thinking, she answered gratefully. “No, she doesn’t, she never has, I thought you knew that. She does voluntary work at some hospital down there. Would it be the Mayday Hospital? Tuesdays and Thursdays, I think. Oh, and something at the CAB on Wednesday mornings.”
“The what ?”
“Citizen’s Advice Bureau. I think she got it through Magnus. And they both work for the Greens.” At least she was realizing the question was odd coming from him. “Why on earth do you want to know?”
“One of the people who work for me mentioned knowing her at art college. She asked if she was working and I said I’d find out.”
This utter fabrication was accepted. Leonora tended to believe what she was told. Habitual truth-tellers do. He was encouraged to press on. “It’s 15 Sanderstead Way they live, isn’t it?”
“Seventeen, and it’s Sanderstead Lane.”
“Where shall we go for lunch on Saturday? Let me take you to Clarke’s.”
“I’m just as happy in a wine bar, Guy. Or McDonald’s, come to that. I don’t really enjoy food when I know that what you spend would buy meals for a whole family in Bangladesh for a month.”
“Would it please you if I sent the cost of lunch at Clarke’s to Bangladesh?”
“Yes, very much, but I still wouldn’t want to go there.”
“I’ll phone you tomorrow,” he said.
When she was fifteen and he was eighteen he had made love to her for the first time in Kensal Green Cemetery. If you told people a thing like that—not that he did tell people—they’d say, How revolting! or How macabre! But it wasn’t revolting or macabre. Those who talked like that didn’t know the cemetery, which was really like a vast overgrown wild garden that happened to have weathered grey stones among the long grass and wonderful tombs like little houses. There were big dark trees and wild flowers and in the height of summer wreaths dying on new graves. The cemetery was full of butterflies, small blue ones and big brown-and-orange ones, because there were no poisons or pollution in there to kill them.
Where they were was so quiet and wild and beautiful, with long seed-headed grasses swaying and creamy foxgloves growing among the grass, with tall pink flowers he didn’t know the name of and moss growing over a sunken slab, moss that had its own tiny yellow flowers growing on it, that it was like a lost paradise. There were bushes with pointed silver leaves and small firs like blue Christmas trees and overhead a great spreading tree covered with green cones. The smell of London didn’t come in here. It smelt like when you sniffed the jars of herbs in the health-food shop.
She was wearing a dress, very thin and soft and sort of smoky blue and mauve colours with a low neck and puff sleeves and no waist. It was one of the few hot days of a cold summer. She was wearing the dress and a pair of knickers and blue espadrilles and nothing else. When she lay on her back her breasts were soft and spread like little silk cushions. He laid her in a nest of grasses and scattered elderflower petals. He lifted the dress and drew it up to her neck. It lay there round her neck as a scarf might. She wasn’t afraid, she was very excited, and when he entered her she wasn’t hurt. He told her afterwards that was because she loved him and wanted him.
What Tessa said when she saw the creased dress all covered with green stains, he never knew. Perhaps Leonora contrived for her mother not to see it. It was when Tessa finally found out that things began to go wrong. If you loved someone like that when you were fifteen, if you loved him so much that though you were a virgin love-making didn’t hurt you at all and you didn’t bleed, that love didn’t change. It didn’t just go away, it was as much a part of you as your love for your parents or your brother, your love for yourself.
“I am you. I am Guy and he’s me.”
If Tessa weren’t there, that love would return. Unhindered, it would become once more what
“The what ?”
“Citizen’s Advice Bureau. I think she got it through Magnus. And they both work for the Greens.” At least she was realizing the question was odd coming from him. “Why on earth do you want to know?”
“One of the people who work for me mentioned knowing her at art college. She asked if she was working and I said I’d find out.”
This utter fabrication was accepted. Leonora tended to believe what she was told. Habitual truth-tellers do. He was encouraged to press on. “It’s 15 Sanderstead Way they live, isn’t it?”
“Seventeen, and it’s Sanderstead Lane.”
“Where shall we go for lunch on Saturday? Let me take you to Clarke’s.”
“I’m just as happy in a wine bar, Guy. Or McDonald’s, come to that. I don’t really enjoy food when I know that what you spend would buy meals for a whole family in Bangladesh for a month.”
“Would it please you if I sent the cost of lunch at Clarke’s to Bangladesh?”
“Yes, very much, but I still wouldn’t want to go there.”
“I’ll phone you tomorrow,” he said.
When she was fifteen and he was eighteen he had made love to her for the first time in Kensal Green Cemetery. If you told people a thing like that—not that he did tell people—they’d say, How revolting! or How macabre! But it wasn’t revolting or macabre. Those who talked like that didn’t know the cemetery, which was really like a vast overgrown wild garden that happened to have weathered grey stones among the long grass and wonderful tombs like little houses. There were big dark trees and wild flowers and in the height of summer wreaths dying on new graves. The cemetery was full of butterflies, small blue ones and big brown-and-orange ones, because there were no poisons or pollution in there to kill them.
Where they were was so quiet and wild and beautiful, with long seed-headed grasses swaying and creamy foxgloves growing among the grass, with tall pink flowers he didn’t know the name of and moss growing over a sunken slab, moss that had its own tiny yellow flowers growing on it, that it was like a lost paradise. There were bushes with pointed silver leaves and small firs like blue Christmas trees and overhead a great spreading tree covered with green cones. The smell of London didn’t come in here. It smelt like when you sniffed the jars of herbs in the health-food shop.
She was wearing a dress, very thin and soft and sort of smoky blue and mauve colours with a low neck and puff sleeves and no waist. It was one of the few hot days of a cold summer. She was wearing the dress and a pair of knickers and blue espadrilles and nothing else. When she lay on her back her breasts were soft and spread like little silk cushions. He laid her in a nest of grasses and scattered elderflower petals. He lifted the dress and drew it up to her neck. It lay there round her neck as a scarf might. She wasn’t afraid, she was very excited, and when he entered her she wasn’t hurt. He told her afterwards that was because she loved him and wanted him.
What Tessa said when she saw the creased dress all covered with green stains, he never knew. Perhaps Leonora contrived for her mother not to see it. It was when Tessa finally found out that things began to go wrong. If you loved someone like that when you were fifteen, if you loved him so much that though you were a virgin love-making didn’t hurt you at all and you didn’t bleed, that love didn’t change. It didn’t just go away, it was as much a part of you as your love for your parents or your brother, your love for yourself.
“I am you. I am Guy and he’s me.”
If Tessa weren’t there, that love would return. Unhindered, it would become once more what
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