The House That Jack Built Read Online Free PDF

brought them. But she hadn't married Craig for this. She had married Craig because he was tall and shy and self-deprecating, and he had always made her laugh.
        She thought about those early days together, on Lafayette Street, and she could remember every detail of the window sill over the sink, with the pickle jar filled with cornflowers, and the wild-haired worn-out pot scourers, and Marmaduke the cat sleeping with his paws tucked up, and she could have cried, except that she didn't cry, because she was Effie, and as her mother had once told her 'Effies don't cry.'
        ' Ohaya gozaimas, ogenki des ka? ' she recited. That was Japanese for 'Good morning, how are you?'
        ' Hajimemashte ,' she answered herself. 'Pleased to meet you.'
        She sat up. The room was hushed and richly furnished in reds and yellows, summer colours, with a rocking-chair next to the fireplace, and a huge oak armoire. An oil painting of a retarded-looking shepherdess hung on the opposite wall.
        Craig was still breathing as if he were deeply involved in some complicated dream, so she kissed his shoulder and climbed out of bed. She walked naked to the window and looked down onto Main Street, with its freshly painted turn-of-the-century houses, and its neatly planted maples. In the distance, down at the bottom of the slope, she could see the river glittering, and an early windsurfer setting up his rig.
        She let the net curtain fall back. She turned around, and she could see herself in the cheval mirror on the other side of the room, a pale curved back; a dark cascade of hair, the colour of blackberries, in that moment when the morning light first catches them. She felt the carpet beneath her bare feet. She always felt so calm and beautiful when she returned to Cold Spring, so much at home. She believed that people have an affinity for certain places, even if they weren't born there. Craig, she was sure, was a city dweller. He needed carbon monoxide and the perfumed, airless atmosphere of international-class restaurants.
        She knew that he would have to go back. He would fret, otherwise - start drumming his fingers at mealtimes and checking his watch every five or ten minutes and start making phone calls back to the office. But maybe she could persuade him to stay long enough to get his confidence back, especially his sexual confidence. She needed him to make love to her, just once, to show that he hadn't been emasculated. She needed to feel his single remaining testicle, and to reassure him that was all she wanted.
        He still kept his towel wrapped around him when he came out of the shower. He still wouldn't let her look at him and touch him.
        She went to the mirror and stood in front of it looking at herself. She tried not to blink. Movie actresses were trained not to blink. Her breasts were pale with veins like the tracery of tree-roots. Five small moles formed a cluster on her left shoulder. I am a real person, she thought, watching her chest rise and fall as she breathed.
        She heard Craig stir. He grunted, like a dog grunts when it scents an animal that it doesn't particularly want to catch, like a skunk. He opened his eyes and blinked at her.
        Naked, she came and sat on the edge of the bed, and kissed his forehead, and ruffled his hair with her fingers. 'It's a beautiful day,' she told him. 'It's a beautiful day and every minute of it belongs to us.'
        'What time is it?' he asked her.
        'Eight-oh-two.'
        'Jesus, eight-oh-two. Listen, why don't you take a shower? I have to call Steven. He's due in court this morning with Filipino Oil.'
        'Craig, you don't have to call Steven. Steven is perfectly capable of taking care of Filipino Oil by himself.'
        Craig sat up. 'Filipino Oil is a very complex case. It's my case.'
        'For sure, sweetheart. But Steven knows just as much about it as you do. You said so yourself. So why don't you let him