Tales of Persuasion. Philip Hensher

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ know a funny thing,’ she said, when we were settled in a bar the third night. ‘I asked an English boy to stay here last year, and at the end I said to him, “What do you like most in Florence?” Because, of course, I think maybe he’s going to the Duomo, the Uffizi, the Ponte Vecchio, maybe. But he says, “Most of all, I like the bars, where you go, you buy a drink, there’s nice little bits of food there you can eat, it’s all free.” You English! Crazy for something free, always, always.’

      I laughed politely, but I rather agreed with last summer’s Englishman. The bar was laid out with such substantial nibbles, as Margaret would have called them, I was rather wondering in my impoverished way whether we could get away with not having dinner. Not the least of the issues that had arisen was that Silvia, considering the fact that I was saving on hotel bills, clearly thought that I ought to buy her dinner every night at a restaurant of her choice.

      But that night I finally met Paulina. Silvia, I divined, had decided to keep her from me: enough of my friendship with the Quincys, or any potential one with their sister’s second husband’s stepmother’s half-nieces. The door to the flat next door was open when we got home, though inside there were no lights. It was a stifling evening. A languid wail came out of the open door, followed by a middle-aged woman emerging from the darkness in aquamarine kaftan and turban.

      ‘Oh, not again,’ Silvia said.

      ‘Oh, honey,’ Paulina said. ‘Be an angel. You know how hopeless I am. And I’d ask Paolo, honest to God, but—’

      ‘It’s not very difficult,’ Silvia said.

      ‘You say that, but— Well, hello there, I’m Paulina, how do you do – you remember, honey, the last time I somehow managed to put everybody’s lights out, it was simply a disaster,’ Paulina said. She had a curious voice, emphatic on each word, and with an accent not quite American, not obviously Australian. She could have been the product of a thorough elocutionist in any one of a dozen colonies. ‘You see,’ she explained confidentially, as if I were alone, ‘the lights here, they sometimes go out for no reason at all, and I know there’s something terribly simple you need to do in the basement …’

      ‘There’s just a switch, that’s all, and you pull, no – what is it you do with switches? You turn, you flick – is that right? You flick it and then it’s all OK, it’s simple,’ Silvia said, almost jumping up and down with rage.

      ‘Thank you a cartload, honey,’ Paulina said. ‘I know you don’t mind one bit when I need you to help me out.’

      ‘You, come with me,’ Silvia said. ‘Then you know what you need to do in case it happens again.’

      It was as simple as Silvia had said. Paulina must have been some kind of genius to make a mess of it.

      ‘So that’s Paulina,’ I said, down in the basement.

      ‘Yes,’ Silvia said. She was decisive on the subject. And when we got back upstairs, Paulina’s light was restored.

      ‘I can’t imagine what I’d do without you,’ she said effusively, looking me up and down openly. ‘Come in and have a drink. I’ve got …’ her voice sank seductively ‘… I’ve got some Campari.’

      ‘Perhaps some other night,’ Silvia said.

      It seemed to me, as the days went on, that the only understanding I had had of Silvia disappeared in her proper context. If in England she possessed a vivid and fascinating character, in Italy it was clear that I had not got much beyond discovering her to be Italian. In Italy, her reality dissolved, like a glass full of water in the ocean. I had no access to her real character, not having had the practice at reading it. It was partly my fault, for being satisfied with an exoticism that, after all, was banal even in Yorkshire. But partly, I think, it was hers, since in Yorkshire, in the Quincys’ house above all, she defined herself so entirely by what she was not as to appear nothing but an embodied foreign culture. In Italy, having nothing much in her repertory to fall back on, she settled for being sulky. So it was, inevitably, that at a loose end in Florence, I found someone who was conspicuous in her culture, like a photographic negative of Silvia clacking noisily down the aisle of a concert hall in England.

      The next morning, as I was leaving Silvia’s flat, I saw that Paulina’s door was open again. Round the door unfurled a long white arm, like the frond of a fern, followed by Paulina’s head, the hair braided and twisted. Inside, the curtains were still drawn; she was in her peignoir.

      ‘Honey,’ she said huskily, her voice lowered for the sake – I guessed – of Silvia, ‘you couldn’t do me a favour, could you?’

