Read Online The Wedding Group by Elizabeth Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Taylor
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make your mother and father unhappier, I hope, by not coming to see them very often.’
‘No,’ she promised.
So much drama, and the arguments with her mother, and her father’s silence, had left her very tired. She felt that her head was full of tears, but for once they did not fall.
Harry sat down on the stool again and tried to turn his thoughts to a study of his day’s work. Without their looking at one another again, the farewell-scene was over.
A little later that day, Joe went down the hill with Cressy, carrying her suit-case. They talked brightly, but with almost numbed lips.
It’s such a little way away, he kept reminding himself, shifting the case from one sore hand to the other. But it wasn’t where she was going; it was the reason for it, that haunted him. Other daughters of her age went off – to their flats in London, even to foreign places, but did not leave such bitter wreckage behind them. And Rose on her own he had to return to.
Thinking of this, he said, ‘We’ll leave your case at the shop, and then why not us have a little drink together at the Horseshoes? I don’t believe I’ve ever taken you out on your own in all my life.’
‘Oh, I should love it,’ she said, and her lips became less numb, stretched by her smile. ‘I shan’t know what to ask for. Can I have wine, like the Monsignors?’
‘No, I’m afraid wine’s out at the Horseshoes.’ He smiled, too. ‘It’s a very modest establishment.’
‘Sherry, then?’
‘Sherry,’ he agreed.
With his free hand he raked through his pockets. From long experience he could tell copper from silver by touch.
They walked on down the hill quite jauntily, thinking of the future and its possibilities.
In asking for an attic, Mrs Brindle had known what she was about. The lay-out of the rooms above the shop was perfectlyclear in her mind, from her having worked there for a previous owner.
And she had said it would be heaven, and it was.
‘I shall be so happy here,’ Cressy said, dumping her suitcase down, and rubbing her hands on her skirt.
Alexia looked at her in astonishment. The room, to her, seemed hardly fit for human habitation. They had never redecorated it, and the uneven walls were papered with a powdery, faded pattern of roses. It smelt fusty, and its one window looked on to a blank wall of the Three Horseshoes.
To Cressy, it seemed beautiful, as the place where her new life would begin. On the little bare landing at the top of her own flight of stairs was a gas-ring and a wooden shelf, a saucepan, a kettle, and a plate or two: for one of the conditions of her being there was that she should not encroach upon the Moorheads’ evenings. They liked to be alone together, cooking their supper, listening to music and, later, going over the accounts or the catalogues of auction sales.
‘I’ll leave you to settle in,’ Alexia said, having explained about the gas-ring and the electric-fire and apologised for drawers sticking and floorboards creaking.
‘And this first evening, if you want to borrow some eggs…’
‘It’s very kind of you, but I bought a tin of beans. As a matter of fact, I’ll unpack later. My father came down with me, and he’s waiting next door at the Three Horseshoes.’
‘You should have brought him in,’ Alexia said vaguely, thinking that the girl was starting off well by not having done so.
‘He never goes in anywhere, except the pub,’ Cressy said, following her down the stairs. ‘I suppose he’s rather retiring.’
That suited Alexia.
From below came the sound of a Dave Brubeck record, and a smell of olive-oil being heated, then, above the music, therewas suddenly a great spluttering as something was slipped into the pan at the right moment. Toby was cooking the supper.
‘You’ve got your back-door key?’ Alexia asked. ‘We have to be very careful about locking-up here, as you can imagine.’ She opened the door of the sitting-room office and watched Cressy going out into the
‘No,’ she promised.
So much drama, and the arguments with her mother, and her father’s silence, had left her very tired. She felt that her head was full of tears, but for once they did not fall.
Harry sat down on the stool again and tried to turn his thoughts to a study of his day’s work. Without their looking at one another again, the farewell-scene was over.
A little later that day, Joe went down the hill with Cressy, carrying her suit-case. They talked brightly, but with almost numbed lips.
It’s such a little way away, he kept reminding himself, shifting the case from one sore hand to the other. But it wasn’t where she was going; it was the reason for it, that haunted him. Other daughters of her age went off – to their flats in London, even to foreign places, but did not leave such bitter wreckage behind them. And Rose on her own he had to return to.
Thinking of this, he said, ‘We’ll leave your case at the shop, and then why not us have a little drink together at the Horseshoes? I don’t believe I’ve ever taken you out on your own in all my life.’
‘Oh, I should love it,’ she said, and her lips became less numb, stretched by her smile. ‘I shan’t know what to ask for. Can I have wine, like the Monsignors?’
‘No, I’m afraid wine’s out at the Horseshoes.’ He smiled, too. ‘It’s a very modest establishment.’
‘Sherry, then?’
‘Sherry,’ he agreed.
With his free hand he raked through his pockets. From long experience he could tell copper from silver by touch.
They walked on down the hill quite jauntily, thinking of the future and its possibilities.
In asking for an attic, Mrs Brindle had known what she was about. The lay-out of the rooms above the shop was perfectlyclear in her mind, from her having worked there for a previous owner.
And she had said it would be heaven, and it was.
‘I shall be so happy here,’ Cressy said, dumping her suitcase down, and rubbing her hands on her skirt.
Alexia looked at her in astonishment. The room, to her, seemed hardly fit for human habitation. They had never redecorated it, and the uneven walls were papered with a powdery, faded pattern of roses. It smelt fusty, and its one window looked on to a blank wall of the Three Horseshoes.
To Cressy, it seemed beautiful, as the place where her new life would begin. On the little bare landing at the top of her own flight of stairs was a gas-ring and a wooden shelf, a saucepan, a kettle, and a plate or two: for one of the conditions of her being there was that she should not encroach upon the Moorheads’ evenings. They liked to be alone together, cooking their supper, listening to music and, later, going over the accounts or the catalogues of auction sales.
‘I’ll leave you to settle in,’ Alexia said, having explained about the gas-ring and the electric-fire and apologised for drawers sticking and floorboards creaking.
‘And this first evening, if you want to borrow some eggs…’
‘It’s very kind of you, but I bought a tin of beans. As a matter of fact, I’ll unpack later. My father came down with me, and he’s waiting next door at the Three Horseshoes.’
‘You should have brought him in,’ Alexia said vaguely, thinking that the girl was starting off well by not having done so.
‘He never goes in anywhere, except the pub,’ Cressy said, following her down the stairs. ‘I suppose he’s rather retiring.’
That suited Alexia.
From below came the sound of a Dave Brubeck record, and a smell of olive-oil being heated, then, above the music, therewas suddenly a great spluttering as something was slipped into the pan at the right moment. Toby was cooking the supper.
‘You’ve got your back-door key?’ Alexia asked. ‘We have to be very careful about locking-up here, as you can imagine.’ She opened the door of the sitting-room office and watched Cressy going out into the
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