The Line of Beauty - Alan Hollinghurst [136]
"We had a marvellous time, I must say," said Gerald, with jovial shortness of memory.
"Yeah, amazing place," said Jasper, and smiled at him, with the candlelight in his eyes, as if recalling some intimate moment.
"Oh, when were you last there?" said Nick airily.
"Ooh, must be two . . . three years ago?" said Jasper, dropping his head and letting his forelock tumble.
"And where did you stay?" Wani asked, and watched for the answer as if himself imagining some intimacy—sweat-dampened sheets, discarded towels. Jasper appeared to consider several possible answers, very quickly, before saying, "Some friends of ours have got a flat there, actually, yah."
"Oh, well, you are lucky," said Rachel smoothly, leaving a doubt as to whether she believed him.
"Near San Marco?" said Nick.
"Not far from there," Jasper said, and made a business of passing the wine bottle back to Gerald, who emptied the last of it and said,
"We loved the Caravaggios."
Nick said nothing, and couldn't decide if he wanted Wani to make a fool of himself. Wani was wary enough to say, "I'm not sure. . . ." Rachel was blinking and saying, "No, darling, aren't the Caravaggios —" and Catherine said, "They're Carpaccios," and slapped her hand on the table.
Gerald gave a wounded smile and said, "You can remember those anyway."
Wani, never ruffled, almost sinisterly charming, said, "What made an enormous impression on me was the rococo architecture in Munich."
This statement was left to resonate for a few moments, while they each forked over how to tackle it. Wani looked along the table with an absence of self-irony that was very like his father's—and in the upward glow of the candles the deep sculpture of his face was like his father's too. What touched Nick was partly his lover's conscienceless appropriation of anything useful he said, and partly Wani's evident feeling that in France, on the terrace of a beautiful old house, among Nick's own "family," he could play the aesthete as confidently as Nick did at Lowndes Square. The actual history of their stays in both cities, the coke, the sex, the "late starts," was their glamorous secret; the further story, of unseen treasures, wasted time and money, the dull dawn of the truth that Wani was rather a philistine, was Nick's secret alone. He said, "Yes, you loved that stuff, didn't you."
"You went to Munich, darling . . . " Rachel said to Gerald.
"Oh, yes," said Gerald, with the fond, embarrassed look he had when recalling his humbler pre-Rachel life. "Badger and I stopped off at Munich, didn't we, on our famous drive to Greece. Badger would seem, on reflection, to have kept me away from that city's more rococo . . . um . . ."
"There's one quite fabulous church," said Nick.
Toby, who had been quiet since they'd moved on from potholing, said, "What's the difference between baroque and rococo?"
"Oh," said Wani, smiling tolerantly at his old friend, "well, the baroque is more muscular, the rococo is lighter and more decorative. And asymmetrical," he remembered, making a trailing gesture in the air with his left hand and batting his long lashes so that Nick thought he had absorbed far more from him than his capsule guides to style—it was extraordinary that they couldn't see at once what he was like. "The rococo is the final deliquescence of the baroque," he said, as if he really couldn't be plainer.
"Mm, extraordinary stuff," said Gerald vaguely.
"Yuk," said Catherine, "I can't stand that kind of thing, it's all froth."
"Well, we'd hardly expect you to like it, old girl, if we like it ourselves," said Gerald.
"It's just make-believe for rich people," said Catherine. "It's like naughty lingerie."
"Right . . ." said Toby, as if slowly getting the picture, but he blushed too.
Wani, not wanting controversy, said, "It's really just a great subject for the magazine. Think luxury artwork!" And then, "It was Nick's idea, actually."
"Ah well, now it all makes sense," said Toby.
"Oh, I hope it doesn't make