The Legacy by Melanie Phillips

Author:Melanie Phillips [Phillips, Melanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781682615669
Publisher: Post Hill Press
Published: 2018-02-19T16:00:00+00:00

16

“SO, NO MAN in your life, then?”

They sat companionably over coffee and a fragrant Muscat. She had attacked her treacle tart and cinnamon ice-cream with a childlike concentration.

“Mnn, nursery puddings,” she had sighed in artless satisfaction as she finally put down her spoon.

It was very easy between them. Russell felt as relaxed as if he’d known her forever. Yet he didn’t know the first thing about her.

She lived in Stockwell, it turned out, with two cats called Beatrice and Benedick.

“Why…?”

“Because they’re always teasing each other.”

He looked blank.

“As You Like It?”

“Ah…”

She was that into Shakespeare? He adjusted his view of her once more.

“But they love each other really. At least, I hope they do. You can never be sure, can you?”

He was disconcerted by her direct stare.

They had agreed to meet in the National Theatre restaurant, which seemed a reasonable halfway point between them.

Now she pouted coquettishly. “Does there have to be a man?”

“You’re not…”

“No, no,” she laughed, “I’m just pretty self-contained I suppose. And you?”

Once again she held his gaze. With her almond-shaped eyes, he thought she had a look of a cat herself.

“Was married but it didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry. And you weren’t close to your father?”

“No, there were…well, issues.”

“Sad. My family’s very close. I thought Jews were close?”

He bridled, despite himself. She looked at him thoughtfully, her head on one side.

“You know, I really liked your East End proposal. It’s…it’s really quite moving.”

“It is?”

“Sure. The father you never really knew, the vanished world in which he grew up, all that, it really makes it all come alive, you know. Draws the viewer in. Makes me want to know more about you, about your background.”

He shifted in his chair. Was this a come-on, he wondered. She steadily held his gaze. No giveaway there.

“Well it feels a bit, you know, solipsistic.”

“No, viewers really love this, to get a little glimpse of what’s burning away behind the presenter’s mask.”

“Not sure anything’s burning,” he said uneasily.

“Oooh, I’m getting a whiff of scorch marks,” she said softly.

He stared out of the picture windows. White fairy lights were strung out along the river, their reflection twinkling in the black water. He wondered what she would say if he told her about the boys outside the mosque.

“I went into a church there. It was beautiful, but it had been vandalized. There was graffiti saying ‘Christian scum.’”

“How awful. Do they know who did it?”

“Just youths. Apparently.”

“Ah.”

She looked down at the table. There was a pause.

“Apparently the vicar was beaten up too.”

She shook her head.

“I think we want this film to be very positive, don’t we. We want to create…a certain atmosphere. Poignant buildings, streets of memories, nostalgia for transient worlds, that kind of thing. We don’t want to get sidetracked.”

“Absolutely not,” he said fervently. He decided not to tell her about the beer and those other youths.

“Hope you won’t take this the wrong way,” she said, “but, well, can you tell me about Judaism? I’ve always wanted to find out.”

He was taken aback.

“What do you know?” he parried.

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