-- If only you knew how much I envied you!
-- Why?
-- The handsomest guy of the century’s drooling over you.
-- Oh, that!
-- What do you mean: oh, that?!
-- He’s too good to be true.
-- I thought that was your motto.
-- Yes, but he is really too good to be true. I’m definitely not in his league.
-- Of course you are!
-- Look at him.
-- I can’t I’d blush and that’s just not on at my age.
-- Then I tell you, he looks like Charming from Shrek. He’s just way too perfect.
-- Is that a problem?
-- Yes. He’s too perfect to be fancied.
-- Oh, come on!
-- No, I’m serious. He looks so fake.
-- You’re just trying to play hard to get.
-- No.
-- Yes.
-- No.
-- Hello.
-- Hi.
-- Um … I wondered whether you’d come and have dinner with me.
-- Um … no. Look, I’m just not in your league.
-- I can’t believe she said that. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.
-- Well, I thought it was the other way round.
-- No. Actually you’re too perfect.
-- Whoah!
-- She can’t possibly be saying that.
-- Yes, you know you look exactly like Charming from Shrek and that’s a bit over the top for me, to be honest.
-- Um … I see.
-- Yes.
-- O.K.
-- That’s it then.
-- Yes.
-- O.K.
-- You are unbelievable! How could you say that to him?!
-- I didn’t want him to have illusions about me.
-- Well, you’ve picked a peculiar way to disillusion him.
She was standing in the small kitchenette in front of the spare basin in a white cotton vest braless preparing to wash her hair. Over the basin she could see the fields through the window. She loved coming down here to wash her hair. She didn’t need a kitchenette and the room with the medium sized window wasn’t intimate enough to be converted into a bathroom. Of course the window could have been changed but she enjoyed the eroticism of the place and the situation. She knew anyone walking out the fields could catch her washing her hair. And secretly that was what she was hoping for. But not necessarily. She was perfectly happy to watch the deer grazing in the early hours.
When she woke, it took her a couple of minutes to realize where she was. As she turned her head, she glimpsed last night's company and fun. His dark, short hair was standing on all sides in a tousled mass protruding from under the duvet. She didn't want to wake him. She lay on her back bathing in the early sunlight before she decided to climb out stealthily and started to get dressed in the next room. She walked to the square-framed mirror in the hall, pinned up her hair and had a good look at her own reflection. Satisfied she opened the door and left without a backward glance.
She was sitting at the back of the café watching people come and go in the street half hidden in the shadow of the dim light. She could see everyone and everything that passed outside but one should have peered real closely if wanted to see her. The paperback crime fiction lay face down in front of her next to the steaming apple tea. She popped in to take a break on her shopping spree before she headed home. She felt tired and wanted a nice cup of tea but as she was sitting there in the empty café she felt as if she was waiting for someone.
Kilátás
Carla felnyomta a csapóajtót, s elrugaszkodva az utolsó létrafokról, belépett a padlásra. Mindig idejött, ha zaklatott volt, s nyugalomra vágyott. Idefent teljes volt a csend. Tisztán hallotta a gondolatait meg a saját, zakatoló szívverését. Szeretett itt lenni. Lekuporodni a megfakult, poros emlékek közé. Emlékezett rá, mikor először járt itt, úgy érezte hazaért.
Néha órákig turkált a feslett, törődött, régi utazóládába rejtett kincsek között. Olykor gondolataiba mélyedve ringatózott a lyukas támlájú hintaszékben, máskor tökéletes búvóhelyet keresett vagy átjárót egy más világba. Most azonban egyenesen a tetőablakhoz lépett, s felbámult az égre. Úgy tetszett neki, mintha már látta volna valahol ezt az eget. Élénken kutatott az emlékezetében, míg végül egészen bizonyos volt hol látta ezt az eget. Ugyanezt a folyékony kékséget a fodros bárányfelhőkkel. Még a számukra és az elhelyezkedésükre is pontosan emlékezett. Jane festő állványán látta ugyanezt a mesébe illő képet. – Vajon mit festhet most Jane? – gondolta. Ezer éve nem látogatta már meg. Pedig Jane rajongott az áfonyás sütijéért. És csodás módon tudott mosolyogni.
Carla most lenézett a kertbe és megpillantotta Dorát, amint széles karimájú szalmakalapja árnyékában Goethét olvasott a diófának támasztva hátát. Dora sosem mosolygott és szerelmes volt Goethébe. Dora mindenkit szeretett, aki hozzá hasonlóan boldogtalan volt, de a szeretete hűvös volt és érzelemmentes. Talán csak Goethét szerette igazán, de szenvedélyét csupán az állandó olvasás tükrözte.
