Hemingway's Chair by Michael Palin

Author:Michael Palin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

Twenty

Marshall’s flat was small and sparsely furnished. It occupied one side of the top floor of what had once been both a family house and a country hotel on the outskirts of Atcham. A few dull prints of naval inaction relieved the blandness of avocado walls. The furniture seemed carefully chosen for its neutrality. There was a smell of new carpet about. Martin glimpsed a tidy bedroom almost entirely taken up with a large double bed covered by a paisley duvet. A pile of magazines was stacked high on one side of a dressing table. The room next to the bedroom looked more of an office. Through a crack in the door he could see shelves full of directories, at least two computers and thick clusters of wires and cables. He could detect no signs of a feminine presence, indeed it was hard to think where one might fit in.

‘Why do you live right out here?’ Martin asked, as Marshall handed him a pitifully small Scotch.

‘Well, it suits me for now. I’m not a great one for putting down roots. Here, have a look at this.’ He picked up a copy of Business Investor magazine, and tossed it across to him. The cover illustration featured a montage of aerials and matt-black satellite dishes beneath the heading, ‘Future Perfect. The Next Revolution’.

‘Page fifteen.’

Marshall disappeared into one of the rooms and a moment or two later Martin could hear him talking on the telephone. He opened the magazine and found the article, but couldn’t understand much of it. It was full of terms like ‘information super-highway’, ‘interactive services’ and ‘electronic cottages’. The gist seemed to be that information technology was now so sophisticated that there seemed little necessity for two human beings ever to meet again.

Martin was wading slowly through this world of endless possibilities when he heard a key in the lock and a moment later Geraldine Cotton pushed the door open and, holding it with her foot, reached outside again for two bulging carrier bags. Martin got up. ‘D’you want a hand?’

She shook her head and he sat back down again. She pulled a last bag in and changed her mind. ‘You could take those two through to the kitchen for me, that’d be a help.’

Martin sprang up again. He took them through and watched her as she unbuttoned an old wide-shouldered tweed coat. She slipped it off, revealing a collarless flannel shirt draped low over a navy teeshirt and a short, tight, red leather skirt. She slipped her feet unselfconsciously out of a pair of high-heeled shoes.

‘He’s given you a drink then,’ she said.

‘And a magazine.’

‘You are honoured. People usually just get the magazine.’

Geraldine dropped the coat on a chair and quickly looked around the room. ‘Not too bad,’ she muttered to herself, then smiled brightly as she passed by Martin. ‘Sit down. You look uncomfortable.’

Martin selected the sofa. It was imitation leather of some kind and its surface had a thin, sticky texture. It sighed unhappily as he sat down.

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