Read Online Tim by Colleen McCullough - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Colleen McCullough
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like in it. We could shop for it one day in the city.’
He could not reply, too excited and overcome with the whole experience to assimilate this fresh delight. She helped him unpack his suitcase and put his few things in the empty drawers and cupboards, then she took him by the hand and led him out to the living room.
Only here had she made major changes in the actual construction of the house, which had once possessed a dark, poorly lit living room extending the entire length of the front veranda. She had pulled the outer wall away piecemeal and replaced it with floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors all the way along, so that when the weather was good there was nothing between the living room and the open air.
The view from this room was breath-taking. The grass sloped downward to the bright yellow sand of the sunny, immaculate little beach, the blue water of the Hawkesbury lapped gently along its border, and on the far side of the wide river wonderful cliffs, splendidly crowned with forest, rose to meet the clear, high sky. The only sounds of man to intrude were those coming from the river; the put-put of outboard motors, the chug of excursion ferries, the roar of speedboats towing water skiers. But the birds screeched and carolled from every tree, the cicadas deafened, the wind moaned softly as it filtered through the sighing branches.
Mary had never shared her retreat with anyone before, but on many occasions she had rehearsed the imaginary conversation she and her first guests would have. They would exclaim and marvel over the view, pass endless comments on everything. But Tim said nothing; she had no idea how much assessment and comparison he could make. That he thought it ‘lovely’ was apparent, but he thought everything was ‘lovely’ that didn’t make him unhappy. Was Tim capable of gradations of happiness? Did he enjoy some things more than others?
When she had done her own unpacking and stocked the kitchen, she got him his lunch. He said very little as the meal progressed, chewing steadily through all the food she put in front of him. Unless he was starving or upset, his table manners were impeccable.
‘Do you swim?’ she asked him after he had helped her wash the dirty dishes.
His face lit up. ‘Yes, oh, yes!’
‘Then why don’t you change into your swimming trunks while I finish up here, then we’ll go down onto the beach. All right?’
He disappeared immediately, returning so quickly that she had to make him wait while she tidied up the last few odds and ends around the kitchen. Carrying two canvas deck chairs, an umbrella, towels, and various other bits of beach paraphernalia, they staggered laden down to the sand.
She had settled herself into her deck chair and opened her book before she realized that he was still standing looking at her, puzzled and apparently distressed.
She closed her book. ‘What’s the matter, Tim? What is it?’
He fluttered his hands helplessly. ‘I thought you said we were going swimming!’
‘Not we, Tim,’ she corrected gently. ‘I want you to swim to your heart’s content, but I never go into the water myself.’
He kneeled beside her chair and put both his hands on her arm, very upset. ‘But then it isn’t the same, Mary! I don’t want to go swimming all by myself!’ Tears sparkled on his long fair lashes, like water beading on crystal. ‘Please, oh, please don’t make me go in all by myself!’
She reached out to touch him, then drew her hand away quickly. ‘But I don’t have a swimsuit with me, Tim! I couldn’t go in even if I wanted to.’
He shook his head back and forth, growing more and more agitated. ‘I don’t think you like being with me, I don’t think you like me! You’re always dressed up as if you’re going into town, you never wear shorts or slacks or no stockings the way Mum does!’
‘Oh, Tim, what am I going to do with you? Just because I’m always dressed up doesn’t mean I don’t like being with you! I
He could not reply, too excited and overcome with the whole experience to assimilate this fresh delight. She helped him unpack his suitcase and put his few things in the empty drawers and cupboards, then she took him by the hand and led him out to the living room.
Only here had she made major changes in the actual construction of the house, which had once possessed a dark, poorly lit living room extending the entire length of the front veranda. She had pulled the outer wall away piecemeal and replaced it with floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors all the way along, so that when the weather was good there was nothing between the living room and the open air.
The view from this room was breath-taking. The grass sloped downward to the bright yellow sand of the sunny, immaculate little beach, the blue water of the Hawkesbury lapped gently along its border, and on the far side of the wide river wonderful cliffs, splendidly crowned with forest, rose to meet the clear, high sky. The only sounds of man to intrude were those coming from the river; the put-put of outboard motors, the chug of excursion ferries, the roar of speedboats towing water skiers. But the birds screeched and carolled from every tree, the cicadas deafened, the wind moaned softly as it filtered through the sighing branches.
Mary had never shared her retreat with anyone before, but on many occasions she had rehearsed the imaginary conversation she and her first guests would have. They would exclaim and marvel over the view, pass endless comments on everything. But Tim said nothing; she had no idea how much assessment and comparison he could make. That he thought it ‘lovely’ was apparent, but he thought everything was ‘lovely’ that didn’t make him unhappy. Was Tim capable of gradations of happiness? Did he enjoy some things more than others?
When she had done her own unpacking and stocked the kitchen, she got him his lunch. He said very little as the meal progressed, chewing steadily through all the food she put in front of him. Unless he was starving or upset, his table manners were impeccable.
‘Do you swim?’ she asked him after he had helped her wash the dirty dishes.
His face lit up. ‘Yes, oh, yes!’
‘Then why don’t you change into your swimming trunks while I finish up here, then we’ll go down onto the beach. All right?’
He disappeared immediately, returning so quickly that she had to make him wait while she tidied up the last few odds and ends around the kitchen. Carrying two canvas deck chairs, an umbrella, towels, and various other bits of beach paraphernalia, they staggered laden down to the sand.
She had settled herself into her deck chair and opened her book before she realized that he was still standing looking at her, puzzled and apparently distressed.
She closed her book. ‘What’s the matter, Tim? What is it?’
He fluttered his hands helplessly. ‘I thought you said we were going swimming!’
‘Not we, Tim,’ she corrected gently. ‘I want you to swim to your heart’s content, but I never go into the water myself.’
He kneeled beside her chair and put both his hands on her arm, very upset. ‘But then it isn’t the same, Mary! I don’t want to go swimming all by myself!’ Tears sparkled on his long fair lashes, like water beading on crystal. ‘Please, oh, please don’t make me go in all by myself!’
She reached out to touch him, then drew her hand away quickly. ‘But I don’t have a swimsuit with me, Tim! I couldn’t go in even if I wanted to.’
He shook his head back and forth, growing more and more agitated. ‘I don’t think you like being with me, I don’t think you like me! You’re always dressed up as if you’re going into town, you never wear shorts or slacks or no stockings the way Mum does!’
‘Oh, Tim, what am I going to do with you? Just because I’m always dressed up doesn’t mean I don’t like being with you! I
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