Imaginative Experience by Mary Wesley

Author:Mary Wesley [Wesley, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-5059-2
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-10-02T23:13:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

IN HIS HOTEL IN Los Angeles Sylvester waited for his partner’s call from London. As he waited he sifted through letters which had been addressed to him in New York, where business had gone well. He had met old friends, been to parties, shopped for shirts, socks and underpants at Brooks Brothers, before driving up to Vermont to see ‘the Colour’ and meet an author whose manuscript disappointed (as did ‘the Colour’; over when he arrived). Leaving before his mail could catch up with him, he had flown to Los Angeles for a week’s work before ten days’ holiday in Colorado where the snow was late, the skiing poor and he tired of his own company. Back in Los Angeles, his flight booked for London, bags packed and expecting to be in his office within thirty-six hours, he imagined these much-travelled letters would be of little interest.

Two were from his solicitor detailing the course of his divorce which, according to a fax received that morning, was now a fait accompli. Next, a gossipy missive from a colleague noted for irritating sexual and lavatorial jokes: Rebecca, lovelorn, telephones to enquire about your progress but in reality to ensure that we should not miss the finalizing—what a mirth-provoking expression—of your marital split and to find out whether you have fallen for some randy super American girl or can she still cherish a mite of hope? We in the office all hope for a super sex girl, it would be good for your health. There was more in similar vein. Sylvester dropped the letter into the trash basket.

The last missive in Rebecca’s strong hand began: Really, Sylvester, you were unwise not to leave your keys with me. Your cleaning woman, if that’s what she is, puts out rubbish which smells of horse. I suspect she has allowed squatters in. There was a horrid mongrel on your doorstep yesterday and a scruffy sort of man followed me from your street to the King’s Road. The police, of course, won’t lift a finger and your answerphone tells me you are ‘busy at the moment and will ring back if I leave a message’. I hesitate to worry you when you must be extra low with news of Celia marrying Andrew Battersby when your divorce comes through in January. She has not let the grass grow, has she? The office do not seem to know when you will be back but tell me you have made splendid deals, no surprise there. I hope you have not overworked, it will not assuage your grief. You should take a little holiday, try to forget this sad, sad news. Yours affectionately, Rebecca. PS I see in The Times that your aunt has passed away.

Sylvester was laughing when the call came through from London. He said, ‘Hallo, John, see you Friday. My flight is tonight.’

John said, ‘Glad I caught you. I want you to go and see Marvin Bratt.’

‘Who is Marvin Bratt?’

‘Was a Republican Senator. He has a manuscript we must go for.

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