Lanark_ a life in 4 books - Alasdair Gray [185]
“His secretary is an algolagnics man.”
“….. but he’ll maintain the differential…..”
“If he doesn’t he’s opening the floodgates to a free-for-all.” Munro approached Lanark and said grimly, “Bad luck! I expected to have the director to ourselves but he’s receiving a deputation and conferring a couple of titles. He’s available for ten minutes, I’ll have to settle our business in three, so when we leave the lift stay close to me and say as little as possible.”
“But this meeting will shape our whole future!”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you down.”
The doors opened and the chamberlains led them out onto such a bright floor that Lanark’s heart lurched, thinking he was in open daylight.
It was a floor of coloured marble inlaid in geometrical patterns. It was nearly a quarter of a mile across, but as the eye took in the height of the ceiling the width seemed insignificant. It was an octagonal hall where eight great corridors met below a dome, and looking down them was like looking down streets of renaissance palaces. The place seemed empty at first, but when his eyes got used to the scale Lanark noticed a great many people moving like insects about the corridor floors. The air was cool and, except for the remote sonorous echoes of distant footfalls, refreshingly quiet. Lanark looked around with open mouth. Rima sighed, slid her fingers out of his and stepped elegantly away across the marble floor. She seemed to grow taller and more graceful as she receded. Her figure and colouring blended perfectly with her surroundings. Lanark followed, saying, “This place suits you.”
“I know.”
She turned and walked past him, smoothing the amber velvet over her hips, her chin raised and face dreamy. Feeling excluded he stared around once more. Some benches upholstered in red leather lay about the floor and Munro sat on the nearest looking intently along a corridor, the staff and portfolio across his knees. Some distance behind stood a wooden medieval throne on top of three marble steps. The other chamberlains had brought their parties to it, and now the plump men in evening dress knelt side by side on the lowest step in an attitude of prayer. Close by, with folded arms, the deputation stood in a tight cluster. Their chamberlain was photographing them. Rima continued walking past Lanark in an aimless dreamy way till he said sharply, “It’s impressive, of course, but not beautiful. Look, at those chandeliers! Hundreds of tons of brass and glass pretending to be gold and diamonds and they don’t even light the place. The real light comes from behind the columns round the walls. I bet it’s neon.”
“You’re jealous because you don’t belong here.”
He was hurt by the truth of this and said in a low voice, “Quite right.”
She laid a hand on his chest and stared excitedly into his eyes. “But Lanark, we could live here if you wanted to! I’m sure they’d give you a job, you can be very clever when you try!
Tell Munro you want to stay. I’m sure it’s not too late!”
“You’ve forgotten there’s no sunlight here and we don’t like the food.”
Rima said wistfully, “Yes, I had forgotten that.”
She walked away from him again.
He sat beside Munro and tried to keep calm by looking up into the deep blue dome. It was painted with angels blowing trumpets and scattering blossoms around figures on clouds. He specially noted four ponderous horsemen on some puffs of cumulus. They wore Roman armour, curly wigs and laurel wreaths and managed the horses with their knees, for each held a sword in the left hand and a mason’s trowel in the right. On similar clouds facing them stood four venerable men in togas holding scrolls and queerly shaped walking sticks. Both groups were gazing at the height of the dome where a massive man sat upon a throne. His strong face looked benevolent, but something peering in it suggested he was shortsighted or deaf. The painter had tried to distract from this by loading him with impressive instruments. A globe lay in his lap and a sword across