Read Online The Rules of Engagement by Anita Brookner - Free Book Online Page B

one side, and her lips were slightly puckered, like the lips of a very old woman. But she was not old, or rather she was old by my standards, in her late fifties, and still, as far as I knew, unimpaired. Yet the altered shape of her features, so different from the carefully nurtured appearance with which I had grown up, together with her doleful pronouncements, brought an unwelcome sense of danger, of further changes still to come, which I found unwelcome. She smiled faintly at my inability to give her credit for her lately discovered wisdom, and put her hand to her face. “ You're probably wondering what brought this on, ” she said. “ Such a minor thing, but it served as a warning of some kind. I had to have some teeth out. I'm afraid Spanish dentists aren't very good — not that English dentists are much better — and the apparatus I have to wear doesn't really fit. It's obvious, isn't it? ”
    “ You'll come to terms with it, ” I said awkwardly, not willing to be conscripted into this new intimacy. My mother had always exaggerated. I had thought her brave when I was a child, making light of my colds and scratches, my minor and not so minor accidents. Now I saw that her brashness hid terror, and that her defences against that terror were no longer adequate. I was particularly concerned to eschew any form of sympathy that would lead to the sort of identification she seemed to desire, as if we were no longer mother and daughter but one old woman commiserating with another. She seemed to have forfeited a sort of propriety, to be looking to me for reassurance, and again I could not help but perceive a loss of nerve. Once again I was glad that she was not there to witness my behaviour, though that behaviour was, I thought, discreet. But I feared her instincts, which had always been sharp. She was the kind of woman whose main attention is given over to other women, as if to calculate their assets, and if possible their disadvantages, with regard to herself. She had been expert at the subtle insinuation, the laughing dismissal, as if these matters were crucial to a woman's success with men. I now saw why my father had looked for love and comfort elsewhere. I did not exonerate him, but I understood him. Yet she had been beautiful, and was so no longer. I was able to regret that quite sincerely, while at the same time resenting the fact that it had been brought to my notice.
    “ You've changed too, ” she said. “ You've got more colour in your face. And you're better dressed. Well, you can afford to be. ” She laughed, with one of her old angry laughs that always accompanied any discussion of money. Yet I knew that she expected me to express gratitude to her for having steered me into marriage with a prosperous older man. At least he had seemed prosperous at the time, although in the light of Edmund's wealth his income was probably minimal. We lived comfortably enough, and I was happy to add my own money to his. I paid my way, as seemed only right to me, while Digby took care of the outgoing expenses. I realized that our holidays, in the early days of our marriage, must have been costly, and was glad for several reasons that these had come to an end.
    My mother's presence was particularly onerous because I had several matters of my own to think about. The first and most important of these was Edmund, or rather his absence. He had taken his family to France, to a house they always rented in the Alpilles, and I should not see him for three or even four weeks. This enforced period of calm was unwelcome for many reasons, for I knew, or sensed, that if the momentum of a love affair falters one loses one's confidence in a good outcome. I could not help but contrast his circumstances with my own. I spent quiet days alone or with Digby, whose own holiday it was. He preferred to spend it at home, venturing out only for a ruminative morning walk, and sometimes not even for that. It was only too easy to imagine the physical