Читать книгу The Blind Man's House. A Quiet Story онлайн

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They stood in the bedroom enwrapped in one another's arms, the sunlight bathing them.

There was a knock on the door. It was Curtis in his chauffeur's uniform, looking so smart, so official, so impersonal that Celia turned away. Curtis was all right, but just then she didn't want to see him. And of course there was already something important that Julius must go and settle. They had not been in the house five minutes. It was always so.

'Come down as soon as you've washed, darling, and we'll have tea in the garden. Under the oak.'

He put his hand through Curtis' arm and they went away.

She had told him that she wanted their bedroom to be exactly as it was at Bramgrove. Yes. Perfect. The twin beds, the long mirror, his dressing-room to the left, the same glorious view as the drawing-room's (this was better, far, far better than Bramgrove), two pictures by Russell Flint of people bathing, their own bathroom to the right, everything fresh, cool, fragrant.

She looked at herself in the glass. Very small she was, but her figure, for her size, was perfect. She looked like a boy in girl's clothes, perhaps—but no, her colouring, her small breasts, her beautiful arms and hands could never belong to a boy. She raised her arms above her head, breathing with happiness and pleasure. She began to dance about the room, moving most gracefully in the sunlight, and the room reflected her in her pale dress, with her dark hair, her big excited eyes.