The Beautiful Visit Read Online Free PDF Page B

sat beside her.
    ‘My name’s Lucy,’ she said. ‘What’s yours?’
    I told her.
    ‘It was jolly nice of you to come. I hate staying with people, don’t you?’ For a moment I was outfaced.
    ‘I’ve never done it before, but I thought I would hate it.’
    She flicked the whip across the pony’s back. ‘You won’t by tomorrow. Keep still you. We have great fun these holidays. Lots of people. We’re having a dance on Christmas
Eve. I hope you’ve got a frock.’
    ‘Yes, I did bring one.’
    ‘Good. How old are you?’ I told her. ‘I’m just sixteen too. Can you skate?’
    My heart sank. ‘No. I’m afraid not.’
    ‘Well you needn’t. I hate it, it hurts your ankles.’ She stretched out a long thin boot. ‘But Gerald adores it.’
    ‘Is he your cousin?’
    ‘My brother. I have two sisters and two brothers but the whole place is full of cousins.’
    ‘Is there any ice for skating?’
    ‘Not yet. But Gerald says there will be. He’s always right about things he likes. He’s awfully good at it. He simply skims about. Lovely to watch.’ She turned her thin,
pale pink face to me eager and friendly. ‘What do you like?’
    ‘I don’t know yet.’
    ‘Oh well,’ she said cheerfully, ‘there’s lots to do. The great thing is not to mind doing it till you’ve tried. Here comes Gerald.’
    My trunk was hoisted in and we set off; Lucy driving, with Gerald a watchful critic.
    ‘I shall tell mother about that train. She really ought to know better. Can you skate?’
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘But I’d love to learn.’
    Lucy gave me a brilliant smile; I smiled back, and it was delightful.
    ‘Look where you’re going, Lucy.’
    ‘Gerald thinks only men can drive and talk. Women are so lucky to be allowed to drive at all that they certainly shouldn’t speak or enjoy it. Their poor little minds aren’t
capable of thinking about two things at once. Don’t Gerald.’ They were laughing, the trap was all over the road, and I felt much happier.
    ‘It’s easy,’ I thought, ‘staying with people is easy;’ then thought of the house and unknown family and shivered a little because I was wet.
    ‘Cold?’ said Lucy. Large drops of rain slipped down her face and thin arched nose, and watered her silky-gold strands of hair. Her eyes seemed almost transparently wet, so darkly
grey, clear and alive.
    ‘Of course she’s cold. We’re all cold and hungry. Hurry up Lucy, think of lunch.’
    We trotted through a silent streaming village, into a drive, with an elegant iron gate swung back and embedded in brilliant soft grass; round a gentle curve edged with iron railings, to the
sweep before the house: a square cream-coloured house, with large square windows and green shutters; a magnificent cedar tree like a butler, old, indispensable and gloomy; and curls of smoke, the
colour of distance, creeping sedately up out of the squat mulberry chimneys.
    We walked slowly past the house through an arch into a cobbled courtyard, surrounded by buildings, which smelled of moss and leather, hot wet animals, and a curiously pungent clean smell that I
afterwards learned was saddle soap. A white-haired man limped out of a loose box and took the pony’s head. He looked very fierce, until I realized that one eye stared out sideways unwinking
like a parrot. Gerald helped me out. ‘Parker will bring your trunk.’
    We walked back through the arch, pushed open the green front door, and were in the large hall. I shall never forget the smell of that house. Logs, lavender and damp, the old scent of a house
that has been full of flowers for so many years that the very pollen and flower pots stay behind intangibly enchanting – candles and grapes – weak aged taffeta stretched on the chairs
– drops of sherry left in fragile shallow glasses – nectarines and strawberries – the warm earthy confidential odour of enormous books and butterfly smell of the pages, a
combination of leather and moth – dense glassy mahogany