The Long Prospect Read Free Page A

But tonight, in spite of his absence, she was depressed by the senselessness of time so spent. Inevitably, she and Lilian had shared a web of associations: they knew the names of each other’s friends and relations, recognized each other’s clothes, brands of toothpaste, soap, and cigarettes. Each knew what would not amuse the other. The routine of Lilian’s daily life was as familiar to Thea as her own. And, too, it had not been possible to live in her house for years, through vicissitudes which had included two deaths, two weddings and the birth of her granddaughter, without having come to respect some part of her immense, uncompromising gusto, and the sheer size of her most wrong-headed qualities. Thea understood Lilian, but discerned the point beyond which her understanding did not go: Lilian, on the other hand, pronounced on her with the confidence that comes of ignorance and physical propinquity—but without intentional malice. This was the sum of their relationship. Tonight, to Thea, it seemed insufficient reason for her presence.
    In a small agony of restlessness Thea felt it insupportable that they should remain as much as acquaintances. Communication so arid should long have been abandoned. But in the past, living in the house, there had not been this necessity to sit face to face for the purpose of entertaining and being entertained, and if there had been, it was not impossible that she would then have responded without the sensation of disintegrating boredom and reluctance that now assailed her. Then, alone and disengaged, she had had endless tolerance and patience. Now, she could not bear for the length of an evening, the fall to tedium, flatness, and the exchange of personalities. And it was a delusion to think of her presence or absence, her interest or distaste, in terms of selfishness or generosity: anyone over the age of twenty-five with normal hearing would have served Lilian as well.
    Her coming tonight was an act of hypocrisy—one that had not gone unpunished, she wryly thought. And she suppressed a sigh, for this brief return to the past made her long for the present, long for Max, long for their life together, as sharply as if all were unattainable.
    Her eyes drifted abstracted over the room she had known to satiation—white walls, dark picture rail, plain beige velvet sofa and chairs, two round mirrors, the big chiming clock, ten o’clock. A pink racing guide poked out from under a cushion. Ten o’clock.
    Lilian was saying, ‘The thing about Olly is he’s got a bit too big for his boots. They’re all the same. Put a few pounds in their pockets and before you know it they’re telling you what to do. He’s threatening me— me , mind you—that he could get off with that Mrs Rufus, you know, her with the mink coat, that he could get off with her any time he likes. Well, you can imagine—’
    Standing behind a high black chair which was at an oblique angle to the wall, Emily slowly ran a small forefinger along, up, along and down the narrow aperture between the spars. Slowly, round and round, the finger went while she stood, eyelids drooping with sleep, staring at Thea. At the same time, mechanically, with tongue and teeth and breath she formed a soundless chain of words, worked a hundred soundless Theas into an incantatory chain to link her to the woman in the chair.
    Since dinner she had been there. Three times she had resisted the appeal of Thea’s outstretched hand lest her grandmother should be reminded of her existence and send her away. But still she was near, seeing, listening to Thea...
    Again Thea stretched out her hand and looked at her, and again the child glanced away.
    â€˜So I said to him, “Mr Olly Porteous, I’ve put better men than you—” What are you doing standing there? How long have you been there?’
    â€˜A while,’ Emily said, reluctantly.
    â€˜A while, indeed,’ said Thea,