Life in the West. Brian Aldiss

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СКАЧАТЬ show biz. Different pressures, different moeurs. Sure, I did put my arm round Laura’s shoulder. It was breezy, she was cold, and she needed cheering up. Nothing more to it than that. So just drop the whole subject right here and now. Did you feel good, spying on me?

      ‘I admit I’ve been away a bit, but we agreed that this was my chance and I took it. “Frankenstein” is a marvellous opportunity and a new subject and I’m proud of it. But this period will shortly be over, then we’ll live a more normal sort of life. Simply let me sail through it without having emotional problems with you.’

      Teresa came round the bed, shuffling her bare feet into fluffy slippers as she walked.

      ‘Men are such bloody liars. I tell you I saw you with her through the binoculars. Now you expect to jump into bed with me and screw me, don’t you? Whatever’s to hand, eh, Tommy Squire? You’ve been fucking that bitch in Singapore and all over the map, haven’t you?’

      ‘No.’ He regarded her woodenly, head down, face heavy, the flesh of his jowls creased as he faced her charge, his eyes defensive, angry.

      His monosyllable – or his pose – stopped her before she reached him. She coughed furiously over the cigarette, fist to her mouth.

      ‘You bloody liar! Sagittarius woman with Cancer man – I should have known all along it would never work out. You’re a philanderer, you philander even with your mind, you’re rootless, you live only for yourself, don’t you? Well, why don’t you go back to Yugoslavia and live the way you used to live there?’

      ‘Don’t be silly, dear, you’re working yourself up for nothing. I’ve no wish to return to Yugoslavia. I’m too old, I want a peaceful life.’

      ‘A fine way you go about it. I suppose you’ll tell me you’re undergoing the male menopause next. That girl must have loved all that sort of thing – a case of Much Ado About Nothing, wasn’t it? Get out! I’m not having you in this bedroom with me. Go and sleep in one of the guest rooms. You’re no better than a guest.’

      He moved slowly, like a man in a dream, picking up his pyjamas, his brass carriage clock from the bedside table, and his mug of tea.

      ‘The stars may be moving against us, Tess, but that is not my wish. We have to make our own decisions and not pretend we are helpless. You must behave less cruelly to me.’

      ‘It’s your behaviour not mine that’s at fault.’

      Squire wandered for a while through the vacant rooms of the Hall, unable to rest. He was familiar with the dimensions of the house from childhood, could walk them unhesitatingly with his eyes closed. In the dead of night, this familiar substantial presence was doubly comforting. Every room held for him a different ambience; by its temperature, its smell, its silences, the very texture of its air or the creak of its oak floorboards, he could tell which room he was in, and respond to its character.

      She had her difficulties, finding her way through life. All the astrological nonsense which recently had preoccupied her was simply a means by which she tried to manoeuvre round the hidden obstacles of her existence.

      He thought back to an evening only three nights ago, before Grahame Ash, Laura Nye, and the crew had come down to Hartisham to film – only three nights ago, but now, separated from the present by the quarrel, a long way in the past. It had been so peaceful, so domestic: Tess and he, and the two girls, and Tess’s reliable friend, Matilda Rowlinson, sitting drinking coffee in his study after supper. Yet even then he had been dreaming of someone else …

      Teresa was painting, copying a large butterfly. She used acrylics on a large pad, and worked deftly, occasionally looking up and smiling at Ann and Jane, who lolled by the fire with Nellie, the Dalmatian. Ann was just thirteen, her sister eleven; the sandy gene had run out with their elder brother; they had inherited their mother’s mouse, and their father’s enquiring nature.

      ‘You girls ought to be going to bed,’ Teresa said, as the grandfather clock in the hall struck ten.

      ‘We’re watching you,’ Ann said. ‘We’re fascinated, aren’t we, Nellie?’

      ‘You’re not.’

      ‘What sort of butterfly is it, anyway?’

      Teresa appealed to Squire. He had bought the spectacular insect in its frame in a Singapore shop as a homecoming present for her.

      ‘It’s called a Bhutan Glory.’

      ‘You’re ruining the ecology of Singapore by buying that poor butterfly, Dad,’ Jane said. ‘There soon won’t be any left. How’d you like it if they came over here and bought all our butterflies?’

      ‘We’d have to exercise some controls.’

      Teresa said in his defence, ‘Daddy helps to preserve the ecology of the Norfolk Broads, because they are our local responsibility, but you can’t expect him to butt in on Singapore’s affairs.’

      ‘It’s a pity we didn’t manage to stop the council pulling down the old almshouses,’ Matilda said. She was the vicar’s daughter, a tall pale woman in her early thirties and, with her plain looks and self-effacing manner, an embodiment of the traditional vicar’s daughter, until one became aware of her lucid way of thought.

      ‘They were tumbledown,’ Teresa said, ‘but the semi-detacheds that Ray Bond is building in their place are quite out of keeping with the rest of the village.’

      ‘I know, why don’t they build houses with green bricks instead of red ones?’ Jane said. ‘Then they’d merge with the landscape.’

      ‘Who’s ever heard of green bricks, Stupid?’ said her sister.

      ‘Well, they could invent them … Only I daresay they’d fade after a year and turn the colour of dog shit.’

      ‘I heard that Ray Bond was having an affair with two women at once,’ Ann said. ‘Both of them married. Isn’t that beastly, Dad?’

      ‘Beastly complicated.’

      ‘It’s disgusting. You girls shouldn’t listen to village gossip,’ Teresa told them.

      Ann rolled onto her back, and pulled Nellie on top of her. With evening, a chilly wind was blowing in from the coast, and the big old electric fire was burning. She rested a slippered foot on top of it and announced, ‘I think I shall have affairs when I grow up. I’d like to have people gossiping about me.’

      ‘What, affairs with people like Ray Bond? You are nauseating,’ Jane said. ‘That’s just about your style.’

      ‘Oh, you can stick to your boring old ecology. You think caterpillars are more important than love, but I don’t. Grownups think love is important, don’t you, Mummy?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Teresa, and nothing more; so that Matilda, who sat quietly on a large Moroccan pouffe just beyond the compass of the light falling on Teresa’s paper, added, ‘Love can be a way of perception, like science or art, Ann, provided you don’t use it for power over people.’

      ‘To think I once used to be in love with that odious Robert Mais! I was only six then. I’ve got better taste now …’ Ann thought a while and then asked Squire, ‘Were you in love when you were very young, Dad?’

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