The Middle Age of Mrs Eliot by Angus Wilson Read Free Book Online Page B

very mature young man or else an oddly youthful looking man for one who could accept such a position in life so easily. That was what she loved most – that look of a young man who’d succeeded gracefully. What at once stood out was that he had reached ‘such a position’, that he took it easily, and that he probably knew the advantages to be gained from appearing so to take it. And, of course, he did know them. He had always given people the impression of never acting without deliberation . She wished that so much consciousness of his own actions had not weighed upon him so greatly. It was this that made him look a little sad.
    She could hear him talking with Gino and Bettina, giving last-minute orders about the drink probably. He seemed to be talking to them longer than usual this evening. He was always charming to them, but he had told her recently that Bettina was becoming a little too keen on him. He hated any involvement with people. Very well, she had laughed at him, ease up on the charm.
    For some days now she had not heard his clear, very English Italian. They always understood him so much better than her. ‘You try to be too Italian, darling,’ he told her. But now he seemed to be having a full length conversation. Of course, they would not see Bettina and Gino again for six months.
    Suddenly she could hear him striding the stairs two at a time. He was standing in the doorway watching her, but she pretended to be absorbed in her book. It was an absurd pretence, she knew; but she also knew that he liked to find her so. Treading carefully on the rugs only, he came behind her, bent over and kissed her mouth.
    ‘Startled?’ he asked, his hands on her shoulders.
    ‘No,’ she said. She laid Daisy Miller on the table, but did not uncurl in her chair. ‘I expected it.’ She did note with surprise, however, that the evening paper was in his pocket and that it had not been touched.
    ‘And I suppose the anticipation spoiled your reading,’ he said.
    ‘Nothing really could spoil Daisy Miller ,’ she answered, ‘not even you.’ She pressed his hand.
    ‘Is that the girl who didn’t know that her parents were adulterous?’
    ‘No,’ said Meg, ‘that was Maisie. Though it’s a poor and vulgar description of the book.’
    ‘Maisie, Daisy,’ he remarked. ‘Pretty poor and vulgar names. Did you cut your committee?’
    ‘No. Certainly not. How could you think it of me?’
    As her words came more quickly in mock indignation, her fingers moved more slowly rubbing his cheek.
    ‘I thought it didn’t end until six,’ he announced.
    ‘I know,’ she said, ‘you always do. But they still end at four.’
    ‘I get it all wrong, don’t I?’
    ‘Yes, darling. But don’t worry. You don’t read the women’s journals ; if you did you’d know that every woman expects her husband to get it wrong but she still loves him to take an interest.’
    He laughed. ‘I don’t think I care for you as every woman,’ he said. ‘I wish though you had cut it. You’ll be tired out by the time we get on the plane. Committees! Parties!’
    ‘That’s what Viola Pirie said, darling.’
    ‘Oh,’ he left it. ‘Has that son of hers got a job yet?’
    ‘I don’t think so. I didn’t ask. She apologized for his probably not coming this evening.’
    ‘Probably. That sounds theatening.’
    ‘We’re favourites of his, Viola says.’
    Bill made a grimace of distaste.
    ‘It’s probably true, you know,’ Meg told him.
    ‘Oh, I daresay there are worse cases than Tom Pirie,’ Bill admitted. ‘If he’d only shave off that beard. And be a little less grubby. Grubby-minded , too, I suspect. All the same, I can’t find him any more jobs. Poor old thing, she must have a life of it. But I still don’t know how you put up with her.’
    ‘Oh! She’s the least of worries,’ Meg cried, then as she saw him frown, she jumped up from her chair. ‘I’m not feeling the faintest bit tired,’ she said and kissed him. ‘And your