Sheer Blue Bliss Read Online Free PDF Page A

was no air, the broken pane was clogged with dark leaves.
    Constance felt Patrick looking at her. She looked boldly back and smiled, a strange twisting in her stomach. This was the black sheep of the family, a famous man and not like anyone she’d ever had to do with before. He looked like someone from the Old Testament or even Russia, Rasputin, someone like that; thin, tall with a black-and-white beard that poured down his chest like foam. His hair was black-and-white too, pushed back from a thin intensely scored forehead. His eyes were large but narrowed as he looked at her, dark but not quite brown. His nose was long and reddish and his lips, hardly visible among all the whiskers, were thin with a little curve at one corner, a gap through which she could see a chink of tooth. This is my relation, she thought, trying to remember what sort, second cousin once removed? She was stirred by the link, however tenuous it might be. He was someone out of the ordinary and he was something to do with her. In the soles of her feet she felt the sort of itch that surely meant that she was about to step into her new life.
    Alfie finished his tea and went out with the dog – Harry – to explore. The conversation creaked to a halt and Mother threw Father a pleading look but it was Patrick who spoke.
    â€˜Constance, what is it that you do?’
    â€˜I do?’ She looked at her soft white hands.
    â€˜Or wish to do?’
    â€˜I wish to be an artist, of course,’ she said and felt a sensation like sherbet in her veins.
    Father let out a yelp of laughter. ‘That’s the first we’ve heard of it.’
    â€˜The ideas they get,’ Mother said, love on her face. But Patrick didn’t laugh or smile. His eyes rested thoughtfully on Connie.
    â€˜Yes,’ he said, ‘good, that’s a fine wish.’
    Sacha leant forward to offer Constance a pikelet from a plate. She took one, warm between her fingers, wet with melting butter. ‘Well, you’re in the right place to be an artist, isn’t she, Paddy?’ she said. ‘We’ll have to show her the studio.’
    Patrick gathered his beard together in his hand and stroked downwards lifting his chin as he did so so that the black and white of it was pulled tight.
    â€˜Doesn’t that hurt?’ Alfie said, suddenly there again, his face dirty, his tie twisted round over his shoulder.
    â€˜Alfie!’ Mother pulled him to her, straightened his tie.
    â€˜A little,’ Patrick said, letting go of his beard, ‘but a little hurt is sometimes good.’
    The air cooled as the sky dimmed to lavender and pale stars gleamed. Mother and Father stood by the front door. Alfie was in bed and Connie stood in the shadow of the lilac listening.
    â€˜It’s not the mess or the dustiness,’ Mother said.
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜It’s not the dog hairs. It’s not Sacha, she seems, I must say, like a sensible type – quite a bit older than Patrick, wouldn’t you say? I’d trust the children to her , after all she has brought up a son. It’s not even Patrick, although …’
    â€˜Yes, I know.’
    â€˜It’s well, it’s … it’s the lack of I don’t know … regulation. You know? You saw how long it took to get that tea together and it was only pikelets for heaven’s sake and a pot of tea and it’s not even as if we arrived unexpectedly, is it?’
    â€˜Not at all.’
    â€˜It’s not what the children are used to at all – and greeting us with a note! They’d run wild, that’s what, if they came here. And I don’t want to leave them.’ Her mother’s voice trembled into tears and Connie stepped forward.
    â€˜Oh Mother, it’s a wonderful place,’ she said, ‘I really want to stay. This is where we would be safe.’
    â€˜Eavesdropping now!’
    â€˜I’m not sure that Alfie wants to stay,’ Father