The Transit of Venus Read Online Free Page B

work Christian was aware of the woman simmering there, a boiling turned low. The girl between them was impassive, hands lightly clasped, slim knees aligned under dark skirt. At the interval the little woman, murmuring to the girl, got up and went out to the ladies'.
    She was no sooner down the aisle than Christian spoke. He had never done such a thing in life, but knew there was no time to lose.
    They got swiftly through some piffle about Sibelius, and by the time the duenna returned Christian had written a phone number and suggested Saturday. All this, which should have seemed extraordinary to him, appeared inevitable and entirely right.
    He got to his feet, and Grace said, "Dora, this is Mr. Thrale."
    He saw Dora's face flash with the realization they had stolen a march on her, and with an impulse to spoil things. Dora saw a sandy man, quite tall, who could easily present a threat. Christian had discovered they were half-sisters and from Australia. When the concert was over, he put them in a cab.
    He did not, during that week, tell himself I must have been besotted, even though besotted was one of his words. He knew that something out of the ordinary had been set in motion. But did wonder if it would survive reunion with Grace, whose attraction could well decline at an address of furnished rooms. One would then be faced with the process of coming to one's senses. To do him justice, Christian Thrale feared rather than hoped for this.
    On the Saturday he went to W. 11 by taxi, to take off the pall. The stairs were freshly painted white and had a scarlet carpet. There was a glass jar of yellow flowers on a landing.
    It had not occurred to him, he himself might have brought.
    As he went up he was shamed by a sense of adventure that delineated the reduced scale of his adventures. After the impetuous beginning, he would puzzle them by turning out staid and cautious.
    In a gilt mirror near the door he surprised himself, still young.
    Grace's beauty was a vindication. He had relied on it, and it did not let him down. She was calm, as before, and smiled. There were the gold flowers again, on a table. Christian sat on a furnished-looking settee. No, no difficulty at all finding the address and knew the area quite well, actually, from once having had a dentist nearby.
    A kettle whistling in a kitchenette was swiftly muzzled by, he assumed, Dora.
    Caro brought in the tray. My sister. A place was cleared for cups and plates. Christian sat again, and Caro opposite, with Grace bent between them: Is that too strong, these are from Fortnum's. With a silver blade she laid open a quadrant of cake. A little furrow of concentration between her eyes was beguiling as the grooved brow of a kitten. On the sofa Christian was a man on a river-bank, not so much gazing at the other side as aware of a current into which he must plunge. He saw Grace shining and rippling over afternoon stones. She leadeth me beside the still waters.
    Opposite, Caro's still waters ran deep.
    Unfortunately Dora has had to go to Wigmore Street to pick up her new glasses. Thank God. It was clear that Dora battened on the girls' occasions, might be absent from necessity but never from tact.
    As in the concert hall, it was evident they must make the most of the time before she returned, get things to a pitch where she could not reverse them. In relief at no Dora, Christian sat easy, had a second cup, and was pleased. Into the furnished staleness there came cool air from a window, and a scent of bath salts or cologne.
    Against the light, Caro's head and shoulders were remarkable.
    Once or twice he made her laugh. But when he leaned for biscuits felt her eyes on him as if. As if, for instance, she knew about the sense of adventure on the stairs.
    He found these women uncommonly self-possessed for their situation. They seemed scarcely conscious of being Australians in a furnished flat. He would have liked them to be more impressed by his having come, and instead caught himself