Lecture Notes by Justine Elyot Read Free Book Online

Beth; there was no need for…all this.”
    I flush heavily. “Just thought…you know, just a thank you. For keeping me off the streets.” I run back into the kitchen, where the sauce is popping and roiling like molten magma and see to the serving up. Sinclair strolls in behind me and checks the fridge for wine, raising his eyebrow at the bountiful supply therein.
    “What are we having?” he as ks, checking over my shoulder. “Oh.” I slump at the obvious disappointment. “Pasta in a mass-produced sauce.  White then.”
    He uncorks a bottle and sails haughtily into the living room with it. How rude , I think, but I can’t seem to sustain the righteous indignation. I so want him to stop thinking of me as this terminal idiot with no redeeming features, but it’s as if failure is written in my DNA at the moment.
    Sinclair makes a sterling effort to eat the dinner, though the pasta is several shades the wrong side of al dente a nd the sauce not to his taste. Best stick to the wine…
    “Well, then, Beth, I take it from the convenience food dinner that you have been far too busy study ing to think of anything else. How is the essay going? May I look it over after supper?”
    Eek!
    “Oh no,” I say. “I’d rather wait…till it’s…a bit more coherent.”
    His eyes bore into me. I hate my transparency, and his acuity. “Until you’ve actually started it, you mean?” he says.
    I wring my hands in despair, the fork la nding with a clang in my bowl. “I was so anxious about cooking tonight…I couldn’t concentrate….” I launch into the story of my recipe browsing and the disastrous shortage of upmarket sophisticated ingredients in Sainsburys. His face relaxes into benign amusement at my plight and he tuts at me when I finish my tale of woe.
    “Beth, there was no need to get into such a state about something as mundane as cooking supper, wa s there? Something simple would have done just as well. Have you ever cooked before?”
    “Yes!” I insist defensively.
    “Real cooking, I mean. Not just cheese on toast.”
    “Oh..uh…not really .” I stare into the bottom of my wine glass prior to draining its contents.
    “Getting drunk will scarcely help.”
    I beg to differ. “So sausages and beans from a tin next time then?” I say gloomily.
    He laughs. Ah, that’s a sound. A tingly glow warms the cockles and I feel tight with love for him.
    “I’ll straighten you up, Be th. By the time I’ve finished with you you’ll be almost fit for decent society.” There is a look in his eye that makes me fear for the gusset of my new undies. Oooh, melt, my lover, melt.
    “Decent…” I echo softly, dari ng to hold his predatory beam. The air thickens and blocks my vents.
    The phone rings.
    Damn. Sinclair raises his eyes bad-temperedly to the ceiling, refusing to answer the belligerent bleeping. His answerphone message cuts in. It’s very manly.  “This is Sinclair; please leave a message.” Beeeep.
    “ Eliot, I know you’re there. Please pick up. This is ridiculous. ”
    Dr Blakey! Wahey! Scandal!
    “Out,” he says to me b riskly, gesturing to the door. “Now.”
    I pout and slink off to my room. I want to listen! I try to stick my ear against the door, but it does not yield any secrets.
    Quarter of an hour later I hazar d a return to the living room. For some reason, it really irritated me to hear Blakey call him Eliot. Ain’t she got no respect? I feel like a lioness with her cub – no other woman must touch him.
    He is drinking deep from his wine glass, gloom etched into his sharply sculpted features.
    “I need you to leave the house for a while,” he says. “Go and see your friends.”
    “They’ll be at the pub,” I tell him.
    “Meet them there then,” he says, eyeballing me intimidatingly.
    “I…er, I haven’t got any money.”
    He sighs and delves into his trouser pocket, bringing out a tenner.
    “Stay out of mischief,” he says, placing it in my hand . “And I want you back by