The Weekend: A Novel by Peter Cameron Read Free Book Online Page A

had spent the last year collecting his letters to friends and colleagues, only to discover—or perhaps confirm—what a profoundly boring and uninteresting man he had been. It had all seemed very different when she was giddy with widowhood.
    “One of your late husbands,” said Nina.
    “My latest husband,” Laura clarified.
    Anders offered her a peeled grape. He held it out, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. In the sunlight, it looked a bit like a large, uncut gemstone.
    “No thanks,” said Laura.
    “And you’re having your house in Italy remodeled?” he asked.
    “Yes,” said Laura. “I’m trying to bring it into the twentieth century, while there’s still time. The plumbing was rather ancient.”
    Nina had waded into the pool. “I hope you’re keeping the fixtures. And I hope there’s not too much chlorine in the water,” she said. “Otherwise, I’ll get a rash. How far is it to Woodstock? Somebody told me there’s a good restaurant there.”
    “About forty minutes,” said Laura. “Which one?”
    “I don’t know. Chez something. Do you want to go? Or should we cook something here? Is there a barbecue?”
    “I’m going out tonight,” said Laura.
    “Where?”
    “To a dinner. If I were sure you were coming, I would have asked for you to be invited, but I think it’s a little too late for that now.”
    “With who?” asked Nina.
    “A couple I met at a party. I knew the man’s mother. Do you
remember Iris Kerr? That beautiful American woman with all the money who lived in Rome and was such a drunk? It’s her son. He’s living up here with his wife.”
    “Tony Kerr? He’s married?”
    “No. Not Tony. This is the American son. His name is John.”
    “I wonder what ever became of Tony. He broke my heart.”
    “How?” said Anders. “When?”
    “Oh, it was ages ago. When we were children. We went to Morocco together.”
    “You never went to Morocco with Antony Kerr,” said Laura.
    “Yes, I did,” said Nina.
    “When? How old were you?”
    “Oh, I forget,” said Nina. “Young. About eighteen, I think. I was madly in love with Tony. He was the most gorgeous man I’ve met. He liked boys, though.”
    “That’s the way with so many beautiful men, I’m afraid,” said Laura. “It’s disheartening.”
    “What’s this brother like?” asked Nina.
    “He’s a half brother. He doesn’t make much of an impression—he was rather silent. Good-looking, though. I spoke with his wife, who isn’t silent: she gushes.”
    “If they’re so awful, why are you having dinner with them?”
    “They’re not awful,” said Laura. “Besides, one takes one’s society how one can get it. Especially in the hinterlands.”
    “But we’re here,” said Nina. “You have Anders and me tonight.”
    “I have you this afternoon and all day tomorrow. Tonight I want to go out. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t tailor my plans to your schedule, Nina. You’ve hardly been reliable this summer.”
    “Well, then Anders and I will go to Woodstock.”
    “You won’t have a car,” said Laura.
    “Oh,” said Nina. She stood in the pool, moving her palms gently over the water’s surface. “We’ll stay here, then,” she said. She looked at her mother for a moment—an odd, calm look betraying neither anger nor disappointment, but a look, Laura knew, intended to convey judgment—and then dove into the water.

6
    TONY DIED ON THE last day of July. It was raining. He had been at Marian and John’s house for about ten days, staying in bed, getting weaker and weaker, but not approaching death. Or of course approaching, but death seemed still a long way off. Tony refused to go back to the city and the hospital. He wanted to die at John and Marian’s.
    On the day Tony died, although she did not know it was the day Tony would die, Marian had left the house in the morning to buy some groceries. She was eight months pregnant. John was in the city, for he still worked then. Lyle was sitting