Winter Solstice Read Online Free PDF

grace cared for her bad-tempered little pony and exercised him regularly, riding around the paddock that Gloria had set aside for equestrian activities, and taking him on long hacks down the quiet tracks by the little river. Often, on these occasions, Oscar accompanied her, mounted on an ancient sit-up and-beg bicycle, relic of schoolmaster days.
    Gloria let them be, possibly, Elfrida decided, because Francesca was not that important to Gloria; not as absorbing or fulfilling as her own hectic lifestyle, her parties, her circle of friends. Important, too, was her position as social mentor, and sometimes she reminded Elfrida of a huntsman blowing his horn for attention and whipping in his hounds.
    Only once had Elfrida fallen from grace. It was during a convivial evening with the Foubisters, a dinner party of great formality and style, with candles lit and silver gleaming and an aged butler waiting at table. After dinner, in the long drawing-room (rather chilly, for the evening was cool), Oscar had moved to the grand piano to play for them, and after a Chopin etude, had suggested that Elfrida should sing.
    She was much embarrassed and taken aback. She had not sung for years, she protested, her voice was hopeless…. But old Sir Edwin Foubister added his persuasions. Please, he had said. I’ve always liked a pretty tune.
    So disarming was he that Elfrida found herself hesitating. After all, what did it matter if her voice had lost its youthful timbre, she wobbled on the high notes, and was about to make a fool of herself? And at that moment, she caught sight of Gloria’s face, florid and set like a bulldog in an expression of disapproval and dismay. And she knew that Gloria did not want her to sing. Did not want her to stand up with Oscar and entertain the little group. She did not like others to shine, to steal attention, to deflect the conversation away from herself. It was a perception of total clarity and somewhat shocking, as though she had caught Gloria in a state of undress.
    In different circumstances Elfrida might have played safe, gracefully declined, made excuses. But she had dined well and drunk delicious wine, and emboldened by this, a tiny flame of self-assertion flickered into life. She had never allowed herself to be bullied, and was not about to start. So she smiled into Gloria’s threatening frowns, and then turned her head and let the smile rest upon her host. She said, “If you want, I should like to, very much….”
    “Splendid.” Like a child, the old man clapped his hands.
    “What a treat.”
    And Elfrida stood, and crossed the floor to where Oscar waited for her.
    “What will you sing?”
    She told him. An old Rodgers and Hart number.
    “Do you know it?”
    “Of course.”
    A chord or two for introduction. It had been a long time. She straightened her shoulders, filled her lungs…. “I took one look at you…”
    Her voice had aged to thinness, but she could still hold, truly, the tune.
    “And then my heart stood still.”
    And she was all at once consumed by reason less happiness, and felt young again, standing by Oscar, and, with him, filling the room with the music of their youth.
    Gloria scarcely spoke for the rest of the evening, but nobody endeavoured to coax her out of her black mood. While they marvelled and congratulated Elfrida on her performance, Gloria drank her brandy. When it was time to leave, Sir Edwin accompanied them out to where Gloria’s highly powered estate car was parked on the neatly raked gravel. Elfrida bade him good night, and got into the back of the car, but it was Oscar who slipped in behind the driving wheel, and Gloria was forced to take the passenger seat of her own vehicle.
    Heading home, “How did you enjoy your evening?” Oscar asked his wife. Gloria replied shortly, “I have a headache,” and fell silent once more.
    Elfrida thought, no wonder, but prudently didn’t say it. And that was perhaps the saddest truth of all. Gloria Blum dell, hard-headed