The Swimming Pool Season by Rose Tremain Read Free Book Online Page B

That he survived that time, that Miriam helped him so lovingly is a kind of miracle to him. He’s never thanked her. The way he yearns to show his gratitude is by getting Aquazure, France started. He could do it, surely? The summers are long. Thousands come from England – and from Paris – to holiday homes. The public pools and lakes are overcrowded in July and August. He can beat Piscines Ducellier Frères at their own game, because he’s not merely a pool builder, he’s a pool artist . Consider the St. Front idea; no mere pool installer would have found inspiration in a Roman-Byzantine basilica. He pictures the St. Front pool installed beyond the terrace for Miriam’s return, his gift for those months of patience.
    â€œHave you packed up all the paintings yet, Miriam?”
    â€œNo. Not yet.”
    â€œHarve asked me, could he see some before you go. He’d like to buy one for his niece’s room.”
    â€œHis niece?”
    â€œYes. She’s arriving on Monday, to help out.”
    â€œWell I can’t sell a painting. I need everything for the exhibition.”
    â€œJust a small one, he said. A little still life or something.”
    â€œNo, Larry.”
    He’s begun to hear Leni’s voice in hers. He thinks, she’s hardening her heart. He can’t bear to stand and watch her packing, yet he wants the comfort of her. He feels desolate, humble.
    â€œYou may be away for your birthday, Miriam.”
    â€œYes. Never mind.”
    â€œI mind.”
    â€œWhy?” Leni again. Hardness. Curt questions.
    â€œI wanted us to have a proper celebration this year. A party, even.”
    â€œWho would we invite?”
    â€œNadia . . . Harve and his niece . . . Mme. de la Brosse . . .”
    â€œAnd the Mallélous, I suppose. Watch Gervaise eating with her mouth open.”
    Larry ignores this, though it worries him. Miriam brought them here to live. Now, she’s found an excuse to leave Pomerac and run back to Oxford.
    â€œI thought we’d get Thomas out here for once . . .”
    â€œWell, I’ll be seeing Thomas.”
    â€œI won’t.”
    â€œNo. That can be my birthday gift then: seeing Thomas.”
    She’s packed two suitcases: almost all the clothes she owns are laid gently in. Left in the wardrobe are just the soft summer things. She’s also bought Leni’s favourite peach jam, sachets of tisane somniflor and a tin of Perigord fois gras. Larry imagines Leni’s fragile lips opening and closing on this delicacy, her heart stopping as its poisoning richness enters her blood.
    The mist and rain of Saturday linger on Sunday. The dampness quells the stench of the septic tank. Larry examines the Granada for signs of rust. Pomerac inhales moisture into its old stones and the interiors of rooms are dark and cold. Larry, wearing the Burberry, surveys the site of the new pool. A casualty of the pool will be the walnut tree Miriam is fond of and which now reproaches Larry with an exemplary crop of bright green fruit. Miriam wanders out and stands near him by the tree. She looks shabby, he thinks, in her bulky mac, and he touches her shoulder tenderly. At least she doesn’t have Leni’s sharp bones. Miriam reaches up for Larry’s hand and presses it tightly. She, who is running, running to the bedside of her mother, feels in this moment like a mother to Larry. His blue eyes have a helpless look.
    â€œStart the pool if you can. If the weather’s good.”
    â€œYes. We’ll need some building, though, to house the filter plant.”
    â€œA shed?”
    â€œYes. Or I thought we could run a driveway by the wall, curve it round to a garage, there.”
    â€œToo expensive, I would have thought. And we don’t really need a garage.”
    â€œWell, handy though. And I’d fit the plant at one end of it. Nice short run from there to the