The Critic by Martin Hunter

Author:Martin Hunter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cormorant Books
Published: 2013-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

LENORE

W hen Lenore Loring bit her housekeeper for the second time, her nieces decided it was necessary to move her into a home. As there was money to cover the costs, they decided that Buchanan Arms offered the best value. They stripped her of her diamond rings, which they put in a safety deposit box, thinned out her wardrobe, giving a few ancient ball gowns to the museum and much of the rest to Goodwill, and gave her housekeeper a handsome settlement.

The nieces were delighted to find that two of Lenore’s oldest friends were living at the Buchanan Arms, but Lenore showed no interest in them until one of the women, Lily Montrose, suggested they get together for a game of bridge. Although Lenore seemed not to remember Lily she remembered most of the Goren Convention, and to Lily’s delight they trounced their opponents, winning two straight rubbers. A few days later one of Lily’s grandsons came to visit, and she made a special point of taking him up to meet Lenore. Lenore found the child poisonous and told Lily so. There were no more bridge games. She also told her nieces she had no interest in seeing them and they discontinued their monthly visits.

The priest from St. Alban’s, which Lenore had attended sporadically for over thirty years, came to see her shortly after she moved into the Buchanan Arms. He quickly realized she had no intention of joining him in prayer. She told him how as a young girl she had wanted to be a missionary. His parents had been missionaries in China, so he talked to her about his boyhood memories. She listened with some interest before saying, “You’re making this up to get on my good side. But I’m not leaving a single penny to the church.”

The nurses at the Buchanan Arms were wary of Lenore, but they allowed her to keep a bottle of whisky in her room. She drank two shots in the morning, two in the afternoon, and two more after dinner. She frequently awoke in the middle of the night and had one more drink, then slept till after nine. As breakfast was at seven, she rarely ate it. She had never been much of a reader, although as a girl she had read Black Beauty and David Copperfield and The Mill on the Floss. Now she watched daytime soap operas. The nurses sometimes tried to talk with her about these shows, but although she had a few favourite characters, mainly crusty older women, she couldn’t follow the plotlines and missed most of the dialogue.

She was watching one of these soaps, her first whisky of the afternoon in hand, when there was a knock on her door and a nurse announced briskly that there was a visitor to see her. She ushered in a young man in his late thirties, who smiled at her. She was annoyed at being interrupted in the middle of the program, though she didn’t really understand what was going on, and said rather crossly, “Who are you?”

“Olivier Loring,” came the reply.

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