Ahogy nézte Dorát, Carlának eszébe jutott Kitty, aki mint mindig, most is egy kőszobor talapzatán ült a kert egy másik szegletében, homlokát a kőserleget tartó puttó hátának nyomva, úgy hallgatta a kicsiny, csonka figura kőbezárt szívverését. Kitty szenvedélyesen hallgatta élő és élettelen boldog-boldogtalan szívverését, hogy aztán éjjelente, kicsiny szobájában, gyertyafénynél a szívverésekből szívet tépő melódiákat komponáljon, s emlékezzen a halálra.
Most hirtelen felkapta a fejét, s a közvetlen közelében Marcel rontott elő a bokrokból. Az egész délelőttöt azzal töltötte, hogy megkeresse a megfelelő átjárót, ahonnan Kittyre törhetne, aki éles sikoltással kapaszkodott a kőputtó ép karjába. Marcelnek sosem volt egy ép porcikája; most is vérzett az orra, ahogy diadalmasan villogtatta szürke szemét a rémült Kittyre. Hirtelen gondolt egyet, s Kitty túlvilági sikolyát túlszárnyalva, félelmetes, állati üvöltésben tört ki, s üvöltése átcikázott időn és téren, s Marcel boldog volt.
Cate loved people-watching but she
hardly listened to what other people talked about around her. She rather took
in the clothes, accessories and the gestures of those whom she was watching.
Right now she was sitting on a train to Castlehall with a collection of Keats’s poetry. She always selected her reading that she took to public places with great care. Whenever she had to leave her home she stood musing for a long time in front of her bookcase; she tried to find out what people would like to see in her hands on the train, in the park or in a small café. And she also tried to find out what would people think of her seeing her with a certain book. It was her little game that she enjoyed very much. Watching people falling into the trap of their own prejudices. Sometimes she deliberately chose unusual books that she knew would shock people. Sometimes she matched her clothes and appearance to a chosen reading, at other times she tried to confuse people with an appearance that would stand in absolute contradiction with the suggestions of her book.
Today she was wearing a soft muslin dress with floral pattern and a light, leaf green shawl with brown sandals and she loosely pinned up her silky blonde hair. Today she played a nymph and enjoyed the company of two elderly ladies who were talking about making jam on the opposite seats. They must have been complete strangers to each other, judging from the number and variety of tips they shared, though they hardly differed in their clothing. They were both wearing cardigans ’that look as old as time,’ she thought smiling, ’and that you cannot find anywhere nowadays’. Still, they looked very chic in their own ways with the boring, simple skirts that slipped above their knees when they sat and that they kept smoothing down, and a hairdo that no one really had except for Queen Elizabeth II. But Cate liked their little black handbags the most that reminded her of her own grandmother and the essential chain of pearls around their pale necks. She loved the image of them as they were sitting there, opposite to her talking about making jam. ’Faded paper figures of a long gone age.’ Both of the ladies were proud jam makers it seemed. Cate tried to imagine them as members of a community’s Remarkable Ladies and she smiled at the idea. She tried to imagine what they could have been like as young girls so obsessed with jam making, then she thanked god that she was far from the time when all that mattered was jam making.
Josie, spotting Carla, fought his way through the bus to the double seats where the girl sat, hugging close her backpack on her lap, looking out the window following the passing buildings with her dark glance. ’Hey!’ Josie greeted her as he flopped down next to her crushing his shoulder into hers with the swinging movement. A wisp of his scent caught Carla’s nostrils.
‘Jaysus!’ she said, ‘You scare my wits out of me!’
‘Sorry, I just wanted to know how things are going with Miss Sara’s b’day party.’
‘It’s going fine.’
‘What do you have in mind?’ he asked and as he got a curious glance from the girl in reply he went on, ‘I mean, ya know for a theme or whatever.’
‘I asked her about her fave idols and things so I’m working with that. Photos, quotations and stuff. But don’t even try to get the full scheme out of me ‘cos I won’t tell.’ The guy replied with a grin. ‘He’s dangerously good-looking,’ Carla thought but she would never admit that. ‘I’d rather die then drool for Josie Finlay.’ Because Josie Finlay was truly dangerously good-looking with his jet black hair falling into his face, his oh-so-Josie white grin and the medium sized silver hoop hanging from his left earlobe. He worked in the pub like everyone of his family and when he was not praised for his looks he was admired for his dancing skills about what legends were told and spread among the girls in high school but basically every female under 20 was dreaming about Josie marrying them. He was 17. Carla was the only one who was not obsessed with his person (or at least not openly) so the boy liked to take her company that really annoyed the girl because his almost constant presence made it more difficult not to betray her feelings towards her childhood pal. She suddenly pushed the boy away that he almost fell of his seat.
‘What?’ he asked surprised.
‘You crushed my shoulder. It hurt.’
‘Sorry.’ She just rolled her eyes in reply and turned to gaze out the window.
