A Period of Adjustment by Dirk Bogarde

for the cheese board. ‘Not much I can say, is there? It’s a great moment to suddenly see the light. You hardly knew the children. Oh, a couple of ghastly holidays in some god-awful barns in France, the obligatory picnics on bitter beaches. You were as much fun to them as an abscess.’
    â€˜I know, and I am apologizing.’
    â€˜Ten, twelve, years too late.’
    â€˜Not too late. Just in time. Perhaps.’
    â€˜Well. The sooner we start on the alterations the better.’ She cut a wedge of Pont L’Évêque, reached for the basket of sliced baguette, spread a piece with a lot of butter. Dottie, I vaguely thought, would not have approved at all, but the sharpness of Helen’s voice banished reverie. ‘And you had better start on your halo-polishing now. Get your backside on to a seat and start battering away at your “best friend”, Mr Typewriter. You’re going to have to dig deep into your pocket to pay for some more school fees, for your “refound” son, Giles.’ She bit into the bread as if it had been my throat.
    â€˜Will I indeed? What have you in mind? Eton, Harrow, Gordonstoun?’
    â€˜Deadly witty! I don’t remember you putting him down for any of those at his conception.’
    â€˜No. Agreed. I did not.’
    â€˜God knows you planned everything else for that event. You even got yourself pissed. Desperation time in the double bed. Talk about donated sperm! God!’
    â€˜Giles was a final effort to get us back together. Remember? Deliberate.’
    â€˜The “bicycle patch”, you said. Your deathless prose, not mine, and then when he arrived hardly a glance in hisdirection for sodding years. You do make me
so
bloody angry sometimes.’ She took a large gulp of white wine, her eyes wide with rage. She looked very fine; and was furious when I said so.
    â€˜What, then, have you in mind. Harrow, and so on, apart?’
    â€˜Eason Lodge. It’s terribly good, expensive, but worth it. The Cornwalls sent Hector and Bobby there. They were very pleased.’
    â€˜Bully for the Cornwalls. Does anyone know? I mean does the school know? Does Giles know?’
    â€˜Not yet, and yes, the school does know. Dr Lang is extremely pleasant, so is his wife. He wants to see the child, obviously, as soon as possible, but I got all his reports and so on from St David’s, and he was quite impressed. He also spoke with Mr Loder at St David’s, who was very reassuring. Anyway, Giles has a place, all being equal, and he could start in the autumn term. September. That’ll give us time.’
    â€˜Where is this school? Would I know?’ I poured myself a brimming glass of Sauvignon. There wasn’t very much else to do at the table. I wasn’t hungry and I had to sit there listening to this tarradiddle from Helen. Until I was ready.
    â€˜I don’t know if
you
know it. It’s near Burnham Beeches, so it’ll be very useful for weekends. He will board only during the week, and Annie is already over at Chalfont, so that’s a huge help. Easy to get to for, you know, speech days, sports days, the school plays, carol-singing … that sort of thing.’
    â€˜Wonderfully easy. And everyone will be at Burnham Beeches together then? I mean you and, whatsisname, Eric Thingummy, Giles and Annie.’
    She did not flinch, just said quietly, ‘
His
name is Eric and
hers
is Annicka. Yes, we’ll all be together. They each have a lovely room up on the top, views over the woods and fields, lovely.
And
a bathroom each, huge luxury! You must admitit’ll be an improvement for them? Country air, all that stuff. Super.’ She took another, less violent, bite out of the baguette. ‘I have been very good and sent all my really personal things, clothes, books, my typewriter, processor, most of the children’s things, down to Mummy’s. She’s got loads of space for storage. It makes it