Читать книгу Mitz - Sigrid Nunez - Страница 13

FOUR

One afternoon Virginia and Pinka walked to Charleston, arriving in time for tea. Charleston, Vanessa’s country retreat, which she shared with her companion, Duncan Grant, was about four miles from Monk’s House. In London, Vanessa and Duncan lived in Fitzroy Street, not far from Tavistock Square. Virginia and Vanessa were as close as two sisters can be. Vanessa was the elder by three years. Everyone called her Nessa, but to Virginia she was also Dolphin, and to Vanessa Virginia was usually Goat (these were names from their childhood).

Charleston was like no other house in England—Vanessa and Duncan had seen to that, decorating every inch of it—walls to windowsills—with their own hands. Virginia never ceased to be ravished by such a profusion of pattern and color, and always after coming home from Charleston her own house looked to her very plain and dull. But that was also how she looked to herself: very plain and dull beside Vanessa—a goddess in Virginia’s eyes, a radiant madonna, a complete woman, impossible not to envy. Vanessa had what people insisted could not be had: her art and her children.

At tea they discussed the same things they usually discussed: Vanessa’s painting, Virginia’s writing, family, friends.

“And how is the marmoset?” Vanessa asked.

“Very well, thank you,” Virginia said. “She was in rather bad shape when we got her, but Leonard has done such a wonderful job, she’s quite fine now.”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” Vanessa said, slyly. “He’s had such a lot of experience with—monkeys!”