Free The Spider-Orchid by Celia Fremlin Page A

glasses when they stopped reading, or maybe the other way round, but anyway, what is proved conclusively was that short sight wasn’t genetic, it was due to reading too much, and look at primitive man, he didn’t read at all, and didn’t need glasses either, so there!
    *
    Adrian sighed. His report would just have to be finished in hislunch-hour, that was all. It was going to be the same next week, too, and the week after.
    He swivelled round in his chair and faced Rita. In a way, he was glad they were quarrelling, because it absolved him at least for the time being of any obligation to feel in love with her. Since she had moved in with him, and everything was suddenly supposed to be so marvellous, the tepid quality of his feelings towards her had terrified him. He had searched for the old passion with the desperation of a man searching for his passport in an airport departure lounge … it must be here … it must … I know I had it….
    But now, with Rita nagging and scolding like this, he had a sudden sense of reprieve. She wasn’t even attractive, her white forehead all screwed up and her eyes bulging with temper … he couldn’t possibly love her like that, no one could. And since this was a quarrel, he didn’t have to love her, in fact he could hate her if he liked, hatred is allowed during a quarrel. It’s the love-hate thing, hatred the reverse side of love, and all that. He felt thankful that it had a reverse side, it gave you a sort of rest now and again….
    And what’s more, he didn’t have to put up with her stupid, female illogic, either.
    “Look,” he said, “Amelia is my daughter, and so perhaps you’ll be good enough to allow me to be the best judge? She happens to be an intelligent child, and she likes to have a bit of peace and quiet now and again to read and think. Just as I do. We’re alike, Amelia and I. Hell, we are father and daughter….”
    He stopped, realising that by this phrase he was laying himself open to yet another explosion of amateur psychology. He went on, in a slightly more conciliatory tone:
    “And anyway, Rita, you must realise that Amelia’s only two years off O levels now. She has homework to do.”
    “ Homework! ”Rita drawled the word with heavy, deliberate insolence. “You don’t know you’re born, Adrian, the way you let that child pull the wool over your eyes. That wasn’t homework she was doing this afternoon, don’t you believe it! What sort of ‘ homework’ could it be that consists simply of scribbling page after page of huge, untidy writing, and never once having to stop to think, or to look anything up? Didn’t you notice what a scrawl it was? What sort of a father are you? Don’t you notice anything ?”
    “Notice? No, of course I don’t notice. Why should I pry into what she’s doing? She does her stuff, I do mine, it’s been like that for four years now, and we’re both perfectly happy with it. I’m sorry if you’re bored, Rita, but it is only one afternoon in the week. Can’t you do some sewing or something—?” and then, when Rita’s head jerked up in fury, he hastily amended “well, whatever it is you do like doing. It isn’t even a whole afternoon, usually. She’s down with Dorothy part of the time….”
    “Oh, big deal! And that’s another thing, while we’re on the subject. What sort of company do you think that old woman is for your precious little ewe-lamb? Have you any idea what they talk about when they’re down there together? Of course you haven’t! Up here in your ivory tower, you haven’t the faintest inkling of what goes on! Well, I’ll tell you one thing: if it was my daughter I’d see her dead and in her grave before I’d send her down there to have her mind poisoned by that filthy-minded eavesdropping old harridan….”
    “Let me see, they were making gingerbread this time, weren’t they?” Adrian remarked, as annoyingly as he knew how. “Amelia brought some up for tea, if you remember. It was