his woman.’
‘She wants you to investigate my father?’
‘That’s right. There’s nothing personal about it. It’s only—’
‘What a good idea,’ Robert said. ‘What a very good idea. Get the low-down on them, Lina. Get all the facts about them and put them in Mrs de Winter’s book.’
‘Countess de Winter; she said I could call her Violet. The book will only have case-histories but no names, you see. I don’t know why you want to upset your father so much; after all, he is your father. I understand what you feel about the shamed woman, Robert, but your father is your flesh and your blood; if he was in his grave you would look for his grave like me.’
‘I would dance on it,’ Robert said.
‘What’s wrong with your father? Many men have mistresses, it isn’t their fault. When you’re older you will understand.’
‘He can have twenty mistresses. I just don’t like him.’
‘But you like Curran instead.’
‘No, I don’t like Curran, either.’
‘You love your mother?’
‘Oh, God! I just never think of her. She doesn’t count.’
‘You must be an idealist,’ said Lina. ‘You are a man of vision. What do you do all day when you don’t see me?’
‘I’m working on a book. Maybe a novel.’
‘Here is friends of yours, waving. Who are they?’
‘Grace Gregory,’ Robert said, ‘with her Leo. Let’s get out of here.’ He took Lina’s arm and turned her towards the garden exit.
Grace, however, caught up with them, her breath cheerfully visible in the cold air as she said, ‘Well there you are, Robert, with your lady-friend. Come along now, introduce us, here’s Leo. We had a wonderful morning, didn’t we, Leo? Let’s all sit down on this bench. Sit down, sit down, what do you mean, it’s cold? I’m Grace Gregory and this is Leo. What name did you say Lina Pancake, ah, Pan choff. I always say foreign girls are good for a boy to start with, don’t I, Leo? Oh, look there, over the hedge. It looks like a funeral.’ Sure enough, coming up the side-canal was a funeral barge, gold and black, brilliant with flowers.
A Venetian funeral is intended not to be missed. Even the motor of the barge chugs with a mournful dignity. On the tip of the prow is a gilded ball with flame-like wings, signifying who knows what pagan or civic concept, but certainly symbolising eternity. Next on either side of the wide black boat come two golden lions couchant. Then the windscreen, surmounted by vivid masses of flowers under which is posted the sombre, steady-eyed driver. Close behind the driver the men of the family stand, hatted, in dark suits. Then the coffin in the middle of the hearse, the lid covered with bright yellow and red flowers, and the wooden sides glittering with elaborate carvings. More enormous-headed flowers cover the cabin at the stern where the women mourn with black veils and white handkerchiefs. Another ball of eternal flames at the stern gives moral support to the general idea. And all this is reflected in the water beneath it: the stately merchandise and arrogance of Venetian death, as of old, when money was weighty and haste was vile.
Even Grace Gregory was impressed, exclaiming with approval how, with a funeral like that, nobody could pity the dead one. ‘I always hope that when my time comes nobody will come to the funeral and say “poor Grace”. That’s what I would object to.’
Lina remarked that she wished she could find her father’s grave. ‘Maybe he had a funeral like that.’ Whereupon she and Grace, there in the garden, went into a series of avid questions, answers and explanations that lasted until Grace was apprised of the young woman’s situation and plight, and long after the funeral barge had disappeared. Robert walked away. Young Leo hung round the two women, staring with much appreciation at Lina as she gave her animated account of her life to the present date.
Chapter Eight
A N OPALESCENT DAY, PINK and grey. Lina was moving her light
‘She wants you to investigate my father?’
‘That’s right. There’s nothing personal about it. It’s only—’
‘What a good idea,’ Robert said. ‘What a very good idea. Get the low-down on them, Lina. Get all the facts about them and put them in Mrs de Winter’s book.’
‘Countess de Winter; she said I could call her Violet. The book will only have case-histories but no names, you see. I don’t know why you want to upset your father so much; after all, he is your father. I understand what you feel about the shamed woman, Robert, but your father is your flesh and your blood; if he was in his grave you would look for his grave like me.’
‘I would dance on it,’ Robert said.
‘What’s wrong with your father? Many men have mistresses, it isn’t their fault. When you’re older you will understand.’
‘He can have twenty mistresses. I just don’t like him.’
‘But you like Curran instead.’
‘No, I don’t like Curran, either.’
‘You love your mother?’
‘Oh, God! I just never think of her. She doesn’t count.’
‘You must be an idealist,’ said Lina. ‘You are a man of vision. What do you do all day when you don’t see me?’
‘I’m working on a book. Maybe a novel.’
‘Here is friends of yours, waving. Who are they?’
‘Grace Gregory,’ Robert said, ‘with her Leo. Let’s get out of here.’ He took Lina’s arm and turned her towards the garden exit.
Grace, however, caught up with them, her breath cheerfully visible in the cold air as she said, ‘Well there you are, Robert, with your lady-friend. Come along now, introduce us, here’s Leo. We had a wonderful morning, didn’t we, Leo? Let’s all sit down on this bench. Sit down, sit down, what do you mean, it’s cold? I’m Grace Gregory and this is Leo. What name did you say Lina Pancake, ah, Pan choff. I always say foreign girls are good for a boy to start with, don’t I, Leo? Oh, look there, over the hedge. It looks like a funeral.’ Sure enough, coming up the side-canal was a funeral barge, gold and black, brilliant with flowers.
A Venetian funeral is intended not to be missed. Even the motor of the barge chugs with a mournful dignity. On the tip of the prow is a gilded ball with flame-like wings, signifying who knows what pagan or civic concept, but certainly symbolising eternity. Next on either side of the wide black boat come two golden lions couchant. Then the windscreen, surmounted by vivid masses of flowers under which is posted the sombre, steady-eyed driver. Close behind the driver the men of the family stand, hatted, in dark suits. Then the coffin in the middle of the hearse, the lid covered with bright yellow and red flowers, and the wooden sides glittering with elaborate carvings. More enormous-headed flowers cover the cabin at the stern where the women mourn with black veils and white handkerchiefs. Another ball of eternal flames at the stern gives moral support to the general idea. And all this is reflected in the water beneath it: the stately merchandise and arrogance of Venetian death, as of old, when money was weighty and haste was vile.
Even Grace Gregory was impressed, exclaiming with approval how, with a funeral like that, nobody could pity the dead one. ‘I always hope that when my time comes nobody will come to the funeral and say “poor Grace”. That’s what I would object to.’
Lina remarked that she wished she could find her father’s grave. ‘Maybe he had a funeral like that.’ Whereupon she and Grace, there in the garden, went into a series of avid questions, answers and explanations that lasted until Grace was apprised of the young woman’s situation and plight, and long after the funeral barge had disappeared. Robert walked away. Young Leo hung round the two women, staring with much appreciation at Lina as she gave her animated account of her life to the present date.
Chapter Eight
A N OPALESCENT DAY, PINK and grey. Lina was moving her light
Similar Books
