Trouble Read Free Page A

you,’ said Annette.
    ‘Pauline just called. She and Christopher want us to join them at the opera tonight. I said yes. That’s okay, isn’t it? It’s Figaro.’
    ‘That’s wonderful,’ said Annette. ‘Mozart is always soothing.’
    There was a slight pause—
    ‘That’s not a dig, is it?’ asked Spicer.
    ‘Of course it isn’t,’ replied Annette. ‘How could it be?’
    ‘It could suggest you needed soothing, which means you’re not going to let bygones be bygones. Well, never mind either way. We’ll meet up at the Coliseum at seven then: eat afterwards. Wear something lovely, especially for me.’
    ‘Of course,’ said Annette. ‘Don’t I always? Spicer, you know you have a really remarkable memory? Last night you went through every single thing I said, in order, finding fault. The other side of appalled I was impressed.’
    ‘I don’t have time to talk now, darling,’ said Spicer. ‘Though I’d love to. I have a meeting. But yes, I do have a good memory. That’s Saturn’s doing, sextile my moon but, alas, also quincunx your sun.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘Never mind,’ said Spicer. ‘Not your world. Must go. Kiss you.’
    ‘Kiss you,’ said Annette.
    ‘Gilda,’ said Annette, ‘you were quite right. Spicer phoned. The black hole feeling has gone. Last night was incidental, accidental. Put it like this: it was a little bit of emotional flotsam, washed up by the tides of togetherness. In ten years there’d be quite a lot to wash up.’
    ‘How poetical,’ said Gilda.
    ‘Thank you. I’m so relieved,’ said Annette. ‘And we’re going to the opera. I don’t know what Spicer was upset about and I suppose I’ll never know, and it doesn’t matter.’
    ‘I know what it may have been,’ said Gilda, ‘and all I can say is I’m sorry. I was about to phone you. I told Steve a bit about what you told me about Spicer and you in bed, and he talked to Spicer about it over lunch, he now tells me. I’m not speaking to Steve, it doesn’t matter how many cups of tea he brings me. It was a confidence.’
    ‘I knew that,’ said Annette. ‘I didn’t bring it up. Spicer did mention it. I expect Steve was only trying to help.’
    ‘Steve likes everyone to be happy,’ said Gilda. ‘That’s his trouble.’
    ‘It’s over now anyway,’ said Annette. ‘It did upset Spicer. But all kinds of things seem to upset him nowadays.’
    ‘What do you mean by nowadays? How long has this nowadays been going on?’ asked Gilda.
    ‘Two, three weeks. I don’t know,’ said Annette. ‘Two or three years, for all I know. How would I know? Spicer keeps complaining I’m unperceptive. But how can I perceive things he doesn’t tell me?’
    ‘Steve expects me to read his mind and tell him what he’s feeling,’ said Gilda.
    ‘If I tell Spicer what he feels he goes berserk,’ said Annette. ‘He says he doesn’t like to think of me inside his head so I try to keep out of it. I take nothing for granted. Gilda, have you heard of the word quincunx? Spicer used it this morning.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Neither had I. I felt stupid. I looked it up. It’s a term used in astrology to denote a 150 degree separation of the planets in orbit: a stressful aspect, particularly in a compatibility chart.’
    ‘Nobody could be expected to know that,’ said Gilda.
    ‘It was a funny kind of word for him to use in a general conversation,’ said Annette. ‘And then there was sextile. That’s a good aspect, but it applied only to him, not to him and me.’
    ‘Don’t get paranoid, Annette,’ said Gilda. ‘If you worry about every little thing you’ll wear yourself out. Perhaps Spicer’s just getting you a his-and-hers chart for your birthday.’
    ‘Spicer would never do anything like that,’ said Annette. ‘He hates all that kind of gobbledegook. The religion of weak minds. Squelchy. So do I. And another thing—’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I wish Spicer hadn’t called at ten-thirty precisely. It’s as if he