Free Carnforth's Creation by Tim Jeal

to property . But do they ever add anything? Ever ask what went to pay for pictures in the eighteenth century? Ever work out what it cost to knock down perfectly good old houses to build bigger new ones?’ He threw up his hands. ‘And what about the gardens they tore up; the villages they moved?’
    ‘You’re suggesting we do that?’ she asked frostily.
    ‘Come on,’ he laughed. ‘The past doesn’t oblige us to be museum curators, that’s all. Still plenty of ways to use money imaginatively.’ His smile won no response. ‘Well, do you understand why more rich men don’t buy newspapers or theatres; don’t back magazines or galleries?’
    ‘What about you?’ she demanded, waving away a wasp with her scarf.
    He shrugged. ‘A forty per cent stake in a music publisher, which handles artists.’
    ‘ Artists ?’ she laughed harshly. ‘Oh brave new media world …’
    He bowed his head. Hopeless even to think of arguing the cultural insignificance of tasteful minorities; to point to the realities. Suddenly inspiration: tell her the truth; not all, but enough to claim common ground. Maximise satirical purpose , minimize fascination and enjoyment.
    He said, ‘You don’t have to like pop to find it interesting … truly, Elly.’ An engaging smile. ‘What else says it clearer? Success as numbers, greed decked out as love; price as value?’ He slung his jacket over his shoulder. ‘So why not see if one can sell it straight? No frills, no illusions … I get my star twinkling by every known gimmick, and a few that aren’t, and have him say how it happened.’ Her shocked face underlined the margin of his failure.
    ‘What would that do to him ?’
    ‘Nothing,’ he laughed, still trying. ‘Name me anything more disarming than total honesty?’ He moved closer to make sure of her attention. ‘Once people identify with him, he becomes their success too; if he’s a fraud, so are they. You think he’ll be disowned?’ He took her hand and swung her round to face him. ‘Don’t you see how amazing it would be? Make a phenomenon of someone by having him admit to all the grubby motives most people do their damnedest to disguise. And this is the coup de grâce: condemnation only leads to notoriety, which makes for more success in that world.’
    ‘If it’s so obvious,’ she whispered, ‘Why bother to prove it?’
    He lobbed a stone high into the branches. ‘Think what a moral swipe it’d be if I could ?’
    ‘But if everyone’s been so thoroughly fooled,’ she asked calmly, ‘who’s going to believe your proof?’
    He frowned thoughtfully. ‘Won’t that be even more intriguing to find out?’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ she replied, turning towards the house.
    By the middle of the afternoon Paul thought matters were improving. He had given his word never to mount any more ‘entertainments’ at Delvaux, and had apologised, not for what he had done, but for distress caused. Though she seemed a little mollified, the uncharacteristic detachment of the morning was still in evidence. The weather was hot, and though anything but keen to play tennis, when Eleanor suggested it Paul agreed. She never treated any game as a romp, and as usual he had to work hard to avoid losing the first set. Changing ends, he grabbed her racket.
    ‘Elly,’ he sighed, ‘if you live as you like, and I’m with you a lot, does it matter that I do other things you don’t care for?’
    ‘You’re going to go on doing them, so why bother asking?’ She walked to the base line and began gathering balls.
    At the end of the game he came to the net. ‘If I want to sit on more beaches than the one I’ve been washed up on, is it the end of the world?’
    ‘Paul, nobody gets what they want most, and the next best thing.’ She served a ball hard into the side-netting. ‘Like a happy marriage and the world as your playground.’
    He bounced his racket on the net-cord. ‘People with our advantages don’t need to play that