Free Brief Lives by Anita Brookner

courage to transpose her sphere of influence from a full theatre to a group of silly women, although I think that each of us knew that the company of women held no charm for her and that she could turn her attention to each one of us and leave us unsettled as a result. Maureen, during one of her absences at Peter Jones, was convicted of gracelessness (difficult to deny) and Mrs Chesney was adjured to her face to lose some weight. ‘You know how it ages one, darling.’ I liked Mrs Chesney, whom I found a simple sympathetic sort of woman, and burned with indignation on her behalf. The fact of the matter was that Mrs Chesney, who was not well off, habitually wore a rather tight black suit which did nothing to conceal her ample hips, and the sight of this suit, which usually bore a little powder on the lapels of the jacket, was anathema to Julia, whocontinued, throughout her retirement, to be magnificently dressed. Although Mrs Chesney cheerfully admitted to enjoying her food I had caught an instant of helplessness in her smile, and hated Julia for mocking someone so defenceless. But in reality she mocked us all. Only Mrs Wilberforce, a tinkling fountain of appreciation, and Julia herself, constituted a protected species.
    Why did I persuade myself that this sort of company was in any sense desirable? I believe that I had reached a low point in my life when I felt I could aspire to nothing good, when there was a kind of pleasure in accepting the second- or even the third-rate, as if that were all a person of my calibre could expect. There was in me an absence of volition which made me an easy prey for characters stronger than myself. And my motives in going to Onslow Square were not entirely noble, for the company of these women made Owen seem so much more interesting, worthwhile and laudable that I could hardly wait to get back to Gertrude Street in time to hear his key in the door. Owen, of course, was all in favour of my keeping in with Julia, for he thought that that softened Charlie’s heart towards him, and in a sense it was true. Owen’s motives were not noble either, but I had lost sight of Owen’s moral strategies, and in any case the discovery of the money in the sock drawer made me willing to defend his interests, where once I might not have given these a thought.
    The suggestion of the holiday, made by Julia, came as a direct result of her discovery of my morbidity. In fact she was not entirely wrong: I may well have been displaying some sort of symptom at that time, although I should have described this as unhappiness rather than morbidity. To save face—and because it is always bad form for a married woman of settled years to complain of unhappiness—I acceptedthe lesser charge. I mentioned the suggestion idly to Owen that evening and he surprised me by saying, ‘Why not? You look a bit peaky. And I’m sure I could borrow a house for us. It might be rather fun.’ ‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘It might be a busman’s holiday for you, with all your travelling. Wouldn’t you prefer to stay at home?’ ‘It’s time we spent a few days together, somewhere away from here. I’ve neglected you a bit, haven’t I?’ And he looked at me with a curious doubt in his eyes, and a sort of plea for trust, and I felt myself turn into his wife all over again.
    The holiday in the south of France was our happiest time. The house was in the hills behind Nice and it had a terrace, and a long cool dining-room, and terracotta tiled floors on which tiny lizards palpitated in the sun. Each morning Owen drove me to the market, while Charlie and Julia were getting up, and I bought fish and vegetables for our dinner. Then we would go back to the house and collect the others, and go down to Nice. We would sit at a café, where Julia would have her whisky and Owen his
pastis
, and then make for a good restaurant for lunch. This was when I remember walking arm in arm with Julia along the Promenade des Anglais, in our white skirts,