Free Waiting for Sunrise by William Boyd Page A

immense breadth of chest and shoulder, a shaven head and a pointed russet beard. He seemed over-muscular, like a circus strong-man, almost bursting the stressed buttons of his shirt front, his thick neck straining at his collar.
    ‘Mr Rief’s also with Dr Bensimon,’ Hettie explained. ‘That’s how we met.’
    Lysander immediately wished she hadn’t explained as Hoff seemed to look him up and down with new hostility and something of a sneer crossed his features.
    ‘Ah, the Viennese cure,’ he said. ‘Is this the latest fashion in London?’ He spoke good accented English.
    ‘No. Not at all,’ Lysander said, defensively. The man seemed suddenly keen to provoke him. So – mollification, charm. He would be pleasant and nice, Frau K would be proud of him.
    ‘I really admire your paintings – very striking. Most intriguing.’
    Hoff made a flipping gesture with the palm of one hand as if a fly were bothering him.
    ‘How are you enjoying our city?’ he asked in a flat voice. Lysander wondered if this was some kind of joke or test. He decided to take it as genuine.

‘Very much. I was just thinking this evening, as I walked along the Ring before coming here, how impressive it was. Exceptionally well laid out with a generosity of scale that you won’t find in –’
    ‘You like the Ring?’ Hoff said, incredulous.
    ‘Emphatically. I think it’s –’
    ‘You do realize these are new buildings, only a few decades old, if that?’
    ‘I have read my guidebook carefully –’
    Hoff actually prodded him on the arm with a finger, his eyebrows circumflexing in a strange anguished frown.
    ‘I abominate the Ring,’ Hoff said, a little tremor in his voice. ‘The Ring is a grotesque bourgeois sham. It’s an offence to the eye, to one’s sense of what is right, one’s most basic values. I close my eyes when I see the Ring. New buildings masquerading as something ancient and venerable. Shameful. We Viennese artists live in a permanent sense of shame.’ He poked him again in the arm as if to add emphasis and walked away.
    ‘Good god . . . Sorry about that,’ Lysander said to Hettie. ‘I had no idea it was a sensitive subject.’
    ‘No, we artist types aren’t meant to “like” the Ring,’ she said, then lowering her voice, added, ‘But I have to say I do, rather.’
    ‘Same here. There’s nothing like it in London.’
    She raised her face to him. She’s so gamine , Lysander thought, I feel I could pick her up with one hand.
    ‘When am I going to sculpt you?’ she said. ‘You’re not leaving town, are you?’
    ‘No – no plans. Actually, things are going rather well with Dr Bensimon – I’ll be here for at least another month.’
    ‘Then come to my studio one afternoon, I can do some preliminary drawings.’ She rummaged in her little bag and scribbled down an address on a scrap of paper.
    ‘It’s on the outskirts. You can get the train to Ottakring and walk from the station. Maybe take a cab the first time just to be sure. Shall we say Monday at four?’
    ‘Ah, yes,’ Lysander looked at her address. Was this wise? – but he was oddly tempted. ‘Thank you.’
    She put her hand on his arm. ‘Wonderful. You’ve a most interesting face.’ She glanced around. ‘I’d better go and find Udo in case he gets even angrier. See you on Monday.’ She smiled and walked away, the tinkle of her bells swiftly lost in the hum and chatter of the conversation.
     
     
    13. Autobiographical Investigations
     
When God turned his hand from the making of man
And woman, of matter much finer,
Some black flux and rust, well seasoned with dust
Remained – so he fashioned the miner.
 
Miner – delver not climber
Miner – world’s underground designer
Miner – ocean liner (?)
Miner – confine her/repiner/incliner/diner
     
    Quite pleased with first verse. Bit stuck.
     
    Hettie Bull. Bullish man – Udo Hoff. Bull in a china shop. Bull fighter. Matador. Little jacket. White shirt and tie. Bull fighting