Nick went stumbling over to the desk and picked up a pen and paper. As Suzanne went on talking to Laura about her photographs, he was drawing. Laura saw it just before he handed it to Monica: a caricature of Monica as a school matron, with her breasts hanging out of her dress, and a boy lying in bed holding a huge erection.
Monica and Archie were too English and, perhaps, too sorry for Laura, to be obviously angry when they saw what he had done. They simply went on moving out of the room, thanking her for a nice evening. Laura went into the hall with them, and as Monica went to the bathroom, Archie looked at her. She could not bear the pitying expression on his face. ‘You’ve a lot on your hands there, haven’t you?’ he said, and as Laura made a dismissive expression, he unexpectedly put his hand up and casually, almost as if he were brushing away a piece of dust, touched her cheek. It seemed an intolerable moment to make, as it seemed to Laura, a pass at her, and she stepped backwards, knocking a vase on the sideboard to the ground.
‘Let me help.’
‘No, please, do go.’ Laura was picking up the pieces, so was he, and she was the first to see the blood on his fingers. ‘You’ve—’
‘It’s nothing.’ He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around the cut.
‘We should wash it.’
‘No, it’s fine.’
Laura could see how embarrassed he was, and when Monica came out of the bathroom she let them go – one offended, the other injured – and she went back into the living room. She caught Suzanne’s eye as she came in and Suzanne responded, getting up and saying, ‘Actually, we should be going too.’
‘Must we?’ Joe said, frowning. ‘But Nick, you must have realised that if you brought a negro to your hotel you would—’
To Laura’s relief, Suzanne prevailed and they left. Edward and Nick started having a blundering discussion about whether they were going to a nightclub.
‘No, we’re going to bed, I’m afraid, Nick,’ Laura said.
‘Must I go drinking alone? My first night in Washington?’
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine.’
As soon as the door shut behind him, Laura found her anger spilling out of her; it was uncontrollable. ‘This was your idea, this dinner, and couldn’t you even come back on time? Why were you so rude? Why didn’t you tell me about Sutton?’
At the mention of Sutton, she suddenly thought of the devils that might be driving Edward to behave as he had that evening, and she reached a hand towards him, but he shrugged her off so forcefully she staggered backwards.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and pulled her back to him, and began to drag her dress off her shoulders, exposing her breasts. For the first time ever Laura pushed him away, reacting against the clumsy touch of his hands and the smell of alcohol on his breath.
‘Good God!’ he shouted and picked up the first thing that came to hand from the mantelpiece and threw it at the wall – it was only one of those small bowls of roses, but now it was broken, and the water was a puddle on the carpet, and then he walked out of the room and into the hall.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To find Nick.’
‘At this time?’
‘He said he was going to that club on U Street …’
‘You’re too drunk, stay here.’
‘You’re too drunk, you’re too drunk – that’s all I ever hear from you. So I spoilt your little party – why does that matter so much?’
‘It was for you – the whole evening!’ Laura said, but she wasn’t even sure if it was true; what had it all been for? But Edward went blundering out of the house and she went back into the living room. Despite all the drinking that everyone else had done, she felt clear-headed and cold. She sat down in an armchair and kicked off her high-heeled shoes. One heel knocked against something. That book, that Tchernavin book was still there, under the chair, she realised. She pulled it out and began to read. The minutes, the hours, passed as she did so.
5
The sky was as luminous as ever, that summer at Portstone. Despite their complaints, Tom and Ellen had rented the same house again for a fourth summer. Already memories were being built around the house and the people who came there every year; memories of the summer broken by Father’s death would dominate, but the following summer was the one when Janet cut her leg on a rock, the summer when Kit tried to teach Laura to play tennis, and last summer was the one when it rained for a week solidly.
This summer was as yet unmarked, stretching out ahead of them, the first summer of Ellen’s new son, and Laura wanted to feel hopeful that somewhere in the huge cleansing charge of the green water or in the high voices of children on the shore they could recapture a lightness that she wanted to be part of their lives again. A renewal. But on the first day, even though she struggled into the sea, Edward lay on the sand, a hand over his eyes.
‘You seem pretty tired.’ Kit was sitting next to them. He too seemed weary, strung out and expectant as they all were.