La's Orchestra Saves the World Read Online Free PDF

man there is the brother of a bishop.”
    “Could we go there?” she asked.
    He seemed hesitant; almost as if the world they were looking at was a private one, something just for him. But then he said, “Of course we can. One of these days.”
    THEY HAD BEEN MARRIED TWO YEARS , when his father, Gerald, one afternoon came to the house. When she answeredthe door and saw him standing there, his expression grave, she knew immediately that Richard was dead—there could be no other explanation for such a call. There had been an accident, and Richard was dead.
    She felt her legs give way underneath her, and she cried out. Gerald, who had been carrying his umbrella, dropped it and reached out, managing to catch her under the arms as she sagged forward. There was a rending of material as her blouse tore.
    “My dear,” he said. “My dear.”
    “He’s dead.”
    “No, my dear. No. No.”
    He helped her to a chair in the hall. She had taken in his denial and looked up at him as one who has been reprieved.
    “Why have you come here?”
    He knelt beside her so that his face was at her level. He was always impeccably groomed, his thick, dark hair swept neatly to each side of a railroad-straight parting. There was the smell of the pomade that he always used, something with bay rum in it.
    “I’m afraid that something has indeed happened,” he said. “But there has not been an accident. Richard is not dead.”
    She stared at him mutely. He looked down at the floor, and rose back to his feet; a joint clicked somewhere. His hand was resting upon her shoulder.
    “What has happened, my dear, is that my son …” Hepaused. There was pain in his voice. “My son, I’m sorry to say, has let us all down. He has left the country and gone to France. On the boat train. This morning. I am very, very sorry to have to tell you this.”
    She tried to make sense of what he was saying. Richard had said something about the Médoc. The Médoc? Had he gone there?
    “He’s gone to the office over there? Is that it?” Gerald sighed. “I’m afraid that it’s not that innocent. I wish to God it were. He has gone to France, but I’m sorry to say that he has gone because there is a woman there. He informed me this morning, presented me with a
fait accompli
. He did not have the courage to tell you and left me to do it. My son did that. He did that.”
    RICHARD’S MOTHER APPEARED half an hour later. She had been weeping and her eyes were red. She insisted that La should go home with them; they could not countenance her staying by herself. La said nothing, but packed a bag mutely, automatically. It was as if somebody else was going through the physical motions; she felt completely numb, as if she had been disembodied.
    She found it difficult to say very much, and did not want to talk. But the following day, tired to the point of exhaustion through lack of sleep, she started to ask them questions. Where had he gone? They believed that it was Margaux. And the woman? She was somebody he had met when hehad worked in the office in Bordeaux. She was the daughter of a business acquaintance, the owner of a vineyard there, who had interests in La Rochelle as well. Shipping, they thought. We shall never deal with them again; never.
    “You had no idea that there was somebody else?” This was from his mother.
    “Of course not? How could I?”
    “She had been coming to London on and off. He confessed that to me,” said Gerald.
    That silenced her. There had been nights when he had had late meetings—or so he said—and had stayed in his club. And she recalled that weekend when he had gone to watch a rugby game in Cardiff; he would have had the opportunity.
    “He took long lunch breaks,” Gerald began. “Perhaps …” But he was silenced by a look from his wife, who glanced anxiously at La.
    “I’m going to France,” announced Gerald. “I’m going to bring him back. I’ll drag him back if necessary.”
    La shook her head. “I don’t think that