The Children's Book - A. S. Byatt [92]
He hesitated. He blushed again. Olive thoughthis blush wasdelightful.
“The thing is—nobody has even thought of paying Philip. It isn’t really right. I seem to be the only one who thinks about these things— who will buy the pots, where the—the clay, and the chemicals—and—and our food,” he said in a rush, “will come from.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, very red indeed now, wishing already that he hadn’t mentioned the food.
Prosper Cain looked appropriately serious. Florence cut a piece of cake for Geraint.
“I shall come to Rye. I shall bring Florence and Julian, who has a holiday, and I shall come to see this new work, and think what may best be done. Your father is indeed a genius, and is indeed impractical, like many great men. Should I write to him, or simply appear?”
“Write,” said Geraint, “in a general sort of way. Don’t say I came.”
“Of course not. I shall come next weekend, which is Julian’s holiday. It will all appear quite casual.”
“May I come?” said Olive impulsively. “I should dearly like to see the new work, too. I may be able to help. Or Humphry may, he knows all sorts of financial people. I could bring Tom and Dorothy, it will be a pleasant excursion …”
Prosper said he would be very happy if she came. Geraint thought of saying that large numbers of visitors might have a bad effect on his father, and then thought he had achieved all he could have hoped, and should let things be. Olive read his mind in his face.
“I don’t think we should all necessarily bother your father, not all at once. We will linger in the background and see if we can be helpful. And look at the sea, it will be wonderful to see the sea again.”
Geraint smiled at her. She smiled back. “And you? What do you mean to do with your life? Are you artistic?”
“Good Lord, no,” said Geraint, with excessive vehemence. “It got left out of me altogether, anyone would think I was a changeling. I’m clumsy with my hands, and my family say I have no taste.”
“So what do you hope to do, then?”
“What I want,” said Geraint, relaxing after his huge effort, “what I want, is to make a lot of money and be comfortable. I’d like to be in a bank, or something. I don’t know where to start.”
“You start by asking my husband,” said Olive, who loved giving people things. “He gave up his bank position, but he knows exactly how to set about finding one. When you are quite sure that is what you want.”
“Oh, I am. I think and think about it. I am quite sure.”
13
The Cains and the Todefright Wellwoods came to Rye, and stayed in the Mermaid Inn. The weather, which had been stormy and chilly, was suddenly bright, clear, and even warm. St. Martin’s Summer, said Benedict Fludd, who was invited to lunch in a private room in the Mermaid, with Seraphita and his children. There is often a false summer in the third week of November, a pleasant enough delusion. Prosper had made military arrangements. He had ordered a roast goose, with onion sauce, and heaped roast potatoes and buttered carrots, to be followed by a huge apple pie with thick cream. They had come by train; the Todefright party included Tom and Dorothy; Violet remained in charge of the lower half of the family. After lunch, Prosper had explained to Florence, all the young folk would go for a ramble—maybe along the beach at Dymchurch, since the weather was so mild and tempting. He needed to talk to his old friend, and he needed to do it quietly. The Fludds were hungry: the food was plentiful and comforting. Geraint talked to Julian, who was sitting opposite Tom, at the youthful end of the table, studying his face. Dorothy talked to Florence, about schooling. Florence was going to Harley Street College in the next academic year. Dorothy did not know what would become of her though she did know that Tom was to be crammed for entrance to various schools.
Seraphita, Imogen