A Lovesong for India: Tales from the East and West by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala

Author:Ruth Prawer Jhabvala [Jhabvala, Ruth Prawer]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781619020351
Publisher: Perseus Books Group
Published: 2012-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

She arrived unannounced – on the spur of the moment, of her moment – carrying flowers and his play. It was a rainy day and the flowers were wet, and so were her cheeks, dewy like her eyes. At her entrance, waves of excitement displaced the air, and the seismic change penetrated the closed door of Theo’s study. He appeared; she held out his play. ‘I love it of course,’ she said without fervour. ‘But there’s a lot we need to discuss.’

Taking his play from her, he stood looking puzzled. Madame began to explain; she was embarrassed and too slow for Patty, who took over: ‘I’ve been making Madame’s life a misery till she got it for me. I think she had to steal it.’ She laughed and Theo twisted his lips into a smile.

‘I thought it was so perfect for her,’ Madame apologised. Theo said, ‘You mean, as a starring vehicle.’ He appeared amused not angry, so that Madame lowered her eyes as one who had been unexpectedly forgiven.

‘God, no,’ Patty said. ‘You’re the star.’ He pretended to believe she meant it, he put his hand on his heart and bowed his head.

‘But these are for you!’ Patty exclaimed, handing over her flowers to Madame, who inhaled them. She said tulips were her favourites; these were particularly gorgeous, tall and upright, scentless, shining like prima donnas.

‘All right.’ Theo spoke as though something had been settled in his mind, a situation accepted. ‘How about some tea,’ he ordered Eileen, who went out into the kitchen. By now Patty was ensconced in a corner of their sofa; her legs were crossed, she was wearing knee-high leather boots.

‘So you like it,’ Theo said. ‘It wasn’t much of a hit, you know. Rather a damp squib, in fact, though that may have been the audience. The subscribers in these theatre clubs are never less than a hundred years old and the seats much too hard for their ancient buttocks.’

‘I’m not thinking of a club,’ Patty said. ‘But it would have to be a different play. I want it to be different. I want it for me. You hate me for saying that.’

Madame, her arms full of flowers, was watching them. Their presence together was thrilling. He was standing, his elbow propped on the mantelpiece; she looking up at him from the sofa. They were a scene, a play, the eternal duel, man and woman.

‘Shouldn’t you be putting those in water,’ Theo suggested, making his mother exclaim, ‘Poor thirsty darlings!’ She tore herself away and joined Eileen in the kitchen. But once there, she left the flowers lying on the table and herself sank on to a chair, exhausted with hope.

‘Eileen, it may happen. They’ll work together.’

When Eileen carried in the tea, they were as Madame had left them. Eileen had always admired her husband’s personality. Although not very tall, he had the bearing of someone in a position to look down on whatever he chose to notice. However, Patty, looking up at him as he stood above her leaning against the mantelpiece, was not submissive.

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