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

      Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

      Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

/9j/4SyyRXhpZgAASUkqAAgAAAAPAAABAwABAAAAAAMAAAEBAwABAAAAjAQAAAIBAwADAAAAwgAA AAMBAwABAAAABQAAAAYBAwABAAAAAgAAABIBAwABAAAAAQAAABUBAwABAAAAAwAAABoBBQABAAAA yAAAABsBBQABAAAA0AAAABwBAwABAAAAAQAAACgBAwABAAAAAgAAADEBAgAeAAAA2AAAADIBAgAU AAAA9gAAADsBAgAHAAAACgEAAGmHBAABAAAAFAEAAEABAAAIAAgACACA/AoAECcAAID8CgAQJwAA QWRvYmUgUGhvdG9zaG9wIENTNSBNYWNpbnRvc2gAMjAxNjoxMjoyMCAwOTo0NTowNwA0dGhqeHAA AAAAAwABoAMAAQAAAP//AAACoAQAAQAAAO4CAAADoAQAAQAAAHEEAAAAAAAAAAAGAAMBAwABAAAA BgAAABoBBQABAAAAjgEAABsBBQABAAAAlgEAACgBAwABAAAAAgAAAAECBAABAAAAngEAAAICBAAB AAAADCsAAAAAAABIAAAAAQAAAEgAAAABAAAA/9j/4gxYSUNDX1BST0ZJTEUAAQEAAAxITGlubwIQ AABtbnRyUkdCIFhZWiAHzgACAAkABgAxAABhY3NwTVNGVAAAAABJRUMgc1JHQgAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAA9tYAAQAAAADTLUhQICAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAABFjcHJ0AAABUAAAADNkZXNjAAABhAAAAGx3dHB0AAAB8AAAABRia3B0AAACBAAAABRy WFlaAAACGAAAABRnWFlaAAACLAAAABRiWFlaAAACQAAAABRkbW5kAAACVAAAAHBkbWRkAAACxAAA AIh2dWVkAAADTAAAAIZ2aWV3AAAD1AAAACRsdW1pAAAD+AAAABRtZWFzAAAEDAAAACR0ZWNoAAAE MAAAAAxyVFJDAAAEPAAACAxnVFJDAAAEPAAACAxiVFJDAAAEPAAACAx0ZXh0AAAAAENvcHlyaWdo dCAoYykgMTk5OCBIZXdsZXR0LVBhY2thcmQgQ29tcGFueQAAZGVzYwAAAAAAAAASc1JHQiBJRUM2 MTk2Ni0yLjEAAAAAAAAAAAAAABJzUkdCIElFQzYxOTY2LTIuMQAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWFlaIAAAAAAAAPNRAAEAAAABFsxYWVogAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAFhZWiAAAAAAAABvogAAOPUAAAOQWFlaIAAAAAAAAGKZAAC3hQAAGNpYWVog AAAAAAAAJKAAAA+EAAC2z2Rlc2MAAAAAAAAAFklFQyBodHRwOi8vd3d3LmllYy5jaAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAFklFQyBodHRwOi8vd3d3LmllYy5jaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABkZXNjAAAAAAAAAC5JRUMgNjE5NjYtMi4xIERlZmF1bHQgUkdCIGNvbG91 ciBzcGFjZSAtIHNSR0IAAAAAAAAAAAAAAC5JRUMgNjE5NjYtMi4xIERlZmF1bHQgUkdCIGNvbG91 ciBzcGFjZSAtIHNSR0IAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAZGVzYwAAAAAAAAAsUmVmZXJlbmNl IFZpZXdpbmcgQ29uZGl0aW9uIGluIElFQzYxOTY2LTIuMQAAAAAAAAAAAAAALFJlZmVyZW5jZSBW aWV3aW5nIENvbmRpdGlvbiBpbiBJRUM2MTk2Ni0yLjEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AHZpZXcAAAAAABOk/gAUXy4AEM8UAAPtzAAEEwsAA1yeAAAAAVhZWiAAAAAAAEwJVgBQAAAAVx/n bWVhcwAAAAAAAAABAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAo8AAAACc2lnIAAAAABDUlQgY3VydgAAAAAA AAQAAAAABQAKAA8AFAAZAB4AIwAoAC0AMgA3ADsAQABFAEoATwBUAFkAXgBjAGgAbQByAHcAfACB AIYAiwCQAJUAmgCfAKQAqQCuALIAtwC8AMEAxgDLANAA1QDbAOAA5QDrAPAA9gD7AQEBBwENARMB GQEfASUBKwEyATgBPgFFAUwBUgFZAWABZwFuAXUBfAGDAYsBkgGaAaEBqQGxAbkBwQHJAdEB2QHh AekB8gH6AgMCDAIUAh0CJgIvAjgCQ СКАЧАТЬ