Incidents in the Rue Laugier by Anita Brookner Read Free Book Online Page B

the company of people whom she knew too well and who would always remain the same. Even the guests, for the most part friends of Xavier’s, failed to interest her, for they were usually absent for most of the day, and were only encountered over the dinner table. Lunch was one course, was eaten without ceremony, was not always fully attended, and was over well within an hour. This was to allow the servants, whose voices could be heard from the kitchen quarters, to have the afternoon off. In the afternoons her mother and aunt would take a siesta, Xavier and his friend or friends would disappear somewhere in the car, and she would be left to her own devices. It was assumed that she would go into the garden, or sit on the terrace with a book, but as often as not she lingered in the upstairs corridor, redolent of heat and sleep, heavy adult sleep, or leaned her head against the glass of a sunstruck window, and wished that she were in Paris.
    This year promised to be no different from all those whichhad preceded it. They had been met at the station by Xavier, who had murmured, ‘Aunt,’ and ‘Maud,’ while kissing them on both cheeks. They had arrived during the siesta hour and had the impression that they had put everyone out. Nevertheless Germaine was waiting for them on the terrace, her fractious smile in place, her eyes darting from side to side in an attempt to deflect Xavier from disappearing. Maud, in one of her new tight-waisted full-skirted dresses, stepped forward obediently to present her face for her aunt’s kisses: she thought she appeared to some advantage, and had prepared her entrance to impress whatever guests might be lurking in the hall, but, ‘Good heavens, Maud,’ said her aunt. ‘This is the country. We don’t dress up here. By all means change for dinner—we all do that. And I’m sure you look very nice,’ she added in a kindlier tone, seeing the girl recoil, her affront masked by apparent indifference. ‘Did you bring something simpler? I think something simpler would be more suitable, don’t you?’ Aware that she had hurt them both, for she was not completely insensitive, she waved them gaily indoors. When Maud descended to the morning-room, where coffee was provided, half an hour later, she was complimented on her brown cotton skirt and white cotton blouse. Her only consolation was the knowledge that the blouse, short sleeved, open necked, and slightly too small, showed off her beautiful arms to advantage. Nevertheless she was mortified by the prospect of having to wear blouse and skirt for the rest of her stay, and resolved to keep out of the way as much as possible.
    This was something she was used to do. She knew, as if it had been programmed in advance, that her cousin would ask her if she would like to take a walk, that they would indeed walk round the garden, always referred to as the park, that he would ask her how her English studies were progressing, and that she, finding this subject boring, and fearful of revealingtoo much of her impatience—for rigorous control would be demanded of both her mother and herself on this visit, which they both knew to be a form of charity—would quickly deflect the question and in her turn ask Xavier if he had written any new poems lately, and if so, whether he could bear to let her read them. He always did, and this was a further opportunity for her to express appreciation, for appreciation, she knew, was expected of them both, and in this way she could play her small part. Xavier was destined for his uncle’s bank, the uncle being in fact a second cousin of his father, but he had confided to her that he would much rather devote himself to poetry. She sympathised, discerning in him a desire for independence, albeit weaker than her own, but he was obedient and would not disappoint his mother.
    ‘If you are on the terrace later I could show them to you,’ he said. ‘At least I could leave them with you. I have a friend coming to stay, and I