Anything Considered Read Online Free PDF Page B

mother if they passed in the street. The last time he’d seen his father, he’d been eighteen, and he had been bidden to lunch at his father’s London club to discuss his career. He remembered it well—nursery food, pallid and bland, excellent wine, his father’s gaunt, rutted face with the distant, mad eyes of a man addicted to hundred-mile views and uncomfortable in the proximity of people. Over coffee, he had delivered his career advice to Bennett: “Don’t care what you do really, as long as you’re not a ballet dancer.” This jewel of wisdom had been accompanied by a check for a thousand pounds and a glass of port. Since then, Bennett hadn’t seen his father, although he had received a postcard from Kashmir, wishing him a happy twenty-first birthday. He’d been twenty-four at the time.
    Poe was laughing. “Forgive me,” he said, “but it’s not without its funny side.” He looked at his watch. “I hope you can stay for dinner. I’d like to hear more, and we’re having the last winter menu tonight. I think you’ll find it’s one of the more enjoyable aspects of domestic life.”
    Bennett was happy to accept. He had obviously passed the first test, and he found himself liking Poe, as people always tend to like a good listener. He finished his champagne, and wondered if Chou-Chou was going to slip into a little
décolleté
number for the evening. Things were looking up.
    “If you’d like to wash your hands before dinner, it’s through there, just off the hall.” Bennett, by now a keen judge of bathrooms and lavatories, took the opportunity to pay a nonprofessional visit, and found himself in a room that resembled a miniature photographer’s gallery with plumbing. The walls were covered with souvenirs of the sporting life—Poe on skis, on boats, with guns and various dead creatures, presumably in Africa, or standing beside monstrous fish suspended from winches. Poe’s living companions were all men, all bronzed, all smiling in the perpetual sunlight that brightens the lives of the rich and privileged. Bennett, wondering what Poe did to pay for it all, dried his hands on a discreetly monogrammed towel, then went back to join his host.
    Poe was once again on the phone, and Bennett was about to resume his study of the pictures around the fireplace when Chou-Chou came into the room, moving with the swaying strut of a catwalk model. The dress was fashionably skimpy, the legs were long, the heels were high. Bennett instinctively straightened his tie.
    Chou-Chou smiled. “Julian’s always on the phone when I need him. Can you help me?” She handed Bennett a heavy chain of gold links. “It’s a very complicated fastening.”Turning her back on him, she swept up her hair. Bennett stood on tiptoe and inhaled the scent, musky and expensive, coming from the exposed nape of her neck as he fumbled with the catch.
    “Sorry,” he said. “I haven’t had much practice with necklaces. But if you ever need a hand with a bow tie, I’m an ace. There.” He stepped away, the curtain of hair came down, and his pulse rate returned to normal.
    “Thanks,” said Chou-Chou. “Julian usually takes much longer to do it.”
    Can’t say I blame him, Bennett thought. “Tell me something,” he said. “I know we haven’t met before, but I’m sure I’ve seen your face. Do you do any modeling?”
    She shrugged. “Not anymore. Julian—”
    “Let me hear nothing but good about Julian.” Poe had finished his call and was looking at them, a half-smile on his face. “You must forgive the phone calls. Those people on Wall Street have no respect for European hours. I often think they wait until they know I’m about to have dinner. Let’s go in, shall we? I’m famished.”
    Chou-Chou led the way, with Bennett, who counted walking behind pretty women as one of the small rewards of life, doing his best to keep his eyes off the undulant hips and the impressive length of her legs. She had to duck to go through the low