Mrs. Miller, Darcy’s mother and the old Mrs. Miller’s daughter-in-law worked at the local post office close to the pharmacy and the surgery where Darcy’s father, Dr. Miller used to work. Today as Heather Miller was sorting out the incoming post she found a letter from her husband addressed to her. She sighed then tore open the envelope with her finger and started to read quickly.
Dear Heather, said the letter.
I hope you are both well. I’m only writing to let you know that we would be glad to invite Darcy to spend a week or two with Eve and me at Merryfield. I hope it’s all right with you. Please, let me know, and about Darcy’s arrival, too! I’m looking forward to your reply.
Best regards,
John
P.S.: (Please, tell Darcy to pack his fishing tackle by all means! Thanks.)
’He has never been a great letter writer’, she thought ’but his short notes have always been full of warmth and care’. Mrs. Miller folded the envelope and put it in her handbag. ’Darcy will be happy’, she mused though she couldn’t really predict her son’s reaction. He felt rather insecure about his father. He still didn’t really understand why did he have to leave and move to another place with Eve. They didn’t divorce. She was still Mrs. Miller and the girl was just Eve. She couldn’t really be angry with her. She was a lovely person who was fond of both her husband and Darcy and who felt as much insecure about her as Darcy about his dad. She was not sure that it was the right solution for either of them but at least there was no muckraking at either side. She took a deep breath then returned to her task.
Miss Sara sealed the envelope then turned it over and just stared at it. She drew a deep breath before she picked up her fine fountain pen and started to address it.
To Rupert Olsen
4, rue des Noyer
33030 Bordeaux
France
She hesitated what to write at the place of the addressee or whether to write there anything at all, then finally she wrote ’from Mimi’. When she finished she put down the pen and gazed at the beige envelope waveringly. She tried to figure out the reaction of the man getting her letter. ’Will he read it at all?’ she mused. ’Shall I post it at all?’ she asked herself. Then suddenly, in a fit of fury she stood, snatched up the letter, grabbed her delicate handbag and left for the post office.
Edward Forster was standing in front of his easel adding some finishing touch with his brush to the painting he was working on. It presented a group of crescent moon-faced cats perching on a black roof in the dark blue night with silver coloured whiskers. Though he took his artist’s pseudo-name from E. M. Forster who was his favourite writer, the different hues of blue were as much his trademark as Picasso’s Blue Era or his sister, Madge’s pottery.
He was not alone in his atelier. There were two ash coloured cats with semi-long fur sitting on his both sides. One of them a tomcat, sitting on his left, washing his right hind leg poising himself on top of a Van Gogh album, the other a female, just curling up on his right on top of Hemingway’s Fiesta.
’So where should we leave for next time?’ he asked the two felines. Hearing his voice both cats lifted its head and started to meouw both arguing for his or her choice. ’Dear Arthur’, he said to the tomcat ’excuse me for my being rude but recently you have become rather fascinated by the madmen of the artistic world. Don’t you think that you should chose a less maddening scene for our holidays?’
The cat stared at his master then let out an elongated meouw sound coming deep from his throat. Then Edward turned to the other cat saying, ’Minerva, Darling, lately you have become a bit bloodthrirsty don’t you think so? And anyway, what’s this decadence in both of you?’ he asked looking from one cat to the other. ’Art is not all about just decadence, guys!’ he said, then smiled at the cats as those returned to their previous activities paying no attention at all to his speech.
Liv turned her gaze from the computer screen to check on Tipsy who was doing her best to catch her master’s attention as she entangled herself in a ball of green and orange wool entwining the threads of both balls, as well. Liv at first gasped at the sight then decided to groan instead of screaming and stood to free the hyper-active pussy from the maze of wool. ’Man! I should have named you Conrad you are so attracted to tangled mazes!’ she scolded the cat while that watched the young woman with a cunning glint in her moon shaped eyes. ’Come on! Let’s switch off and have a little siesta on the back porch!’ she called to the cat as she shuffled back the two balls of wool in a plastic bag and under her bed picking up her Cathy Kelly.
Darcy was standing on the shore throwing small, flat peebles furiously into the water. ’It’s not fair!’, he thought as he sent the next piece of stone flying across the surface of the lake. It bobbed three times before it sank. Mai laughed at him when he tried to kiss her after his team won with his goal and worst of all Jimmy saw the whole scene and started to run in circles on the pitch shouting ’Darcy Miller tried to kiss Mai Taylor and he failed!’.
Mai was standing next to her mother at the huge dining table carefully sorting out peebles for her next collage. She loved preparing all kinds of decoration made from berries and twigs or shells and peebles or from any other treasures found in nature. Sometimes she painted these pieces of nature sometimes she just arranged them in a curious but still harmonious way. Sometimes she took her artefacts to Vicky’s shop and she sold them to tourists or offered them for charity purposes and people were glad to take the cheerful decorations home.
