"Warrington, Freda - A Taste of Blood Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Warrington Freda)

A french window opened, and ElizabethЧa passable imitation of Marie AntoinetteЧcame out onto the terrace. "Charlotte, will you come inside a minute? Your father wants a word with you."
I'd like a word with him, too, she thought. I suppose he's going to break it gently to me about Karl whatever-his-name-is.
Her father was waiting in the drawing room on the southwest corner of the house; 'the Blue room, named for the hues of its lavish carpet and its Wedgwood-glazed walls. The furniture was marble and rococo gilt; a chandelier hung from an elaborate ceiling rose. French windows opened onto a double flight of stairs which curved down into the orangery, where fountains pattered like rain under a mass of foliage.
"Good evening, m'dear," said her father. "How's the flu?"
"Oh, I'm quite better now, thank you. Did you have a good journey?" They sat together on the blue chaise-longue, Elizabeth in a chair opposite, and made some small talk; he had arrived late, and this was the first time she had seen him since she had come to Parkland two weeks ago. He seemed ill-at-ease; his expression was grave, he kept fiddling with his pipe and glaring at Elizabeth. Eventually Charlotte said, "Father, I know what you're going to say."
"Oh, do you?"
"Madeleine told me." She sounded calmer than she felt. "About you inviting this Austrian scientist to work with us. It's not true, is it?"
He looked guilty, embarrassed and flummoxed. "Oh lord, now look, my dear, it is only a temporary arrangement and he is a very pleasant young man, nothing for you to worry about. Just think of him as an undergraduate. You've never minded helping them, have you?"
"No, butЧ"
"In fact," Elizabeth interrupted sharply, "that's not what you wanted to talk about, is it, George?"
Now Charlotte was bewildered. What could be worse? And yet, logically, the tension between her aunt and father was unlikely to have been about Karl. Elizabeth lit a cigarette in a long holder and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. "Do you remember the little talk we had yesterday, about marriage?"
"I remember it, but I didn't understand it."
"Oh dear, haven't you worked it out yet?" Elizabeth looked to be on the verge of mirth; her father's face was stormy. "I'd had a telephone call, you see. Someone wants your hand in marriage."
"What?" said Charlotte, going dizzy.
"Your father's upset because your suitor spoke to me before asking him. To ask if I thought it was a good idea. As if he couldn't make up his own mind, the fool."
"But who is it?"
"If your eyes open any wider, my dear, they'll fall out. I'm sorry to disappoint you but it's Henry, of course; how many admirers do you have? Henry telephoned me and then he asked your father. Very sweet and old-fashioned of him, I'd say."
"He what?" Charlotte gasped.
"Well, you are a dark horse. I had no idea you and Henry were keen on each other," Elizabeth added with a touch of malevolence.
Charlotte was horrified. "We're not. I mean, I had no ideaЧI don't understandЧ"
"It's perfectly simple," Neville said gruffly. "Henry wants to marry you, but the silly ass daredn't say anything to you so he asked us to ask you on his behalf."
"Good God," Charlotte whispered. Then she looked round wildly. "He's not here, is he?"
"He's safely in Cambridge, dear," said Elizabeth. Dr Neville was looking accusingly at his daughter, as if she had been conducting a clandestine romance behind his back. "I swear, I gave him no encouragement," she said. "Tell him no! Oh, this is too embarrassingЧI had no idea he had such feelings. How on earth can I go on working with him after this?"
"Wait a moment, dear." Elizabeth leaned over to pat Charlotte's hand. Her fingers felt hard as bone and her bracelet scratched Charlotte's skin. "Your father has you too well-trained. Naturally he doesn't want you to get married and leave him, but I think he's being just a little selfish in this instance."
"Nonsense," he growled. "Charlotte doesn't want to get married. She said as much without any prompting from me."
Charlotte's vision was blurring with the rhythm of her pulse. God, they've been sitting here arguing over this, over my life!
