Blue Bedroom and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF

the traffic.
    It was still light as he came up the drive between the clumps of rhododendron. He eased the car into the garage, turned off the engine, collected his luggage from the boot, and let himself in through the kitchen door. Rufus, who was a spaniel and getting on in years, let out a warning “woof” from his basket, and James’s wife looked up from her seat at the kitchen table, where she was drinking a mug of tea.
    â€œDarling!”
    How wonderful to be so welcomed. “Surprise, surprise.” He put down his case, and she got to her feet and they met in the middle of the floor and lost themselves in an enormous hug. He could feel the fragile bones of her ribs through her old blue pullover. She smelt delicious, vaguely of bonfires.
    â€œYou’re early.”
    â€œI escaped before the rush hour.”
    â€œHow was Europe?”
    â€œStill there.” He held her off. “Something is wrong.”
    â€œWhat could be wrong?”
    â€œYou tell me. No bicycles abandoned in the middle of the garage, no chatter of highly pitched voices, no little gangs darting around the garden. No children.”
    â€œThey’ve gone down to Hamble to stay with Helen.” Helen was Louisa’s sister. “You knew they were going.”
    He had known. He had simply forgotten.
    â€œI thought you’d probably murdered them and buried them in the compost heap.”
    She was frowning. “Have you got a cold?”
    â€œYes. I found it lurking somewhere between Oslo and Brussels.”
    â€œOh, poor old thing.”
    â€œNot poor old thing at all. It means that I’m not going to London tomorrow. I am going to stay here, in the bosom of my wife, and write my EEC report at the dining room table.” He kissed her again. “I missed you. Do you know that? I really missed you. Incredible. What’s for dinner?”
    â€œSteaks.”
    Better and better. He said it. “Better and better.” He opened his briefcase and gave her the bottle of scent (a larger size than his secretary’s), received her grateful embrace, and then took himself upstairs to unpack, undress, and soak in a hot bath.
    *   *   *
    The next morning James awoke to pale sunshine and a marvelous silence broken only by the faint tweetings of bird song. He opened his eyes and saw that he was alone in his bed, and only the dent in the other pillow bore witness to the presence of Louisa. He realised, with some surprise, that he could not remember when he had ever taken a day off during the week. Revelling in idleness, he felt youthful, like a schoolboy with an unexpected holiday. He groped a hand under his pillow and pulled out his watch and saw that it was eight-thirty. Bliss. The hot whisky and lemon consumed the night before had done their work, and his cold was in retreat, vanquished. He got up, shaved and dressed and went downstairs, and found his wife in the kitchen sipping her coffee.
    â€œHow do you feel?” she asked.
    â€œLike a man reborn. Cold’s all gone.”
    She went to the stove. “Bacon and eggs?”
    â€œPerfect.” He reached for the morning paper. Normally he read the morning paper when he got home in the evening. There was something almost obscenely luxurious about reading it at leisure at his own breakfast table. He scanned the stock market, the cricket, finally the headlines. Louisa began to stack the washing-up machine. James looked at her.
    â€œDoesn’t Mrs. Brick stack the dishwasher?”
    Mrs. Brick was the plumber’s wife from the village who helped Louisa with the housework. One of the good things about Saturday mornings was that Mrs. Brick came, to race around behind the vacuum cleaner and fill the house with the good smell of floor polish.
    â€œMrs. Brick doesn’t come on Thursdays. She doesn’t come on Wednesdays or Mondays either.”
    â€œHasn’t she ever?”
    â€œNo. Never.” Louisa put