Читать книгу The Chapter of St Cloud - Marcus Attwater - Страница 9

Claire added her Ford Ka to the motley collection of cars parked in the drive and contemplated the house. It looked like something that should be administered by English Heritage, with its façade practically unaltered since it was built, and the handsome wings added in a later century harmonising rather than clashing with the original building. Architecture wasn't her strong point, but she knew she liked this. As she was getting her bags from the boot, Simon came running down the steps to catch her in his arms. That was one of the things she loved about him, that he would give her a full-on snog even though he knew half his family must be watching. He wasn't easily embarrassed.

'Ciao cara, I'm so glad you're here.' He took one of her bags, and together they walked up to the front door, where his mother was waiting, a smile on her face. 'Hello Anna,' Claire said, kissing her on both cheeks, 'Good to see you again.' She marvelled again at how young Anna looked, more like Simon's sister than his mother. And she was always so unruffled and smartly turned out, you wouldn't say she was raising three adolescents either. Sometimes Claire felt like a frump in comparison.

'I've put you in the same room as last time,' Anna said, 'You remember the way? Then I'll leave you to your own devices. See you at dinner, my dears.'

'She thinks you're one of the family now,' Simon grinned, 'So she's not going to play hostess. Do you want to change for dinner?'

'How much time do we have?'

His grin became even broader. 'Time enough.'

There were four generations living in the house, from Simon's octogenarian great-grandfather Toby down to his eleven-year-old brother Titus. Simon was the first to admit that it was an odd arrangement.

'But I suppose the house sort of asks for it, and we've always been close, as a family.'

'Yes, you said so before. I still think it's wonderful,' Claire said, 'Is everybody here now?'

They were lying side by side on the wide guest bed, listening to the life of the house going on behind the door.

'Bennett and Maisie are still on holiday. And dad's been in France for a while, but he'll be back any day now.'

'You'll have to explain a bit more, you know,' Claire said, rolling onto her side to smile at him, 'Who are Bennett and Maisie?'

'My great-uncle and -aunt. You've met their daughter, my cousin Bethany.'

'Of course, I liked her. So what's your father doing in France?'

'Oh, I'm not sure. Something to do with property we have there, I think.'

They were so easy to get along with, Claire sometimes forgot that Simon's family must be, by her standards, quite ridiculously rich. She couldn't imagine not being sure about whether her family had property in France or not. But they didn't act rich, and they all had quite normal jobs. Except for Anna. It had come as a complete surprise to Claire that Simon's mother was better known as the chick-lit author Laura Garnett. She had found out by accident during her last visit, when she had picked up a bundle of letters addressed to the author.

'That's you?' she had asked Anna, 'I know the books, of course, but I thought Laura Garnett…'

'…was a cheerfully single thirty-something?' Anna smiled, 'The publishers are very careful not to let on that I'm married with five children, it would spoil the image. And 'Laura Garnett' works so much better than plain 'Anna', don't you think? I always wanted to be a Laura as a girl, and Garnett's my maiden name.'

'And my sisters would die if their mates found out their mother writes chick-lit,' Simon had put in.

They had chatted on about her books, until Claire suddenly caught up with what Anna had actually said.

'Five children? But there's only Simon and the two girls and Titus…'

Anna suddenly looked older.

'Jacob's no longer here,' Simon said shortly.

'Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry.'

He shrugged. 'You couldn't know.'

'It's not-' Anna began, but she thought better of what she had been going to say, and with a visible effort, had returned to the subject of writing. Simon's other brother had not been mentioned again.

'I'm so glad you're visiting us again, Claire,' Bethany said, as they sat down to dinner, 'Simon doesn't know how lucky he is. What will you do while you're here? Sightseeing?'

'Some of that, I suppose,' Claire replied with a smile. She had taken to Bethany at once when she met her, she was easier to get along with than Simon's two sisters, who seemed to live in a teenage world Claire was carefully excluded from. She told Bethany about her plans to learn Italian.

'Rather you than me,' she said, 'Simon speaks it fluently, of course. He went there for four months during his last year at uni, and came home chattering away like a native. Don't know how he does it.'

'I hope it helps that I know Latin. Vocabulary shouldn't be a problem, at least.'

'You know Latin? But of course, you'd need that for medieval history. I had Latin at school for a year, hated it.' She pulled a face. 'Noun cases.'

'Medieval Latin is quite fun,' Claire replied, knowing this sounded unlikely, 'You can see the other languages coming through, sometimes.'

