Hotel du Lac - Anita Brookner [48]
After Penelope had been persuaded to depart, and had taken her time over it, enjoying the impassive gazes of a small group of crisp-eating children waiting outside the house, there was a moment of calm. The girls trooped out, already intent on the time and calculating the distance to Tregunter Road. Mrs Dempster could be heard upstairs, running water for a bath. Edith stood by the window. And then, all too soon, it was her turn.
As her own car drew slowly away, Edith fell into a somewhat regressive state of mind. Details of her little house front struck her as if she were seeing them for the first time. It should have been painted, she thought, and then, I really ought to have it done. And then she noticed the extraordinary charm of the shops which she passed unseeingly every day: the funeral parlour, the chemist, the newsagent, with his discreet display of adult magazines, most of which had covers which showed girls bending over and winking through their legs, the betting shop with its mass of torn paper tickets littering the pavement outside. As the car rolled her on towards her destiny, she noted, with deep nostalgia, the Cypriot greengrocer emerging from the depths of his shop with a bucket of water; this was flung in a wide arc over the pavement, causing Edith to feel a shock of pleasure. She saw the hospital and the young men in white coats charging up the steps, and the adventure playground, and the day nursery, and the place that sold plants, and one or two pubs, and a rather nice dress shop. And then she saw the Registry Office and a small crowd chatting on the pavement in front of the entrance. Like a visitor from another planet, she saw her publisher and her agent and her poor father’s crazy vegetarian cousin and several of her friends and quite a few neighbours. And she saw Penelope, animated, her red hat attracting the attention of one or two of the photographers, conversing with the best man and with Geoffrey. And then she saw Geoffrey. And then she saw, in a flash, but for all time, the totality of his mouse-like seemliness.
Leaning forward, in a condition of extreme calm, she said to the driver, ‘Would you take me on a little further, please? I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Certainly, Madam,’ he replied, thinking, from her modest demeanour, that she was one of the guests. ‘Where would you like to go?’
‘Perhaps round the park?’ she suggested.
As the car proceeded smoothly past the Registry Office, Edith saw, as if in a still photograph, Penelope and Geoffrey, staring, their mouths open in horror. Then the scene became slightly more animated, as the crowd began to straggle down the steps, reminding her of a sequence in some early masterpiece of the cinema, now preserved as archive material. She felt like a spectator at some epic occurrence, was prepared for shots to