Everything to Gain. Barbara Taylor Bradford

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ It seemed important to me at this moment to speak of mundane things.

      ‘Of course,’ she answered.

      ‘What can I do to help, Mal? Should I fix the salad dressing?’ Diana asked.

      ‘Yes, please, and then perhaps the two of you could take out the hamburger meat and start making the patties.’

      ‘Done,’ Diana said and immediately jumped up, went into the pantry.

      Looking at my mother again, I said, ‘I’m going to go and set the tables.’

      She nodded, smiled at me and this time her smile was more sure. She turned back to her potato salad, mixing in the mayonnaise.

      Pushing open the kitchen door, I went outside into the garden with Trixy at my heels, leaving the two women alone.

      I paused near the door and took several deep breaths. I felt shaken inside, not only by the memory but by the sudden knowledge that all the years I was growing up I had been terrified my father would leave us for ever, my mother and I, terrified that one day he would never come back.

Eight

      It was very hot and airless in the garden, and within seconds my T-shirt was damp and clinging to me. Even Trixy, trotting along next to me, looked slightly wilted and she wisely flopped down under one of the trestle tables when we reached them.

      Late last night Andrew and I had placed the tables under the trees, and I was suddenly glad that we had.

      The maples and oaks which formed a semicircle near my studio were old, huge and extravagant, with thick, gnarled trunks and widely spreading branches abundant with leaves. The branches arched up to form a wonderful, giant parasol of leafy green that was cool and inviting and offered plenty of protection from the sun. And we were going to need such a shady spot; by one o’clock it would be a real scorcher of a day, just as Nora had predicted to me on Friday.

      Early this morning I had carried red-and-white checked cloths and a big basket of flatware out here, and now I began to set the tables. I had almost finished the largest table, where the adults would sit, when I heard someone calling, ‘Coo-ee!’

      I recognized Sarah’s voice at once, and looked up. I waved; she waved back.

      She was wearing a white terry cloth robe and dark glasses. Her jet-black hair was piled up on top of her head and there was a mug in her hand. As she drew closer I could see that her face was woebegone.

      ‘God, I feel awful,’ she moaned, lowering herself gingerly onto the bench in front of the smaller table.

      ‘I’m not surprised,’ I said, ‘and good morning to you, Miss Parfait.’ This was one of my affectionate nicknames for her.

      ‘Good morning, Little Mother,’ she answered, using one of her pet names for me.

      I grinned and tipped the remainder of the knives and forks out onto the table.

      ‘Oh please, Mal,’ she groaned, ‘have a heart. Hold the noise down. My head’s splitting, I feel positively ill.’

      ‘It’s your own fault, you know, you really did tie one on last night.’

      ‘Thanks a lot, friend, for all your sympathy.’

      Realizing that she wasn’t over-dramatizing for once, I went and put my hand on her shoulder. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t tease you. Do you want me to get something for you? Headache pills? Alka-Seltzer?’

      ‘No, I’ve already taken enough aspirin to sink a battleship. I’ll be okay. Just move around me very, very carefully please, tiptoe on the grass, don’t clatter the tableware and talk in a whisper.’

      I shook my head. ‘Oh, Sarah darling, you do punish yourself, don’t you? Thomas Preston III isn’t worth it.’

      Sarah paid no attention to my last comment. She said, ‘I guess it must be the Jewish half of me, the Charles Finkelstein half … that’s what I inherited from good old Dad … a penchant for punishing myself, a tendency to treat everything like an ethnic drama, lots of Jewish guilt and dark looks.’

      ‘Dark good looks,’ I said. ‘And have you heard from Charlie boy lately?’

      She smiled and made a little moue. ‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t. He’s got a new wife, yet another waspy blonde like my mother, so I’m the last thing on his mind. I’ll call him next week to see how he is, and I’ll make a date with him and Miranda. I don’t want to lose touch with him again.’

      ‘No, you mustn’t. Not after he’s finally forgiven you for taking your stepfather’s name. And a waspy name, at that.’

      ‘Forgiven my mother, you mean!’ she cried, her voice rising slightly. ‘She was the one who changed my name to Thomas, not I. I was seven, not old enough to understand or protest.’

      ‘I know she did,’ I murmured, walking to the far side of the smaller table, which I now began to set for the children.

      Sarah took a long swallow of her coffee then put the mug down. After taking off her sunglasses, she placed her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. Her dark-brown velvety eyes followed me as I moved about.

      ‘How many are we going to be for lunch, Mal?’ she asked at one moment.

      ‘About eighteen, I think. Let’s see, there’s my mother and Diana, you and the twins and Jenny, plus me and Andrew, which makes eight. I’ve invited Nora, Eric and Anna, bringing us up to eleven. Then there’re three couples, the Lowdens, the Martins and the Callens, making seventeen, and two more kids. Vanessa, the Callens’ little girl, and Dick and Olivia Martin are bringing their young son, Luke. So I guess that makes nineteen altogether.’

      ‘All I can say is thank God we don’t have to do the cooking.’

      I laughed at the expression on her face. ‘I know what you mean. Luckily, Andrew has everything under control, and he’s roped in all the men to do the barbecuing. Nora and my mother and Diana will help me to fetch and carry.’

      ‘I’m hoping I’ll feel better by lunchtime, that I’ll be able to pitch in.’

      ‘It’s not necessary, Sash. Just relax. And in any case, I’m setting up a buffet table here. It’ll hold most of the other food, such as the salads, the breads, the baked beans, baked potatoes and corn. It’s only the hot dogs, hamburgers and chops that’ll have to be brought over from the barbecues on the kitchen patio.’

      Sarah nodded but did not say anything for a few minutes, sat staring into space. There was a reflective expression on her face. Eventually, she said slowly, ‘Your mother looks like the cat that’s swallowed the canary this morning.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Her eyes are bright and shiny, and she did nothing but smile at me when I was having my toast. And I couldn’t help thinking that it was a very self-satisfied smile. Even a bit smug.’

      ‘I guess I can tell you,’ I began, and then I hesitated.

СКАЧАТЬ