In Certain Circles Read Online Free Page A

they nice—his mother and father?’ She inspected his face. ‘He showed you photographs of them. What were they like?’
    Clambering up, rubbing his chest and shoulders free of sand, Russell said, ‘You and Lily. You can both exercise second sight. You don’t need me around. I’ll just—have a swim, while you…’
    â€˜Ha ha!’ But she had gone too far, tramped about, guessing so accurately. They knew each other well. He was going away, pounding down to the water, receding, receding, like a moving exercise in perspective.
    You’re good, she declared in her mind, as she looked stony-faced at the place where he had disappeared into the flat green water. Though she realised that that, like the scars and so much else, was not to be thought of, either. Rolling over, she picked herself up and ran down to the water.
    Fifteen minutes later, they returned together to their basket, umbrella, books and sandals, shining, dripping, gasping for breath.
    â€˜Best swim for years,’ Russell said, drying himself off, spreading his towel out and lying down again.
    â€˜You say that every time. I wish they’d put up a shark net. Finish off about your awful friend.’ Zoe achieved a tone of exceeding neutrality.
    Russell turned and looked at where she sat leaning forward over her outstretched legs appraising her knees as though they were valuable merchandise. She said, ‘Go on. I’m all ears.’
    â€˜He’s a funny cove. I like him. One of these days we might go into business together.’
    â€˜Business? What sort of business? You’d give everything away.’
    â€˜Wait and see.’ He fixed his gaze on her. ‘Do you want to hear more or not?’
    â€˜Please.’ She sat meek and still, imitating a very good girl.
    After the accident, the Quayle children were taken in by their mother’s brother, a middle-aged solicitor, and his wife. Their father’s brother, a London bachelor, wrote and sent money, and it was agreed that the children should stay where they were. But in spite of the contribution from England, they were in no way well provided for. The Quayles had lived to the limit of their income, in the knowledge of substantial prosperity to come. The company was an international one, and Quayle was highly regarded; anyone would have said his expectations were well-founded. He had laid no plans for something as unlikely as his own early death.
    The uncle at Parramatta, Charles Boyd, was as concerned for his two wards as any childless man with a neurasthenic wife could be expected to be. He hoped the children would be an interest for Nicole, and improve her state of mind. She had been so shorn of tasks and responsibilities when it had occurred to him that social life was perhaps the cause of her many deep but indefinable troubles that her life was left utterly idle but no less beset by misery.
    There was always some helper in the house—housekeeper, nurse—but none stayed long. It was to this chain of strangers that the children had to look for company and comfort. Their uncle was preoccupied with work and with his wife. Her melancholy and her moods had cowed him. He longed for peace, gave her her way, and had no peace.
    Sometimes there would be an economy campaign: electricity would be saved, food and hot water and cleaning materials watched with a frenzied vigilance. Then there would be wild demented spending on clothes that were never worn; on clocks, rugs, cutlery, for a house already over-supplied with such items. Sometimes the children were bought hand-stitched garments, while necessities were not recognised as such by the hysterical and increasingly despotic Nicole. The rights and preferences of other adults, of two children who belonged to no one, vanished behind the doors of the handsome old brick house. Nicole was so very strange, if thwarted.
    At first a nurse was hired to look after Anna. Then when she was old enough,