Altered States by Anita Brookner Read Free Book Online Page A

just the money?’
    ‘No.’ My mother sighed. ‘She’s an odd girl, irresponsible, quite spiteful sometimes. Of course Sybil was always odd. But Sarah seems unconcerned about hurting others. She was rude to Jenny when they first met, and she never returns her telephone calls. And poor Jenny telephones her all the time. She asked for your number, by the way.’
    ‘Jenny?’
    ‘No, Sarah.’
    ‘You gave it to her?’
    ‘I gave her the office number. I hope that was all right?’
    I swallowed my disappointment. ‘Of course. She may want my advice. She said she was thinking of selling the house.’
    ‘The house is not hers to sell. But perhaps she’s discussed this with Sybil. Although I’m sure Sybil would have consulted me—you know how she is.’
    ‘As far as you know she’s still in Parsons Green?’
    I could not bring myself to ask my mother further questions. If there were to be anything between Sarah and myself it would be better if my mother knew nothing about it. Again, this stealth should have been a warning to me.
    ‘As far as I know, though I believe she spends a lot of time with that friend of hers in Paris. Berthe. You met her.’
    ‘She doesn’t work, then, Sarah?’
    ‘She sometimes cooks for private dinner parties. She’s quite a good cook, I understand. But no, I don’t think she has a regular job. Not like you, dear, not now. How are you enjoying it?’
    We discussed the office, as I knew she wanted to, until, with a happy sigh, she said, ‘This has been a lovely evening. Thank you so much, Alan. You’re a good son. I’ve always wanted to tell you that, and now I have. I must be tipsy.’ She laughed, she who had never been tipsy in her life.
    ‘I’ll take you home,’ I said.
    ‘Are you going to walk back?’
    ‘Yes, I rather like the park at night. It’s only just after ten-thirty, not late.’
    ‘Be careful dear.’ If her look was particularly searching I was unaware of it, for I had already turned away.
    In those days I would walk across the park quite late, sometimes just before it shut, at midnight. On this particular evening I strode out as if I were being pursued, although it was a fine evening, clearer than the day had been, all those hours ago, before my decision had been revealed to me. I am ashamed to say that I allowed myself this romantic thought, though I am hardly romantic by nature, being of a philosophical and, I like to think, stoical disposition. I had persuaded myself that the time for levity was past: in this I was right. Having acquired something of a hereditary position I thought it incumbent on me to behave in a fairly grave manner. Yet on this particular evening I could hardly wait to get home to make that crucial telephone call, the one needed to set things in train. Everything depended on it. Once the connection was made I could take care of the rest.
    In the flat I threw my coat onto a chair and looked up Bertram Miller in the directory. When I dialled my fingers were actually shaking. ‘The number you require is no longeravailable,’ sang a voice. ‘The number you require is no longer …’ I dialled Directory Enquiries. ‘Bertram Miller,’ I said firmly. ‘Fifty-eight Bredwardine Road.’ There was silence. I was about to replace the receiver and try again when another voice said, ‘That number is now ex-Directory.’
    ‘I’m an old friend,’ I pleaded. ‘I’ve just got back from abroad.’
    ‘I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to give out ex-Directory numbers. Do you require another service?’
    ‘No. Thank you.’
    I went to bed, but not to sleep. By the morning I had that somewhat haggard brightness that is the legacy of a sleepless night. In the office I told the girls that if a Miss Miller telephoned she was to be put straight through. After all, she had my number, I reasoned: she must have wanted it for a purpose. Then, unable to work, I told the girls that I was going out for half an hour, that I would ring back anyone who left a