Exposure Read Online Free PDF Page A

because he spoke well in debates at the Union. But he knew that academic respect was as far as it went. He saw that the others felt they couldn't invite him for weekends at home, for holidays in the summer. They changed the subject, they avoided the issue. With his terrible capacity to accept the worst in human nature, he quietly acknowledged this and would never have suggested they include him. He understood; he even sympathized with them. He imagined they felt he did not 'know how to behave'—they said it often enough of other people. He would have hated to embarrass them or the good, highly cultured, loving parents he was certain they all had.
    In fact, Philip was responsible for the situation. He was always tortured with concern that Alistair would not have enough money for holidays or even train fares for weekends away and that he would be humiliated by offers of loans. He made careful prior warnings to the others to stay off the subject of holidays or parties. So the combination of Philip's tact and Alistair's bleak and rigid view of humanity meant his life was confined to term-times and university gossip. When Michael and Sam started talking about people they knew in London or who was going where for Christmas, he would look away and wait quietly. He tried not to think about going home.
    This habit, this hard-learnt ability to wait, offstage, philosophically observing other people's big performances, was what accounted for the sense of recognition between Alistair and Rosalind—even though they had come from different worlds. It's possible that the strongest connections between people are generated like this, by the odd coincidence of similar emotional histories, no matter how different the events that brought those emotions into being. They provided a neat solution for each other. He felt authenticated by Rosalind. Her conventional prettiness and the unfakeable accuracy of her good manners instantly included him in the world of colour that flared up so threateningly in his path each summer when the balls were on. He felt himself very discreetly let in—or, at least, that was how he interpreted it when Michael Richardson leant towards his ear and said, 'I didn't know you knew Rosalind Blunt. Lucky man. Lovely-looking girl.'
    Rosalind thought Alistair was clever—obviously, indisputably clever. She noticed how his friends' eyes flashed to him when they told a joke or quoted something, to see if he approved. They said, 'Ask Al,' if something needed to be settled in a conversation.
    They were both attracted to what the other brought to a crowded room. They did not think about being alone together. These were short-sighted, powerful reasons for vulnerable people to fall in love.
    They stood near the punts, holding the new glasses of champagne. He said, 'Do you want to dance?'
    She glanced at him and smiled, then lowered her eyes. With a sickening sense of dread he wondered if he had done something wrong and embarrassed himself. His mouth went dry. He thought he would rather break his leg, lose a finger, than embarrass himself in front of this girl. The abrupt violence of his imagination shocked him and he let his eyes close for a second as if to contain it. He must control himself.
    'Maybe we should have a drink with the others for a bit?' Rosalind said.
    'Yes—yes, of course. Sorry. Of course.'
    At once the music seemed unbearably false, sinister as the hum of wasps, and the animal purpose behind all the ribbons and streamers and starched white shirts sweated through the artifice. This girl was too good for him. Who cared about the high esteem you were held in at the Ethical Debating Society if you did not 'know how to behave'?
    And then she put her hand very gently, just for a second, on his arm—or his sleeve, really, the pressure was too light to make contact with his skin—and said, 'We could chat with them for a while and then we can ask if they'd like to dance too.'
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    Instinctively,