Free The Golden Fleece by Brian Stableford Page A

I’d been able to paint but had no aptitude for science. I suppose I’d have gone into advertising.”
     
    Adrian was afraid that Angelica Jarndyke might take offense at the implicit criticism, and that she might be fully entitled to do so—but if her sentiments inclined her in that direction, she controlled them. She didn’t go so far as to nod her head to concede the justice of his case, but she didn’t oppose it.
     
    “Would you like to see the barn?” she asked, mildly. It was a hypothetical question, Adrian assumed, not an offer.
     

“Thank you,” he said, “but no.”
     
    He knew that it was a mistake as soon as he had said it. He realized immediately that he should have said “Yes please!” as eagerly as possible. That way, she could have asserted herself by refusing. As things stood now, he’d issued a tacit challenge, which she might just feel compelled to meet.
     
    “Liar,” she said.
     
    “Honesty doesn’t come into it,” he lied, clumsily. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to look at your recent work, given that this isn’t working out the way that Mr. Jarndyke hoped it would. There’s nothing I can do for him here. I don’t say that it wouldn’t be interesting to see your work, for myself...but I will confess that I’m a little afraid of the effect it might have.”
     
    “Coward, then,” she amended.
     
    “Very much so,” Adrian admitted. “May I please go back to Mr. Jarndyke now?”
     
    It was her turn to lie. “Nobody’s stopping you,” she said, and raised her arm as if to show him the way, in case he’d forgotten where the door was.
     
    They both went back to the dining room, and Adrian spent a dutiful twenty minute telling Jason Jarndyke what a magnificent painter his wife was, and what it privilege it had been to see her works.
     
    Angelica Jarndyke made no attempt to challenge him, having reverted to her policy of not looking at anyone, and only making the most blatantly tokenistic efforts to take part in the conversation. Her husband didn’t seem offended by that, or even disappointed. His optimism was still intact. He still imagined that she was “coming round,” and that she would one day be grateful to him for discovering Adrian, and making her a gift of his miraculous sight.
     
    He had no idea what was really going on, Adrian thought. How could he, given that he was more than averagely unsighted, even though he was convinced that he could see with perfectly clarity, and was honest enough to call a splodge a splodge?
     
    ~ * ~
     
    There was no question, this time, of simply waiting for Jayjay to drop by his desk or his lab with another invitation to the Old Manse. The game had gone beyond that. Adrian was expecting a direct approach, and it was almost a relief when he didn’t have to remain in suspense for weeks on end.
     
    Three days later, when the doorbell of his flat rang during his scheduled relaxation time, at eight o’clock in the evening, he knew who it would be, but feigned astonishment anyway. He invited Angelica Jarndyke in, and offered her a cup of coffee, which she accepted once he had confirmed that he had no alcohol to hand.
     
    She didn’t beat around the bush. “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she told him.
     
    “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”
     
    “No,” she said. “I challenged you to prove that you understood, because I still didn’t believe that you did. I asked for it.”
     
    He didn’t try to deny it. He watched her toy with her coffee cup for a few moments, shifting uneasily in her armchair.
     
    “It was a shock,” she said. “Much less so for you, it seems. Have you met others?”
     
    “No,” he said. “No one as adept as me, at any rate—or you. But because I had a scientific explanation, I was always aware of the theoretical possibility. I was surprised, but I couldn’t be shocked. Perhaps I should have been more pleased than I