The Unforgotten by Patrice Chaplin

Author:Patrice Chaplin [Chaplin, Patrice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2016-12-08T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

SARAH KINGSLEY-ROE’S BASEMENT WAS FULL OF CHILDREN. At first Victoria thought there must be a party, but it was just the household gathered together for a meal. Cats slithered away into corners, dogs nosed under the table for scraps. Sarah stood solidly in the middle of it all, smoking. Victoria thought she was just staring into space, but she was looking into a place where chaos did not exist. It was imaginary, of course. Sarah described it as “the patch of green inside me. Without it I would go mad.”

She offered Victoria a cigarette. “Sorry, darling, I didn’t realize you were Gerry’s fiancée. No one tells me anything. Gerry might have introduced us.”

The adult lunch had been cleared away and there were several empty wine bottles and the stubborn smell of cigar smoke. The tutors stood together drinking tea, and the air was full of five-syllable words Victoria had never dreamed of. Sarah put a plate of cookies beside them; if no one was greedy they’d get one each. Victoria would not have associated sun with the basement and was surprised to see a ray strike Sarah’s hair.

“Have you just dropped in or are you meeting someone here?” Sarah had gone to the sink and began washing the dishes.

“You asked me to come to lunch.”

“Did I say lunch? It’s always at twelve, darling. Because of the tutors.”

“You said one.”

“I must stop doing that. Oh well, eating isn’t everything, is it? Have some bread and cheese, and there’s rather a nice pâté.”

A child screamed, dogs barked, a tutor howled with laughter. Even the clock seemed loud. Victoria walked across to Sarah’s big picture stuck between the refrigerator and the bar. It had about it a humility gleaned from all the eyes that had looked at it without seeing it. Sarah had ceased even to look at it herself. Yet its original vitality still struggled through the gray basement. Sarah collected another pile of plates and Victoria helped carry some glasses.

“But Rilke’s dimension is inwardness,” said a tutor.

“God, I hate obscurity,” whispered Sarah savagely.

“I thought you’d be used to it.”

Sarah turned off the water. “If only you knew how I hate it. All these compulsive ideas. They’re dangerous. Feelings are never allowed. Oh, no.” She sounded bitter. “But I found the way to survive. You have to be better at it than they are, darling. Rub their noses in their own ignorance. Beat them at their own game.”

“I like your painting, Sarah.”

“I’ll show you the rest someday.”

“Where are they?”

“Upstairs. Put away upstairs somewhere.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Simon couldn’t bear it. Men like to be fully supported night and day, darling. They don’t like anything that takes you away from them.” After a pause she said, “But you know all about that, coming from Crowsley.” Her voice was silvery and innocent. “How they keep disturbing what you do if it doesn’t relate to them. Also, you can’t be better than they, of course. I expect you’ve discovered that.”

“Well, I don’t have much to take me away from Gerry.

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