Remembering Carmen Read Online Free Page A

back through the thick disordered thatch; then the first strike of the keys.
    Of course he was fucking jealous.
    One always wants to be above this, Christopher reflected. One wants to avoid pettiness. Nothing is more miserable than the accumulation of small resentments, suspicions, deliberate misprisions, with which lovers torment themselves when the going is unsteady. One wants to be magnanimous and at ease. Brimming over.
    â€œSo he met you in France?”
    â€œSure. Though I’m amazed he remembered me.”
    I shouldn’t be scrutinising her, he thought, looking for tell-tale signs, shaky formulations, over-eager denials, making light of it.
    â€œWould that be after I left?”
    â€œOh, please!”
    â€œSorry, but it’s merely a casual inquiry. I hardly knew you at that time if you recall.”
    â€œYou mean you hadn’t yet established your rights of ownership.”
    â€œDon’t be absurd.”
    â€œLook, Chris, I don’t need this, right? You know perfectly well I can’t stand this creepy possessiveness. I am a free agent and I expect you to be. I thought we weren’t into all that sort of thing.”
    â€œI’m not saying we are.”
    â€œWell what the fuck are you saying, then?”
    â€œOnly that Jimmy seemed very familiar.”
    â€œBut can’t you see that he is like that with everyone, with all women. It’s his way of doing things.”
    â€œYou don’t seem to object.”
    â€œWhy should I object? It’s up to him how he behaves. What do you want me to say? He’s a sexist creep? OK, he’s a sexist creep. Satisfied?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œIt’s obviously not fine. What you want me to say is did I sleep with Jimmy at the Hotel Magnifique. And what I am saying is that I don’t answer questions like that. In fact I object to their being put.”
    Christopher was reassured by her vehemence. She had not slept with Jimmy.
    When the bill came, Carmen snatched it. In recognition of Christopher’s services the wine had been on the house but the tally was still the equivalent of a week’s income for a state pensioner. To them, this meant nothing, because they jointly earned more money than they could ever find the opportunity to spend. They were surrounded by countless others in the same predicament. They wanted to be able to spend more time with their possessions, longer at the yachting marina, more extended weekends in the Herefordshire cottage, more time gliding along the motorway network listening to audiobooks on the mellifluous in-car sound system. But the implacable ironmaster barked his orders at them and they continued to jump.
    Christopher and Carmen walked back to Whitfield Street as they always did after a meal or a show, full of the vinous fumes of physical well-being. A resentful beggar, his blanket thrown over his shoulders like a mountain shepherd, cursed them as they passed. They had failed to notice him as they crossed Tottenham Court Road, their attention distracted by the need to avoid a drunk in an expensive suit who was pissing in the doorway of a computer shop. They slipped down a side street and turned in to the south end of Whitfield Street. A huddle of doubtful youths outside Crabtree Fields quickened their step and they were soon back at the flat. The quarrel about Jimmy had vivified them. They went straight to bed.

    ~

    The audience at the Purcell Room was well-bred and middle-class, mostly middle-aged, but with a sprinkling of the younger generation – probably professional musicians, students, tyro composers. Christopher looked around the small chamber, noting how few people in this city of millions could be mustered for such an occasion. Jimmy – in black from head to toe but T-shirt and silk trousers taking the place of tuxedo and tails – handled the audience with aplomb. They loved it as much as he did and, of course, he played magnificently. Expecting to be