Читать книгу The Essence of the Thing - Madeleine John St. - Страница 17

The splendour passed; Jonathan was possessed once more by the familiar demon whose dark oppressing wings enfolded his mind. He sat down on a garden seat and leaned back, closing his eyes against the bright spring sunshine, listening to the countryside sounds, trying, failing, to shun thought, recollection, reflection. Why this abiding darkness? Wasn’t the worst over and done? Nicola, for all he now knew, might be gone, out of his sight, when he returned to London the following evening; he might even now be effectively free: free of all the terrible demands of that scrutiny, that intimacy, that sharing of the self. Free, and alone: to be alone was to be free.

Suddenly the weight of a human being fell on to the seat beside him and a voice loudly spoke to him. ‘Ah! here you are!’ It was his mother, whose approach had been silenced by the lawn across which she had advanced. Oh, God. No matter where one was, there was someone, some woman, peering into one’s soul. It was intolerable. He had even (so he fancied) caught his secretary apparently at it. They peered into one’s soul and left one naked and helpless.

He sat up. ‘I was just thinking of going for a walk,’ he said. ‘Oh, but do stay for a moment now I’m here,’ she said. ‘Do tell me how Nicola is getting on. Such a pity she couldn’t come with you, when the weather’s so nice.’ What a pity you are not married: have no children: aren’t happier to be here: but see how tolerant we are, have always been; how tolerant, how patient. All the younger generation seem to be the same, all living together without benefit of clergy. Of course they settle down in the end. Mostly. When would Jonathan’s end arrive, though? It was taking such a very long time. And why no Nicola this weekend, after all? ‘She always enjoys the garden so much, doesn’t she?’ she went on. ‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘I suppose she does.’

‘So she’s quite well, is she?’ Not quite what we would have liked for Jonathan, ideally, but still, quite a nice girl. Quite a nice girl. Highly educated, of course; as they all are these days – funny, isn’t it? ‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘She’s fine.’ ‘Good,’ said his mother. ‘Well, you must make sure you bring her next time.’ ‘Yes,’ said Jonathan. ‘Sure thing.’ Oh ho. You bet. Sorry, Ma.