"But you haven't given her time to think." Elizabeth looked into Charlotte's eyes, her face veneered with kindness. "This is a good offer; the best you're likely to get, at any rate, considering you wrecked my efforts to find you a decent match. He's a steady young man, his family are well-off, and you are temperamentally suited. What's more, as he seems set to be George's shadow for life, your father won't lose you. It's the perfect solution." She sat back triumphantly.
"Solution to what?" Charlotte felt like a fly bouncing on a web.
"Don't be silly. It's just common sense, isn't it, George?"
Dr Neville made a sort of growling noise, deep in his throat, but Charlotte recognised it as assent. Then she understood.
"YouЧyou have already decided, haven't you? You agreed on it before you sent for me!"
Her father exhaled. "The trouble is, your aunt's right, you know. A girl needs a husband. At least I know Henry, he's a decent sort, and we can all live in the house together."
They were both gazing intently at her. She could not bear being the centre of attention; she had been backed into a cage and the door was about to clang down. She could not fault their logic. If she refused they would only think she was being difficult, and she couldn't rally an argument.
It is the answer. If I'm married, it will stop me wishing for things I can't have. Everyone else will be satisfied and they'll leave me alone.
So while part of her stood aghast, she heard herself saying, "Very well, I'll marry Henry, if it's what you all want."
"You're making the right decision, dear." Aunt Elizabeth picked up the telephone from a side table. "Would you care to call him now, to tell him the good news?"
That was deliberate cruelty. Charlotte hated her fiercely at that moment, but she could only give a quick shake of her head. "No. If he doesn't telephone me, I'll speak to him when I go home."
Elizabeth smiled and replaced the mouthpiece. "Quite right, dear. The poor boy is going to have to say something to you sooner or later, unless he means to conduct the entire marriage by proxy. I don't think there were ever two people better suited."
The enormity of the commitment began to hit Charlotte. She stood up, wanting to escape while she could still hang on to her dignity. "If you will excuse me now, I must finish getting ready."
Instead of going back into the house, however, she found herself heading through the open french windows, down the steps into the orangery, and out of the glass doors into the garden. She was almost running, the black plaits of her wig swinging round her shoulders.
Here she could hide. Here she was safe. The rippling sea of foliage drew her in, gentle and impersonal, making no judgments on her, asking nothing. Down through the belt of shrubs and birches she went, across the long lawns past towering monkey puzzles, until she came to the balustrade that separated the gardens from the woods.
She sat down on a stone bench at the edge of the Italianate garden, feeling the coldness bleed through the thin material of her costume, letting it calm her. And there she remained as dusk gathered and the world moved on without her.
Now the guests would be arrivingЕ Now the party would be in full swing. The marquee walls would be taut and glowing. She sensed the rising heat and the scent of crushed grass. Skeins of music and laughter drifted around her. But she was outside it. Outside, by my own choice. I refuse to feel sorry for myself. I choose not to be part of it.
Across the grey flat of the lawn, a fountain danced and reflected firefly colours from the Chinese lamps in the trees. At the summit of the hundred steps, she could see two or three guests walking in the shadow of climbing roses and great plane trees; distant, oblivious to her. And beyond them, the Hall was lit up like a palace of ice.
She tried to forget the scene with her aunt. Her awareness swam over and around it, not through it. She had no thoughts, and only one desire; to dissolve into the cool balm of the night. Just to find peaceЕ
Her reverie was interrupted. There was a flowing silhouette coming towards her, topped with ringlets and swaying feathers. A regal seventeenth-century lady, in stiff green satin and silver lace.
It was Anne. Thank goodness, it was Anne. "Charlotte. I've been looking everywhere for you. Here, drink this." She placed a glass of champagne in Charlotte's hand. "Aren't you freezing in that thin shift?"
"No, I'm all right," she said untruthfully. "Did my aunt send you to look for me?"
"I would have come anyway, but she did say something."
"Oh, God." Charlotte drank. Her throat was dry and the champagne was acid, delicious. "Is she very annoyed with me?"