Read Online The Witches of Cambridge by Menna van Praag - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Menna van Praag
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if she may be a witch after all, or a very rare and subtle sort of enchantress.
“We go up by the stairs,” she says, turning. “Follow me.”
—
“I hated it. I read it two years ago, and I hated it,” Noa says. “Sorry,” she adds, seeing the looks the other members of the Cambridge University Society of Literature and Witchcraft are now fixing her with. “I mean to say, well, it wasn’t quite to my taste.”
Héloïse looks at the newest member of their little book group, wondering why Amandine had agreed to admit her, and regretting her impulsive decision to rejoin the group. It’s too soon. It’s far too soon.
“I’m not sure you picked up the subtleties of the story,” Amandine suggests, seeing how suddenly distressed her mother looks. “Or perhaps you don’t remember the story very well. In a sense it’s—”
“Pretentious rubbish,” Noa says. “That is to say, I mean…” She glances to the other two, still-silent, members: Kat and George. Kat raises an eyebrow in her direction while George examines his feet, flexing his toes in his shoes. Kat glances at George’s feet too.
“You’re talking about Simone de Beauvoir,” Héloïse snaps, in heightened hushed tones, each word as sharp as a spike of ice, as if Noa had just blasphemed during confession. Suddenly, her fury momentarily eclipsing her sorrow, she feels sparks of angry passion at her fingertips. “She was the pioneer of modern feminism. Without her, you would be chained to a kitchen sink with fifteen petits enfants tugging at your apron strings.”
“Yes, true,” Noa says, “and I’m very grateful for that.” Don’t say it , she tells herself, don’t say it . Keep your mouth shut. Please .
“So,” Noa begins, cursing herself as she speaks but unable to stop, “you’re the sort of friends who just nod and smile and don’t really tell one another the truth, right?”
A little sigh escapes Amandine’s lips.
“I’m sorry, what?” Kat asks.
“You are all so suppressed,” Noa says. “You’re practically dead to the world.”
“Mademoiselle,” Héloïse slowly pulls herself up, “I am not sure you realize this privilege, being invited to join our group. We can easily uninvite you, so be aware, s’il vous plaît .”
“Sorry,” Noa says, “that came out wrong. I didn’t mean…”
“What did you mean?” Amandine asks.
Noa gives her a grateful look, wondering how on earth she’s going to explain her outburst without giving herself away. “Well,” Noa says, scrambling, “I just meant to…to inject a little life into the group, a little passion and vigor, a little joie de vivre …”
Kat adjusts her glasses. “I assure you, we’ve all got quite a lot of that, and we certainly don’t need lessons in living from a teenager who’s lived half as long as the rest of us.”
“I’m not a teenager,” Noa objects softly.
“Almost,” Héloïse snaps. “I am probably three times older than you.”
“Exactly right.” Kat nods. “Well, actually 58.2 into 23.5 is 2.47, so not quite, but close enough.”
Noa frowns. “How do you know how old I am?”
“I’ve got two PhDs in applied mathematics,” Kat explains. “I see everything in numbers.”
George gives a quiet cough. “I’m afraid I’ve got to be up early for a lecture tomorrow.” He stands and edges toward the parapet. “So, if we’re not going to discuss Ms. Beauvoir’s novel, I’ll leave you ladies to discuss…whatever it is you’re going to discuss.” And, with that, he disappears down the ladder.
“He’s so timid I’m surprised he can get out of bed in the morning,” Noa says. She turns to Kat. “How long have you been in love with him?”
Kat stares at Noa, her eyes suddenly as wide as her glasses. Héloïse splutters and Amandine is silent, averting her gaze to the rooftop.
“I’m sorry,” Noa says, “but you are, aren’t you?”
Kat spins around to Amandine. “What did you tell her? I never
“We go up by the stairs,” she says, turning. “Follow me.”
—
“I hated it. I read it two years ago, and I hated it,” Noa says. “Sorry,” she adds, seeing the looks the other members of the Cambridge University Society of Literature and Witchcraft are now fixing her with. “I mean to say, well, it wasn’t quite to my taste.”
Héloïse looks at the newest member of their little book group, wondering why Amandine had agreed to admit her, and regretting her impulsive decision to rejoin the group. It’s too soon. It’s far too soon.
“I’m not sure you picked up the subtleties of the story,” Amandine suggests, seeing how suddenly distressed her mother looks. “Or perhaps you don’t remember the story very well. In a sense it’s—”
“Pretentious rubbish,” Noa says. “That is to say, I mean…” She glances to the other two, still-silent, members: Kat and George. Kat raises an eyebrow in her direction while George examines his feet, flexing his toes in his shoes. Kat glances at George’s feet too.
“You’re talking about Simone de Beauvoir,” Héloïse snaps, in heightened hushed tones, each word as sharp as a spike of ice, as if Noa had just blasphemed during confession. Suddenly, her fury momentarily eclipsing her sorrow, she feels sparks of angry passion at her fingertips. “She was the pioneer of modern feminism. Without her, you would be chained to a kitchen sink with fifteen petits enfants tugging at your apron strings.”
“Yes, true,” Noa says, “and I’m very grateful for that.” Don’t say it , she tells herself, don’t say it . Keep your mouth shut. Please .
“So,” Noa begins, cursing herself as she speaks but unable to stop, “you’re the sort of friends who just nod and smile and don’t really tell one another the truth, right?”
A little sigh escapes Amandine’s lips.
“I’m sorry, what?” Kat asks.
“You are all so suppressed,” Noa says. “You’re practically dead to the world.”
“Mademoiselle,” Héloïse slowly pulls herself up, “I am not sure you realize this privilege, being invited to join our group. We can easily uninvite you, so be aware, s’il vous plaît .”
“Sorry,” Noa says, “that came out wrong. I didn’t mean…”
“What did you mean?” Amandine asks.
Noa gives her a grateful look, wondering how on earth she’s going to explain her outburst without giving herself away. “Well,” Noa says, scrambling, “I just meant to…to inject a little life into the group, a little passion and vigor, a little joie de vivre …”
Kat adjusts her glasses. “I assure you, we’ve all got quite a lot of that, and we certainly don’t need lessons in living from a teenager who’s lived half as long as the rest of us.”
“I’m not a teenager,” Noa objects softly.
“Almost,” Héloïse snaps. “I am probably three times older than you.”
“Exactly right.” Kat nods. “Well, actually 58.2 into 23.5 is 2.47, so not quite, but close enough.”
Noa frowns. “How do you know how old I am?”
“I’ve got two PhDs in applied mathematics,” Kat explains. “I see everything in numbers.”
George gives a quiet cough. “I’m afraid I’ve got to be up early for a lecture tomorrow.” He stands and edges toward the parapet. “So, if we’re not going to discuss Ms. Beauvoir’s novel, I’ll leave you ladies to discuss…whatever it is you’re going to discuss.” And, with that, he disappears down the ladder.
“He’s so timid I’m surprised he can get out of bed in the morning,” Noa says. She turns to Kat. “How long have you been in love with him?”
Kat stares at Noa, her eyes suddenly as wide as her glasses. Héloïse splutters and Amandine is silent, averting her gaze to the rooftop.
“I’m sorry,” Noa says, “but you are, aren’t you?”
Kat spins around to Amandine. “What did you tell her? I never
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