The Pupil by Caro Fraser Read Free Book Online Page B

small change, found he had enough for a half-pint of bitter, and then remembered that this was a wine bar.
    ‘God,’ he groaned, ‘I wish we could meet somewhere where I could get a decent pint.’
    ‘I like this place,’ said Bridget, glancing around. ‘Anyway, you know I don’t like pubs. They’re too smokey and it’s bad for my asthma.’ Anthony stared at her.
    ‘Can you lend me a quid?’ he asked. ‘For a drink?’ Surely,
surely
, she would offer to buy him one. She fished in her handbag and handed him a pound. He knew there was no question that this was anything but a loan.
    ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she announced, as he got up to go to the bar. When he came back with his glass of wine and sat down, she looked at him expectantly, as though it were he who had some news.
    ‘Well?’ he said dutifully.
    ‘Claire’s moving out of the flat soon. She’s got a job in Cambridge with a community law project.’ Claire was Bridget’s flatmate, a large feminist who didn’t like Anthony and, so far as Anthony could see, didn’t much like Bridgeteither. Anthony took a sip of wine and winced; he thought he could see where this was leading.
    ‘Are you going to advertise for someone to share?’ he enquired innocently. Bridget looked at him for a moment.
    ‘I thought that – that maybe this would be a good opportunity for us to …’ She hesitated. ‘Well, since it’s bound to happen sooner or later—’ Anthony saw that this was becoming difficult for her. She fortified herself with a sip of mineral water, and tried again. ‘You always said that we never had the chance to spend much time alone together.’ Anthony recollected saying something to this effect three years ago, when they were sharing a squalid three-bedroom flat with five other students; what he had actually meant was that he, Anthony, rarely got any peace. Bridget went on. ‘So I wondered if you thought it would be a good idea if
you
moved in.’ She looked trustingly, hopefully at him, which inclined him to be brutal.
    ‘No way,’ he replied quickly, taking a drink of his wine. ‘For a start, I can’t afford to, and for another thing, your mother would go berserk.’ Bridget leant forward intently, and Anthony realised his error in making it sound as though there were no other objections beyond these.
    ‘Look,’ said Bridget with a smile; her calm, managing smile. ‘I can afford to help you out until you start earning.’ You could buy me a drink for a start, thought Anthony. ‘And as for Mummy …’ Bridget looked down and smiled even more. Anthony began to feel uneasy. ‘If we were – engaged …’ She glanced up at Anthony and then looked quickly away again. He wondered what expression wason his face. ‘Then I know she would be all right about it. Daddy would probably even help out with a mortgage on a house. I’ve told them all about your pupillage and everything, and that you’re bound to be successful very soon.’
    So here we are, thought Anthony. He looked at Bridget for a moment. He looked at her face, pretty and blank, at her thin mouth and her anxious brown eyes, at her straight, mousy hair pulled back under its tight velvet band. He had looked at her face for so many years, he thought, that he didn’t see it any more. He had no desire to kiss her, or touch her – the whole thing wearied him. The prospect of living with her, of
marrying
her, was awful, deadly. She must know that, too, he thought. Surely she must. He couldn’t give out so many wrong signals, could he? How could two people sit and talk regularly with each other and fail constantly to make themselves understood? Well, that wasn’t quite it – Bridget had made herself understood perfectly. For a second, Anthony considered the possibility of articulating his thoughts. He had to say something. She looked at him questioningly.
    ‘Bridget, I don’t want to get married,’ he heard himself say. He knew that wasn’t the right