Hotel du Lac - Anita Brookner [28]
That evening, at dinner, at her solitary table, Edith felt her smile returning from time to time. She drank her coffee with the Puseys and made her excuses early. She was, in effect, pleasantly tired and somewhat more contented than usual.
‘Jennifer,’ urged Mrs Pusey, ‘do ask that nice Mr Neville to join us. All on his own, poor man.’
But Mr Neville could and would look after himself, thought Edith, and made her way, smiling, to the door.
There was a moon, she noticed, opening her thick curtains and stepping out on to her balcony, and the air was like milk. She sat for a little while, turning many thoughts over in her mind. A beautiful night, pleasant, calm. Calmer than most. She felt well, and when she eventually moved inside to the mirror to brush her hair, she thought, I shall sleep better tonight.
But a sharp scream from the corridor, and a sound of running feet, startled her into an awareness of danger. She listened, motionless, ancient fears awakening. Silence. Opening her door cautiously, she saw light streaming from the Puseys’ suite, and heard voices. Oh, God, she thought. A heart attack. And willed herself to take charge.
It was Jennifer’s door that was open, and Jennifer herself, the straps of a satin nightgown slipping from her plump shoulders, laughing and uttering little moans, was poised on her bed, her legs drawn up. Her mother, in a pale pink silk kimono, stood in the doorway, her hand to her mouth. In the corner, crouching, Mr Neville busied himself with a newspaper, then went to the window and flung something out.
‘Quite safe now,’ he pronounced. ‘No more spiders.’
And he raised his eyes briefly to Edith.
Mrs Pusey came forward and laid a hand on his arm.
‘How can we thank you?’ she breathed. ‘She’s been terrified of spiders ever since she was tiny.’
But she was not tiny now, reflected Edith, whose mind had photographed an impression of Jennifer that it had not previously entertained. An odalisque, she thought. And the nightgown revealing quite a lot of very grown-up flesh.
In the corridor she waved goodnight to Mr Neville, whose secret smile was once again in place.
Later that night, Kiki, waking up from his long convalescence and feeling hungry, set up a plaint which continued until dawn. Drifting off into a final sleep, Edith thought she heard a door close.
6
‘My dearest David,
‘My cover has been blown, but of that more later.
‘I am sorry not to have written for the last couple of days but the desert of the Hotel du Lac has begun to blossom like the rose with strange new relationships. I fear that Mrs Pusey and Jennifer can no longer count on me to listen to their shopping sagas (always a triumph: the last this, the finest that, whatever it may be) for I am going shopping myself, spurred into this unusual activity by my new friend Monica (Lady X) who is delighted to have an excuse to whizz off in a hired car to some little place she knows and to festoon me with an assortment of garments which are more to her taste than to mine. Indeed, it sometimes occurs to me that she and Mrs Pusey have far more in common with each other than either of them has with me, but for some reason they are not on good terms and use me as a buffer state. I am subject to a certain amount of balkanization. I can’t say that any of this is deeply absorbing but I have bought a very beautiful blue silk dress and I think that you will like it. Monica says it makes me look years younger. I hate to think what I must have looked like when I first arrived.
‘Monica herself is a stimulating if demanding companion. And I have found out why she is here. Monica has what is politely referred to as an eating problem: at least that is how she refers to it. One is always reading articles about this sort