The Tennis Party by Sophie Kinsella

Author:Sophie Kinsella [Kinsella, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780552772235
Publisher: BLACK SWAN (TWLD)
Published: 2004-07-20T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Nothing much more was said for a while. Annie, who had drunk more than anyone – including herself – had quite realized, began weeping quiet, unobtrusive tears of gratitude at Caroline’s and Patrick’s offer. Stephen smiled apologetically round the room and put his arm round her; the others sat blankly as if overcome by sudden torpor; staring silently down into their coffee grounds with numbed, drunk, late-night expressions. After a while, Caroline began to yawn rather ostentatiously. Stephen glanced at his watch and began to shift position; Patrick quietly collected the coffee cups and put them back on the tray.

Charles realized, with alarm, that the party was breaking up. Suddenly the idea of tamely going up to bed filled him with horror. After this evening, he felt alive and invigorated. He felt young again. Hearing about Ella’s travels, about her friendship with Maud Vennings, talking about artists, even discussing Stephen’s mystery play, had suddenly reminded him of what he used to be like. Christ, how his values, his interests, even his idea of a good time had changed since marriage. Or, really, since Cressida. When was the last time he had stayed up all night, or got stoned? When was the last time he had thrown himself headlong into an argument, debating the point for debating’s sake – even if he agreed with his opponent? When was the last time he had spent a whole evening excitedly sketching out some new project for the Print Centre that was doomed to be a commercial failure?

He glanced down at his wrist, expensively cuffed in a Jermyn Street shirt, expensively adorned with a Swiss watch. Of course his life had changed. No-one could expect him to remain a bloody hippy all his life; to live off bread and sex and cheap drugs. And it wasn’t just him. The world had changed. It was Stephen who was the oddity these days, still idealistic; still naïve; still poor. Charles’ thoughts flickered complacently to the house in the Cathedral Close. It had cost a fucking fortune, that house.

His mind paused, and he waited for the customary kick of pleasure that thinking about his new wealth generally brought him. But this time it hadn’t worked. The feeling of excitement in his stomach had nothing to do with his wife and her worldly goods. He imagined Cressida’s face, waiting for him upstairs; pale, insipid, stupid. Going up to bed was unthinkable.

He glanced at Ella, clutching her knees and gazing dreamily at nothing.

‘I feel like a bit of a walk,’ he said quietly. ‘A breath of fresh air. Want to join me?’ Ella regarded him consideringly.

‘All right,’ she said eventually, and smiled her secretive smile. ‘You can show me the garden. Caroline,’ she said, raising her voice, ‘it’s not too late to go walking in the garden, is it? We won’t get bats in our hair?’

‘Oh no,’ said Caroline, ‘I don’t think so.’ She looked puzzledly at Patrick, swaying very slightly. ‘Bats?’ she repeated. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Go ahead,’ said Patrick, smiling at them over Caroline’s head.

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