Читать книгу Undressing Emmanuelle: A memoir - Sylvia Kristel - Страница 28

24

The Mercedes convertible has the top down and is speeding along the school drive. The beast groans, beeps, leaps onto the lawn and skids to a standstill a few yards from Sister Marie Immaculata, who is stiff with fear and fury. A big patch of her short green lawn has just been scalped. Her eyes are dark with unfamiliar anger; gentle Sister Marie looks about to attack in defence of her land.

‘It’s my father,’ I say, ashamed and glad. I have been waiting for him since this morning.

My father jumps out of the speed machine as soon as it stops and walks quickly towards me, holding out his arms. I run up and hug him. Hanny is in the car. Her make-up is a caricature of femininity in which my father thinks he can find an easy, simple life. She must like penetration.

She steps out of the car, avoiding me and cornering Sister Marie, who takes a step back.

‘Mother!’ shouts the woman.

‘Sister!’ corrects Marie.

‘Sister, I am the new Mrs Kristel, so I’m telling you’ – she grabs Sister Marie Immaculata by the arm and leads her away – ‘with me, there’ll be no more problems! No more drinking! I will be personally overseeing the education of my husband’s girls …’

My father takes my hand, smiles and leads me towards the car.

Hanny is having an animated discussion with Sister Marie, who is keeping her at a distance by gently pushing her back at regular intervals. My father takes advantage of this to escape for a few minutes, taking me for a short drive. It’s Sunday, the spring colours are bright and the air is warm. I lean my head back and let myself be lulled by the regular, mechanical noise of the engine, a noise I have missed. My father is quiet, happy, and I am dreaming away with the top down.

When they’ve gone Sister Marie Immaculata concludes: ‘There’s only one thing to do, my girl: pray!’