All through the conversation she had the feeling she was being watched. She knew the younger members of the family would be stealing glances at Simon's girlfriend, but it wasn't that. Sometimes, when she looked around, she saw Simon Peter's piercing blue eyes regarding her. Simon's grandfather - why, if they were all going to live in the one house, did they insist on naming all the eldest sons Simon? - was a quiet man, not given to heartiness or jokes. When he said something, it was meant to be listened to. Claire was sure that had she been a few years younger, she would have been frightened of him. But there was also a familiarity about him, because he and Simon looked so much alike. When she was introduced to Simon Peter, Claire had thought: so this is what he will look like when he's in his sixties… it could be worse. His wife Edie was a self-effacing woman who had clearly handed over lady-of-the-house duties to Anna with a big sigh of relief, but Simon Peter was very much the lord of the manor still.

'So, Claire,' he said, when Bethany turned to her other neighbour. 'You and I never really had a chance to talk the last time you were here. Tell me about your work.'

'I lecture in medieval history at Royal Holloway. I specialize in gender and Christianity,' she reeled off.

He narrowed his eyes. 'Female monasticism?'

'Not only,' she said, slightly taken aback, 'But I did publish an article on that, as a matter of fact.'

'Yes, Queens of the Cloister. I thought it interesting.'

'You've read it?'

'I thought I would see what Simon's girlfriend got up to. Do you like teaching?'

To be or not to be honest? With this man, it was hardly a question. 'Not really,' she admitted, 'It's part of the career, but I'd prefer to do only research, if I could. Take the time to write a full-length book instead of trying to get an essay published here and there. I would like to develop the idea of the convent as liberating rather than constricting.' Feeling she had said enough on that subject, Claire switched tracks. 'And what do you do? Or used to do, maybe?'

'Yes, I suppose you could say I'm retired now. But I still sit on the board of the scholarship fund, together with my son. Your Simon will take my place there eventually.'

Your Simon. If even this patriarch conceded that Simon was hers, she was home and dry. Just imagine, if she and Simon should marry, she would come to live here. Maybe she would not have to teach anymore, she could write her book, in one of those charming smaller rooms on the second floor… What a very unreconstructed fantasy, Claire, her inner feminist scolded.

'Scholarship fund?' she said.

'Hasn't he told you about that? The family fund two scholarships every year, for one girl and one boy to take the honours degree of their choice at the local university. My grandfather set it up in the thirties, just for talented girls to start with, because back then it was so much harder for them.'

'No, Simon didn't say. How lovely. Simon! Why didn't you tell me?'

'Tell you what?'

'About the scholarships.'

'There's so much I don't tell you,' he joked, 'But the scholarships are dad's baby, really. You should ask him about it.'

Claire was glad that the family wealth was being put to such a good use, especially now it became harder and harder for bright students to get university places, and she said so.

Later that evening, while Simon was doing his share of the housework, Claire called her friend Gina. She just had to tell someone about it all.

'The whole family in one house?' Gina exclaimed, 'Christ, I'd hate that.'

'They're not like your family, Geen. And the house is enormous.'

'But how do they manage? The shopping alone…'

'There's a cook. And aunt Rhoda functions as a kind of, well, matron, I suppose. There's cleaning duty rosters and everything - but you only get put on them when you stay longer than a week. And dinner's in two sittings - in the morning you put yourself down for six or eight o' clock, so the cook knows for how many she should, um, cook.'

'Sounds dreadful.'

'It isn't. It runs like clockwork, actually. And apart from dinner and housework the families have their own apartments. It isn't as if I can just clump into Simon's grandmother's sitting room without knocking.'

'Hm. But don't the kids want to move out? I couldn't wait to be on my own, when I was eighteen or so. Neither could you, Claire.'

'Sure the kids move out when they go to university. And they don't all move back to live here. They don't have to. But I suppose a house like this is hard to leave. You and I never had a home like this. I wouldn't have wanted to leave here.'

'Yes, I noticed that.'

'Look Geen, why are you being so sceptical? I'm trying to tell you I like it here.'

'I'm your friend, it's my duty to be sceptical. Remember when Julia was dating that creep Rory?'

Claire snorted. 'I'm a lot older and wiser than Julia was then. No wacky Christian sect here, I promise you. Just plain, non-attending C of E.'

'Glad to hear it. You take care.'

'You too, Geen. Catch you later.'