The Line of Beauty - Alan Hollinghurst [179]
Nick stopped and drank some coffee. "Was he ill for a long time?" he asked.
"He had pneumonia last November, he nearly died; but he came through it. Then things got, well, a lot worse in the spring. He was in hospital for about ten days at the end."
"He went blind, didn't he," said Gemma, in the way people clumsily handle and offer facts which they can neither accept nor forget.
"Poor Leo," said Nick. Relief at not having witnessed this was mixed with regret at not having been called on to do so.
"Did you bring the photos?" said Gemma.
"If you want to see . . ." said Rosemary, after a pause.
"I don't know," said Nick, embarrassed. It was a challenge; and then he felt powerless in the flow of the moment, as he had on his first date with Leo, he met it as something that was going to happen, and took the Kodak wallet. He looked at a couple of the pictures and then handed them back.
"You can have one if you like," said Rosemary.
"No," said Nick; "thank you."
He sat, rather hard-faced, over his coffee.
After a bit Gemma said, "This is proper coffee, isn't it."
"Oh . . . !" said Nick, "do you like it. It's Kenyan Rich, medium roast . . . It comes from Myers' in Kensington Church Street. They import their own. One pays more, but I think it's worth it."
"Mm, it's lovely and rich," said Gemma.
"I'd rather not look at the other letters now," Nick said.
Rosemary nodded. "OK," she said, as if skimming forward for another appointment, a cancellation. "I can leave them with you . . . ?"
"No, please don't," said Nick. He felt he was being pressed very hard very fast, as in some experiment on his emotions.
Gemma went to the lavatory—she murmured the directions to herself as she tried the door, and then slipped in as if she'd met a friend. There was silence for a while between Nick and Rosemary. The extremity of events excused anything, of course, but her hardness towards him was another shock to get used to: it added puzzlingly to the misery of the day. She was his lover's sister, and he thought of her naturally as a friend, and with spontaneous fondness and fresh sympathy on top of mere politeness. But it seemed it didn't work the other way round. He smiled tentatively. There was such a physical likeness now that he might have been asking Leo himself to be nice to him, after some row. But she'd decided against the note of tenderness, even towards Leo himself.
"So you hadn't seen him for a year or two?" she said.
"That's right . . ."
She looked up at him warily, as though starting to concede his own, homosexual claim on her brother and wondering where such a shift might lead her. "Did you miss him?" she said.
"Yes . . . I did. I certainly did."
"Do you remember the last time you saw him?"
"Well, yes," said Nick, and stared at the floor. The questions were sentimental, but the manner was detached, almost bored. "It was all very difficult."
She said, "He hadn't made a will."
"Oh, well . . . he was so young!" said Nick, frowning because he found himself on the edge of tears again, at the thought that she was going to offer him something of Leo's—of course she was cold because she found it all so difficult herself.
"We had him cremated," Rosemary said. "I think it's what he would have wanted, though we didn't ask him. We didn't like to."
"Hm," said Nick, and found he was crying anyway.
When Gemma came back she said, "You must see the toilet." Rosemary gave a loyal but repressive smile. "Or is that trick photography?"
"Oh . . . !" said Nick. "No . . . no, it's real, I'm afraid." He was glad