A Fatal Attachment Read Online Free PDF Page A

hand now. But she made scones, and put them out with strawberry jam and cream, and she cut substantial sandwiches suitable for boys’ appetites and filled them with cold beef, with tomato and cheese, with salmon and shrimp paste. These were the sandwiches that Gavin and Maurice had always called for, on the numerous occasions when she had fed them as boys.
    It will not be the same, she kept telling herself. I must not expect it to be the same.
    But the boys certainly did enjoy the same food. They arrived, nicely dressed but behaving rather awkwardly. It was the food that soon caused them to shed any gaucheness, and they tucked in with a will, Colin eating scone after scone and getting whipped cream all over his upper lip, Ted relishing the sandwiches. They probably would have preferred Coca-Cola to drink, but Lydia felt that on that there would be no concession: at tea one drank tea.
    â€œAre you settling down at the new school—whatever its name is?” Lydia asked.
    â€œNorth Radley High. It’s all right,” said Ted. “It’s not a good school, but it’s all right.”
    â€œSome of them laugh at our accents,” said Colin. “But that’s stupid. We don’t have accents. They have accents.”
    â€œIt helps that we’re both good at cricket.”
    â€œThough there’s some are jealous about that too. They say we’d never be eligible to play for Yorkshire.”
    â€œWe say: ‘Who’d want to?’ ”
    Both boys laughed.
    â€œI suppose it’s helped that it’s been such a lovely summer so far,” said Lydia.
    â€œYes, it has,” said Colin. “We’re going away to the seaside when school breaks up. Southport or somewhere like that. Dad says if Mum can’t make the effort we three men will go.”
    It was as if a door had opened a tiny chink, giving light on the situation in the Bellingham household. Lydia’s eyelids flickered, but she was too clever to pursue the subject at once.
    â€œI’m afraid I usually avoid the English seaside resorts,” she said. “The English look their worst in warm weather: all those tattoos and hairy legs and beer bellies.”
    â€œAnd the men are even worse,” said Ted.
    The two boys rocked with laughter. Lydia smiled, then giggled indulgently. Nothing wrong with schoolboy humour. She would educate them out of it as time went by, into something more refined, ironic. She had with Gavin and Maurice—though, heaven knew, Maurice could have no use for refined humour in Waterloo Terrace. Please God let these boys not disappoint her as Maurice had done.
    â€œDoes your mother not like the seaside?” she asked, her head bent over the teapot as she poured fresh cups of tea.
    â€œOh—it’d be the same if it was walking in the Lakes,” said Ted. “Mum doesn’t want to do anything these days.”
    â€œProbably her time of life,” said Colin.
    â€œShe’s only forty-four, you ignorant oaf.”
    â€œWell, you can get it early. Anyway, it’s always been Dad who was the doer—always crashing around, digging and sawing and fixing things. Mum just lets things wash over her.”
    â€œWell, that’s true, but you’ve got to admit it’s got a lot worse lately.” Ted turned to Lydia. “We think they’ll get a divorce when we’re grown up.”
    Lydia shook her head, though to her it sounded eminently likely.
    â€œOh, I’m sure you’re exaggerating things.”
    â€œI don’t think we are. Dad’s getting more and more irritated. And he’s not a patient person at the best of times.”
    â€œDid you divorce Mr Perceval, or did he die?” asked Colin, with schoolboy artlessness.
    â€œHis name was Loxton. I reverted to my maiden name. Actually we divorced.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI didn’t want to stay married to him any longer. Let’s not talk about him.