The Night of Wenceslas Read Online Free PDF

just yet about the money. There was bound to be a reason for this, I thought, nodding sagely to a swan who had come to stare at me.
    It was not a difficult one to find. The presence of the money meant (a) that it was time for positive action with regard to our relationship, and (b) that Maura would have ideas on what should be done with the money. Take a certain line with regard to (a) and (b) as a personal problem would cease to exist. And yet it went deeper than this. So long as I hadn’t been in a position to marry the girl she had seemed, no doubt about it, a verydesirable one. Desiring her had indeed been a major preoccupation for these past months. But there had been many months before Maura, and there would be many months after her. Was this, in short, the girl for me?
    I blew out my cheeks and considered. Marriage, it was a fact, was a serious business, and Maura had many defects. She was too damned bossy for one thing. She looked on me as something less than heroic for another.
    All in all, it seemed to me, I needed to give this more thought; which, in its turn, meant keeping the news to myself for a while. For the time being I had two hundred pounds to spend, less Ratface’s bite, and all the time in the world to decide what should be done with the remainder.
    It was now getting on for two o’clock and people were strolling out to enjoy the river after their luncheon. I could not be bothered to eat and instead stayed slowly disposing of two further pints before the bar closed and I tooled gently back to town, listening with only mild interest to the noise from the gearbox. I thought I might buy Maminka a present, might run down to Bournemouth with it this evening; might even run down now.
    At this point I recalled Cunliffe’s advice to pass the tidings through Imre, and pulled up at the first phone box to put through a call.
    He came to the phone right away, and I said, ‘Hello, Uncle, it’s Nicolas. How are you?’ grinning to think of him standing there big and shapeless in his alpaca jacket, with the hairs of his nose waving in his powerful breath. He was a gentle, flabby, elephantine man.
    ‘Nicolas,’ he said breathily. ‘It is good to hear from you, my boy. How are things with you?’ His voice sounded a shade muted, as if he had just undersold another stamp. Well, there’d be enough for Imre, too, I thought with a wave of regard for the old boy, and I said cheerfully:
    ‘Couldn’t be better. I’ll tell you all about it. But first how’s Maminka?’
    This was a mistake, but it had to be gone through. There wasnever anything wrong with Maminka, but the old hypochondriac could usually find something; it gave him an added reason for living with her.
    ‘Well, my boy, I will tell you,’ he said confidentially, with a return to something like his usual form, ‘she is not so well today. There is a touch of fibrositis in the shoulder and I think she is starting a cold. I am keeping her in bed today.’
    ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Uncle. How is your own health?’ I said, blowing out my cheeks and nodding to the phone.
    ‘Me, me – you know how it is with me, Nicolas,’ he said, pleased, giving his little deprecatory laugh. ‘I need a new pair of lungs. Things are never quite right with me.’
    ‘I was thinking of running down to see you. I’ve got great news. Uncle Bela has died and left me all his money.’ This could have been expressed in other ways, and I was thinking of the words, when he said:
    ‘What is this? What is this you say? Just a minute, Nicolas. The door is open. I cannot hear very …’ He put the phone down and came back in a moment. ‘You say Bela …’ he said breathily. ‘What is this, Nicolas?’
    ‘I’m afraid Uncle Bela has died,’ I said. ‘He died on Wednesday after a heart attack. I heard from the lawyer today.’
    ‘Oh, this is bad,’ he said. I heard his noisy breathing for a few seconds. ‘It will distress her terribly.’
    ‘Yes,’ I said, somewhat