Chapters (33)
- Cover
- PART ONE
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- PART TWO
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- About the Author
- By the same author
Tom, too, heaves himself up on to his feet. ‘Dear boy . . .’ He embraces Jomier. ‘It’s been like old times.’ The curtain has come down. The ham actor leaves the stage. He is back in his dressing room wiping off the greasepaint. Jomier would like to congratulate him on his performance but fears that might be a step too far. They part. Jomier goes out into Dean Street. Tom sinks back into his chair.
Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Judith opens the door to her house in Wandsworth. ‘Oh good.’ The expression in her eyes suggests that she means what she says. Jomier apologises for being late. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Each implants a kiss on the other’s two cheeks. Judith leads Jomier down her narrow hall and into her living room. There are four other guests – two women, two men. Judith introduces Jomier to her friends. She tells them: ‘We knew each other as children.’ Then, turning to smile at Jomier: ‘Well, rather more than children.’ Jomier takes it that this remark is necessary to explain the presence of a stranger among old friends. Jomier sits down on a sofa next to one of the women. She tells Jomier that she is called Annabel. Judith brings him a glass of white wine.
So far so good. While he talks about this and that, Jomier looks around him at the furniture and the pictures on the walls. All are fine but faded: the unravelled strands of seagrass on the floor covering and saggy loose covers on the sofa suggest that both were fitted some years ago. The sponge-painted pink walls must date from the 1990s. The white paint has yellowed on the bookshelves built in the embrasures on either side of the marble mantel. There is an elegant davenport and some drawings and watercolours in fine gilt frames. Standard lamps cast pools of dim light on to the floor.
One of the male guests is tall and balding; the other is stocky and small. Jomier is glad of their contrasting appearance because he has already forgotten their names. Both are slightly younger than Jomier: one, he learns, is an art dealer; the other a publisher of books on flora and fauna – a niche market, he tells Jomier, which makes him an adequate living.