BooksBarbecue
Back Life at the Top
Chapters (30)
  1. Introduction
  2. LIFE AT THE TOP
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. About the Author
  30. About the Cover

I glanced round the room; Susan was talking animatedly to Mark and Sybil. I walked over towards Norah. Mrs. Brown, deep in conversation with Canon Tintman, didn’t, for once, notice me.

Norah was standing by herself. She didn’t seem to be dis­tressed at being on her own or to be attempting to cover up the fact by inspection of the pictures or furniture or bric-à-brac; she was enough in herself, she neither flinched away from others nor ran towards them.

“We meet again,” I said. “Can I get you something?”

“No, thank you.” I saw that there was a full glass of sherry on the table beside her.

“This is your first visit, then.” To my astonishment I could think of nothing to say.

“In a way,” she said. “It’s really most impressive.”

“Ten bedrooms,” I said. “Four bathrooms. A tennis court, a swimming pool, four acres of grounds—”

“Four acres?” she said, incredulously.

“Nineteen thousand three hundred and sixty square yards.” I put my hand lightly on her arm; her flesh felt warm and soft under the thin cotton. She didn’t move her arm away, but her lips parted slightly. I stared at her: I would remember this. My mind was full of things I didn’t want to remember; now there was some­thing I wanted to remember, even down to the serrated glass buttons on her dress.

“I never know things like that,” she said. “I’m the wrong person for a journalist, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” I said. “I like your work.” Her dress was short-sleeved; I wanted to move my hand down to stroke her bare skin. Her arms were beautiful, not fat or heavily muscled but strong and rounded. I moved over to the window, my hand still on her arm; she could easily have shaken it off but she kept close to me. “Look,” I said. “All that’s just about one sixth of the grounds.”

“Those roses would be enough for me,” she said.

I let my hand drop from her arm; we had only been together for a few minutes but there were other people in the room. I knew them all and they all had long tongues. And Larry Silving­ton, the longest tongue of all, was approaching us.