Bland Beginning Read Online Free PDF Page A

that he was far beyond the price his father had mentioned, but surely the fact that this other man was bidding showed that the book must be worth the money? Again the auctioneer settled his wig. He seemed quite bewildered by the turn of events. “Any adv –”
    “A ’undred,” said the little man. He took off his bowler hat to wipe his forehead, and revealed a bald red head.
    “A hundred pounds,” breathed the auctioneer. “Any advance on a hundred pounds?”
    “Guineas,” Anthony said. He had a curious feeling in his knees.
    “Guineas,” said the auctioneer. He was now again in control of himself and events. He gave a grey smile to the man in the blue suit and said, “Any advance?” The man jammed his hat back on his head, folded his arms and glared at Anthony.
    The auctioneer tapped decorously with his hammer. “Sold at a hundred guineas to Mr –”
    “Shelton, Anthony Shelton,” Anthony announced to the world with an enormous smile. The man in the blue suit stumbled past Anthony with his head down, and went out of the sales-room. There was a buzz of conversation. The old man leaned back and said, “You certainly paid through the nose –” Anthony waved him away. He felt like a book-buyer of long standing, and the feeling was enjoyable. “You may think so,” he said.
    When he went to collect the book he was made aware that his experience as a book-buyer was in fact small. It would be necessary, the auctioneer’s clerk explained, to wait a couple of days for a cheque to be cleared. Unless, of course, he liked to pay cash.
    “But I haven’t got that much on me in cash.”
    The clerk shrugged. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to wait, sir.” He glanced at the clock. “The banks are still open.”
    Anthony considered. Now that he had bought the book he wanted to give it to Vicky immediately. “All right. I’ll go to the bank and come back.”
    “Very good, sir. I’ll see that they’re all ready for you when you return.”
    “They?” Anthony said in surprise, and was embarrassed when the clerk pointed towards the pile of Henry James. “Oh yes,” he said. “No. I mean – I don’t want to take those. Just the other – the little book.”
    “Just the Rawlings,” said the clerk with a look that indicated his low opinion of Anthony.
    “Just the Rawlings.”
    Half an hour later he returned, collected the copy of Passion and Repentance , and gave instructions for the set of Henry James to be sent to his father.
    While he ate lunch at the Criterion he thought about his purchase. The more he thought about it the more convinced he was that he had made a fool of himself. He put aside the copy of Antic Hay which he had been trying to read (“It is the very latest thing,” Vicky had said. “It will be so good for you.” But he detested it), and very carefully took out the little blue book and looked at it. “A hundred guineas ,” he murmured. The fact that it was guineas seemed to make it more than five pounds worse than a hundred pounds. He opened the book and began to read:
     
    When my lips touched your forehead they knew guilt.
    But ah! Who does not relish guilt? Beneath
    Your willing flesh my spirit laid a wreath
    On hope of Heaven and – how gaily – built
    Its nook in hell. So when we danced, “How sweet,”
    I said, “that arabesque upon your dress.”
    Later I fingered each black curling tress
    And knew your carcass – so much worthless meat.
    Ah, bitter, fruitful, all too fruitful days!
    Within the dark who knows what deeds are done
    Except the Future brings all dark to light.
    From youth I craved the poet’s crown of bays
    And still methinks that prize might have been won –
    But now past sin crawls loathsomely to light.
     
    “Too much for me, this stuff,” Anthony muttered to himself. His attention wandered, and he looked at his watch. It would take three-quarters of an hour to drive out to Barnsfield in the Bentley. Vicky did not expect him until teatime, and teatime,