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

her work. What was there to talk about? Someone sat for her, and she
painted a portrait, an absolute likeness.
"Why haven't you ever let me paint you?" Corinne asked. It was a
subject she hadn't considered for years.
"I can't afford it," said Robert.
"I'm being serious."
"Why do you want a picture of me when you've got the real thing here?"
He kissed her cheek. When she didn't respond, he added: "Painting me
would be like bringing your work home with you. And business and
pleasure don't mix, or so the story goes."
"I think ..." Corinne paused.
 "Do you? I often wondered about that."
"I think," she repeated, ignoring him, "that it's about time I stopped
painting portraits." She waited for Robert's reaction, but he remained
silent. "I want to change my style, do something different. I'm fed up with
tycoons and debutantes. I want to do abstracts. I want to do laser
sculptures. I want to draw patterns in the sand for the tide to wash over.
We can afford it, can't we? We could retire for a few years. If it doesn't
work out, I can always go back to what I've been doing. What do you
think? Robert? what do you think?"
"You're serious, aren't you?" he said after so long that she thought he
wasn't going to answer.
"Yes. What do you think?"
"It's the best thing I've heard you say in ten years."
She stared at him in the moonlight, then rolled over on her side and
hugged him close.
"Well . . . almost the best thing."
"Oh, Robert," she whispered, "I love you."
"Glad to hear it," he said and they kissed.
Half an hour later, Corinne said: "I saw the prime minister at the
exhibition."
"Uh-huh," mumbled Robert, almost asleep.
Corinne's one night with Graham Anderson was the only time she had
been unfaithful to Robert. Robert didn't know about it, and she had no
intention of telling him. He'd had two or three flings, Corinne was well
aware, but nothing serious. She had never questioned him or let on that
she knew. He had stayed with her, and that was what mattered.
"He invited me to Downing Street for a meal."
"Uh."
"Will you come if I go?"
Robert turned and rubbed his eyes. "I can't stand the bastard," he said,
yawning.
"He's the best prime minister we've got."
"Great. I didn't vote for him."
"Not many people did."
"I know. But he gets elected. Whatever happened to democracy? Call
this a free country?"
"No one's called it that for a long time," Corinne pointed out. "Anyhow,
will you come to dinner?"
"Do I have to? He probably wants you to do his portrait again."