The Line of Beauty - Alan Hollinghurst [159]
"Ah . . . No," said Nick. "No, actually—"
"Fuck!" came a howl from the forecourt, hardly recognizable as Gerald's voice. Lady Partridge's gaze slid uncertainly away. Nick got up with a soft laugh and went out into the hall to see what had happened. Gerald was coming in from outside, his face in a spasm of emotion that might have been rage or glee, and veered away from Nick into the kitchen, where Toby was sitting having coffee with Rachel. Nick glanced out of the front door, and saw Wani collecting up the boules with a dutiful but unrepentant expression.
"Darling . . . ?" said Rachel, with a note of anger, but looking him over quickly, to see if he was hurt.
"Dad," said Toby, and shook his head disappointedly.
Gerald stood staring at them, and then hunched and grinned. He said, "I'm on holiday!"
"Yes, darling, you are," said Rachel. "You ought to calm down." She was solicitous, but firm: her own calm was a reproof. Nick stood in the doorway and looked at them, bright-eyed. There was a collective sense that they could tame Gerald.
"Beaten at boules by a bloody A-rab!" said Gerald, and gasped at his own candour, and as if it might be a joke.
"For god's sake, Dad," said Toby.
"What . . . ?" said Gerald.
"You'll be calling me a bloody Jew-boy next."
"I would never do that," said Gerald. "Don't be monstrous."
"Well, I hope not," said Toby, and coloured at his own emotion. "Wani's my friend," he said, with an effect of simple decency, so that Gerald stared and thought and then went out of the room. They heard him calling out, "Wani! Wani, my apologies! OK . . . ? Yup! So sorry . . . " with improper cheerfulness, and tailing off as he turned indoors, as if it was a mere routine. He came back into the kitchen with a twitch of a smile, since Wani hadn't heard the thing he should really have been apologizing for. He drifted absent-mindedly into the larder and emerged with a dusty bottle of claret.
"Why don't you go and have a swim, Gerald. Or find Jasper, and take him for a walk," recommended Rachel.
"Jasper isn't a cocker spaniel, you know," said Gerald, amusingly but with a bit of a snap.
"Well, no," said Rachel.
Gerald turned the little wooden-handled corkscrew with furtive keenness. "Well, roll on Sunday, and Lionel's visit!" he said, to please Rachel and cover the exuberant pop of the cork.
"It's a bit early for that, isn't it Gerald?" said Rachel.
"For god's sake, Dad," said Toby again.
"He wants to let it breathe," said Nick with an anxious laugh.
Gerald looked at them all, and there was an odd charge of unhappiness, a family instinct, communicated, not quite understood. "I just feel like a fucking drink, OK?" he said, and went off to the end room with the bottle.
Just before lunch, in the shade of the awning, he was more cheerful, but also more freely in touch with his troubles. "The fucking Tippers!" he said, counting carelessly on his mother's deafness. "God knows what the consequences of this little episode will be—for the business, I mean."
"I'm sure you can do brilliantly without him," said Rachel. "You've been doing brilliantly without him so far."
"True," said Gerald. "True." He looked wryly along the table that he ruled. "I'm afraid they didn't fit in here, exactly, did they?"
"They didn't quite get the hang of it," said Rachel.
"Yah, why did they go?" said Jasper.
"Oh, who knows!" said Rachel. "Now, Judy, asparagus!"
Gerald snuffled and seemed to ponder the question, like some undecid-able conflict of loyalties, some inescapable regret. Nick couldn't help noticing that his own remarks were received very coolly that day, and sometimes he was ignored and talked over.
At the end of lunch Gerald took up his grievances again; it was clear that he was in the grip of his own schemes, and living