
    Rowland, opening his notebook of observations on Chris one night before going to bed, found the following words, not his: “Watch him at table sitting next to Mary Foot. He is a groper.”
    Rowland rushed into the bedroom where Nina was already in bed, propped up, reading a book. “Someone’s been meddling with my work,” he said.
    “Meddling? How?”
    “I’ve found words in my notebook that I didn’t write.”
    “I’d say it was Chris,” she said, and went on reading.
    “Are you going to let him get away with it?”
    “Oh, Rowland, can’t you talk to him yourself?”
    “No, I’d prefer to put up with him. It’s only a couple of months, and he’ll be going. Don’t let it worry you, then,” he said.
    Nothing was worrying her, but she knew he was upset once more by Chris. Only a couple of months to the end of the school year. Nina had spent the afternoon with Israel Brown, not quite in bed, but nearly. She found him attractive, learned, charming, scholarly, sexy.
    At dinner the next day, Tilly, with her genius for making unsettling remarks, asked Chris how he was getting on with his novel.
    “It’s growing,” he said.
    “Growing fat,” said Pallas to remind everyone that it was she who kept notes, discs and printed pages of Chris’s book as it developed, when he was not working on it.
    “Why did Darnley murder Rizzio?” said Mary Foot.
    “Jealousy. Rizzio was more interesting to the Queen than her husband was. Rizzio and Darnley were close, confidential friends to start with. But Darnley became obsessed with jealousy.”
    “The Queen forgave him for Rizzio’s murder?” said Joan Archer.
    “She was a politician at that point. She was . . .”
    He was unusually happy and expressive on his theme, and especially on the question of jealousy. “Darnley was a tall, handsome fellow. A cousin of the Queen, a royal. It quite appalled him that word was going round, as it did, that Rizzio, small and humbly born, was her lover. Rizzio had a great talent for music, for courtiership. He had already been a diplomat when he’d met Bonivard, or might have met— that’s a fictional proposition of course . . .”
    Rowland was unable to eat, or even of going through the motions of touching food with his fork. He sat immobile. Tilly prodded on:
    “It’s true you will need a publisher. How do you go about that?”
    “Well, as a matter of fact,” said Chris, “I’ve got three publishers nibbling already. I’ll tell you how I went about it.” And he soon had the table shouting with laughter (Rowland did not join) as he told how he had written to the three publishers in London: “I have just turned seventeen and I am writing an historical novel based on Mary Queen of Scots and the murder of her husband Darnley. The theme is jealousy and passion.” Chris said, “They all seemed to find this irresistible. I have the feeling that my being seventeen is an attractive part of the deal. One of them has offered to come and see me. Another has offered me a contract on sight of the first ten pages. They’re terribly enthusiastic. I can get money for my book.”
    “Money?” said Opal.
    “Yes, real money. But I won’t let that influence me in my choice of publisher.”
    “Quite right,” said Mary Foot.
    “I don’t agree,” said Pallas. “If they invest money, they will put an effort into publishing the book. The highest bidder should never, never, be entirely ignored. My Pa says so.”
    “But a novel is a work of art,” Mary said. “Or should be. And a work of art is without price. Art comes before commerce.”
    Everyone at the table agreed to that. Everyone excluding Rowland, who remained in a catatonic pose, his elbows on the table and his two hands some inches in front of his