In a Dry Season Read Online Free PDF Page A

widow’s peak over her strong, thin face; her deep blue eyes, networked with crow’s feet, were almost Oriental in their slant, her nose was slightly hooked and her lips thin. Not a face that smiled often, people thought. And they were right, even though it had not always been so.
    â€œA steely, unblinking gaze into the depths of evil,” onereviewer had written of her. And was it Graham Greene who had noted that there was a splinter of ice in the heart of the writer? How right he was, though it hadn’t always been there.
    â€œYou used to live up north, didn’t you?”
    Vivian looked up, startled at the question. The man appeared to be about sixty, thin to the point of emaciation, with a long, gaunt pale face and lank fair hair. He was wearing faded jeans and the kind of gaudy, short-sleeved shirt you would expect to see at a seaside resort. As he held the book out for her to sign, she noticed that his hands were unnaturally small for a man’s. Something about them disturbed her.
    Vivian nodded. “A long time ago.” Then she looked at the book. “Who would you like me to sign this to?”
    â€œWhat was the name of the place where you lived?” “It was a long time ago.”
    â€œDid you go by the same name then?”
    â€œLook, I—”
    â€œExcuse me, sir.” It was Adrian, politely asking the man to move along. He did as he was asked, cast one backward glance at Vivian, then he slapped her book down on a pile of Ian Rankins and left.
    Vivian carried on signing. Adrian brought her another glass of wine, people told her how much they loved her books, and she soon forgot about the strange man and his prying questions.
    When it was all over, Adrian and the staff suggested dinner, but Vivian was tired, another sign of her advancing years. All she wanted to do was go home to a long, hot bath, a gin and tonic and Flaubert’s Sentimental Education , but first she needed a little exercise and some air. Alone.
    â€œI’ll drive you home,” said Wendi.
    Vivian lay her hand on Wendi’s forearm. “No, my dear,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’d just like a little walk by myself first, then I’ll take the tube.”
    â€œBut, really, it’s no trouble. That’s what I’m here for.” “No. I’ll be perfectly all right. I’m not over the hill yet.”
    Wendi blushed. She had probably been told that Vivian was prickly . Someone always warned the publicists and media escorts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest anything like that. But it’s my job.”
    â€œA pretty young girl like you must have far better things to do than drive an old lady home in the London traffic. Why don’t you go to the pictures with your boyfriend, go dancing, or something?”
    Wendi smiled and looked at her watch. “Well, I did tell Tim I wouldn’t be able to meet him until later. Perhaps if I phoned him now and went to queue at the half-price ticket booth, we could get some last-minute theatre tickets. But only if you’re sure .”
    â€œQuite sure, my dear. Good night.”
    Vivian walked out into the warm autumn dusk on Bedford Street.
    London . She still sometimes found herself unable to believe that she actually lived in London. She remembered her first visit, how vast, majestic and overwhelming the city had felt. She had gazed in awe at landmarks she had only heard of, read about or seen in pictures: Piccadilly Circus, Big Ben, St Paul’s, Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square. Of course, that was a long time ago, but even today she felt that same magic when she recited the names or walked the famous streets.
    Charing Cross Road was crowded with people leaving work late or arriving early for the theatres and cinemas, meeting friends for a drink. Before getting on the tube, Vivian crossed the road carefully, waiting for the pedestrian signal, and strolled around