"David Garnett - Still Life" - читать интересную книгу автора (Garnett David)

nothing.
At first she had pretended that by keeping her appearance, it would
prevent Robert from looking at younger women. He had no need to,
because she was a younger woman now. But all the time she was worried
by the fact that Robert was growing older while she was not. What would
happen when it became all too apparent? How would he react when he
discovered, as he inevitably must, that the years were dividing them?
She ate more starchy food and gave up exercise, trying to add a few
pounds to her slender figure; she no longer spent so much time looking
after her skin, and she chose different makeup; she tinted her hair a shade
lighter, gradually adding hints of gray. It made a difference, but not much.
And in all the years after the treatment, Corinne never picked up a
brush; there was neither the need nor the desire to paint again.
She and Robert spent almost all of their time together. They had always
talked for hour after hour, but now it seemed there was very little to talk
about. There was less laughter, and there was less loving.
"I think we ought to move back to London," Robert said one warm
summer afternoon as they sat in the garden and watched two butterflies
chase each other across the empty swimming pool. "It's a lot safer there
these days."
"I like it here," Corinne answered.
"So do I, but I don't think it's good for us. We're so isolated, it's like
living in another world. The days slip by, then the weeks and months,
almost without noticing. Then suddenly another year's passed."
Corinne said nothing.
"And you've still got your studio in London," Robert told her.
"Have I?" Corinne turned to look at him.
Robert nodded. "I've kept on paying the rent, because I knew you'd want
to go back there someday."
"We're not broke, are we?"
"No, not at all. But I thought you might want to start painting again."
"Why?"
"Why? Because you're an artist, that's why. You didn't start painting for
money; that wasn't the reason you did it. I know you said you'd stop doing
portraits, but you didn't mean you'd give up painting absolutely."
Corinne wondered what had made Robert bring up the subject, and she
waited for him to continue.
"I think you ought to start painting again, and soon," he said. "It's been
eight years. You never do anything these days, nothing at all. You don't
even read, and I look after the house and garden. You ... you've just
retired." He shrugged, then smiled, as if to take the edge off what he'd
said.
"There's plenty of time," said Corinne, and she returned her attention to
the butterflies.
"You've changed, you know; you're different. Ever since you went
missing that time." He grabbed hold of her arm, forcing her to look at
him.
After that first day, when Corinne wouldn't answer, Robert had never
questioned Corinne again about her disappearance. He seemed to have
realized that she would never tell him where she'd been or what had