The Pagan House. David Flusfeder

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СКАЧАТЬ arguing about the Mansion House. Bob had suggested that the Mansion House should be sold off and little pinpricks of deep red appeared on Fay’s cheeks. Edgar had not seen his grandmother angry before. Her voice became stern. ‘If it wasn’t for the Mansion House then this could be anywhere else.’

      ‘Market forces. Place got to pay its way. Here’s a building where all the guest rooms are empty, a few old fellows living upstairs on peppercorn rent, and no one visits the museum. If we ran the Company like that we’d soon all be in the street. Got to remember who pays the piper. It’s the Company that keeps everything else afloat.’

      ‘Not market forces. Absolutely not. Where did the Company come from?’

      ‘Ancient history, Fay.’

      ‘That’s not the point. People around here used to live differently. They chose to live differently. It may not have lasted for ever and it didn’t bring heaven on earth but it was a very decent time, people looked after one other, worked with one other. It doesn’t matter so much what they believed but what they did, and what they did is find a new way of living.’

      The conversation went on and others joined in and Edgar stopped being able to follow what they were talking about but he was sure that what Fay was saying was decent and right, as Bob’s skin became even redder than before and he kept saying, ‘That’s all very well but who’s going to pay for it?’ and ‘That sounds a lot like Communism to me and we know what happened to that!’ The debate collapsed under the force of Bob’s repetitions and the table returned to its separate groups. Mon flirted with Coach Weathers, who uncoiled a little under her attentions. Every time he looked to check what his wife was doing, Marilou Weathers held a spoon (1920s, Presidential line) defensively in front of her face.

      ‘So has he got you into this musical of his?’ Bob said to Fay, reaching for a conciliatory conversation. ‘He seems to’ve corralled half the women in town.’

      Fay shook her head and slowly focused on Bob’s redness. ‘I don’t really have the voice for it.’

      ‘That’s not true,’ Warren said.

      ‘You’ve got a much better voice than I do!’ Guthrie said.

      ‘You’re not one of his victims too, are you?’ Bob asked, grinning at Warren as if he might be making a joke.

      ‘Harriet Stone at your service.’

      ‘I’m surprised at that,’ Bob said. ‘I’d’ve thought your hands would be full with the Blackberry Festival and whatnot. Which seems to be a much better use of your time. That to me is good history.’

      ‘Bob likes to divide things into good and bad,’ Janice said.

      When a knock came on the front door, Warren sighed. ‘We know who that’ll be, don’t we?’ he said.

      ‘You’re too hard on Jerry. You shouldn’t be,’ Fay said.

      ‘Jerry?’ said Bob. ‘Jerome Prindle? Is he ambulatory?’

      ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Warren said. ‘He’s wooing Fay.’

      ‘Warren!’ Fay said, and the blush on her cheek could have signified shyness or embarrassment or pleasure, or just the spreading of the rash that Edgar guiltily associated with the disinfectant-doused flannel he had used to clean the bathroom.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ the wreckage of the man in the doorway said. ‘I didn’t know you had company. I brought a seed-cake. I’ll go.’

      ‘You will not. You’ll sit down and join us,’ Fay said.

      The latest guest was an old man, who seemed to have outlived his body and his clothes. His skin was mottled red and white, his trousers and shirt were brown and stained. His face was decorated with patches of stubble. His mouth hung open, showing his tongue, which was the same pale colour as his lips. He watched Fay through blue eyes that were glazed and swimming, while his hands clawed slowly at the tablecloth. He sat between Mon and Coach Spiro, who both angled their chairs away from him.

      ‘Tom’s looking well,’ Jerome said.

      ‘He’s on a new diet,’ Fay said. ‘Dry food only. It seems to have cleared up some of his catarrh. But he sleeps all of the time. Sometimes I think it would be a mercy—’

      Warren interrupted: ‘Maybe Ed should be trying out for your soccer team.’

      ‘Are you a player?’ Coach asked, to which Edgar could only shake his head for an answer.

      ‘He’s very good at it,’ Mon brazenly lied, in misjudged loyalty.

      ‘I’m really not,’ Edgar managed to say.

      ‘Better to underestimate yourself than the other. Marilou for example thinks she can sing,’ Coach said accusingly at Warren.

      ‘I’m sure she’s going to make an adorable Mary Pagan,’ Guthrie said.

      ‘Do we need that stuff, is what I’m asking,’ Bob said. ‘It’s all kind of weird to my way of thinking.’

      ‘She was a fascinating character,’ Warren said.

      ‘A little too fascinating, if you know what I mean. I think those dowagers from the forties had the right idea.’

      ‘What they did was awful,’ Fay said. ‘Pete was so furious.’

      ‘Yeah. Well. Pete,’ Bob said, winking at Coach.

      ‘He was a good man,’ Jerome said.

      ‘He was a very good man,’ Fay said.

      ‘I guess. But I wouldn’t have had Spanky Pete be my judge of right and wrong. You know what I’m saying? Those ladies were protecting the families and the Company. That’s not so awful in my book. But tell me, who’s playing my wife’s most illustrious ancestor?’

      ‘He still can’t find a John Prindle Stone,’ Fay said. ‘Who would have thought it so difficult to find a good baritone?’

      ‘We’re running out of time,’ Warren said.

      ‘I hope I’ll still be around to see it,’ Fay said, with a surprising cheerfulness.

      ‘Is it only me or does this cream taste sour?’ said Janice.

      ‘It’s crème fraîche,’ Warren said.

      ‘That’s what I’m asking and I don’t think it is.’

      ‘What I’d absolutely love to know,’ Marilou said fascinatingly, leaning towards Warren, the rough shoulder of her sweater scratching Edgar’s arm, ‘is Mary’s motivation. Do you think much of it is religious or does it all come down to love?’

      ‘What on earth has happened to the azalea?’ Jerome demanded to know.

      Warren was being besieged on all sides. Janice was waving her spoon (Community plate, 1933) of suspicious cream. Marilou had rested her chin on her fist and was nodding encouragingly to pull Warren’s required response СКАЧАТЬ