she was all indulgence for him. The teasing that Simon could not help but hear enraged him even further.
My mother looked on helplessly, refraining from comment. Yet she did not like Adam any better. Something in her took fright at his feral nature, and it did not help that he was amused by this. It was clear that she thought him dangerous, but I was no longer touched by such simplicity. Her blamelessness, which I had always taken for granted, now appeared unduly prolonged: she should, I felt, have grown used to the ways of the world, as I had. My dislike of Chekhov’s virtuous heroines now extended to my mother. Such ludicrous innocence! Then I remembered those afternoon flights of hers, those voluntary escapes, those perhaps hopeless attempts to get back into character, away from Simon’s loving tyranny. For I had no doubt that by this time she was made to pay for his indulgence. I myself was now at the risk of his displeasure, for I had introduced an unwelcome reminder of his age and incapacity into the house he had thought of as a safe haven. Suddenly our lives were darkened with discord, with various incompatibilities.
I was in no position to effect any kind of reconciliation, since none of this was in the open. But I resolved to spend less time in Nice, to let my love for my mother take second place. This had never happened before. But Adam would now fill my horizon, though I knew that this was not in his plans. I shrugged. I had managed so far. I had indeed managed so well that his inconstancy was now part of my life. This accommodation removed me even further from my mother’s way of thinking. But perceiving the imperfect nature of her own happiness merely reinforced my instinct that we would be better apart, at least for a while. And Adam was the cause of this, though no blame could be laid at his door. His very freedom, and the unapologetic use he made of it, would have invited censure even in less constrained circumstances. At close quarters, the uneasiness, which had to do with sex as much as with age or even good manners, was too apparent to be ignored.
It had nearly all gone wrong. The situation had been rectified, the danger just averted, by our decision to leave. The time thus saved would be spent away from unwelcome vigilance, a vigilance which we had brought into being. I was now free: we were both free. Freedom seemed to me the only worthwhile objective. I wondered whether Simon’s insistence that he and my mother live in Nice sprang from a desire to isolate her as much as possible from her few friends, even from those generous but intrusive patrons so anxious to remove her from her solitary life. He was clearly opposed to any form of closeness that did not approximate to his own. That was why an occasional look of distaste, of suspicion, at my activities was so difficult to ignore. At the same time I had to remind myself that without his financial indulgence I should not have been able to pick an hotel in Paris which was so much more expensive than the ones we had formerly chosen. There was a certain amount of defiance in my acceptance of this. I wondered whether thoughts for my future had played a part in my mother’s acquiescence. But I dismissed this thought as being unworthy even of myself. The compromises I had learned were of a different order of magnitude to those of two solitary people who had found an approved form of company. At least, that was what I told myself.
In the three perfect days that followed I even managed to feel a little sorry for Simon and his makeshift family, for he seemed to have none of his own. This was now threatened by defection by at least one of its members. He had wanted us to remain as we had been initially, undemanding, grateful, appreciative. Instead we, or rather I, had been perceived as restless, seeking gratification outside the fastness he had arranged for us. He saw that even his wife, whom he surely loved, preferred to be out of the house, although I was
My mother looked on helplessly, refraining from comment. Yet she did not like Adam any better. Something in her took fright at his feral nature, and it did not help that he was amused by this. It was clear that she thought him dangerous, but I was no longer touched by such simplicity. Her blamelessness, which I had always taken for granted, now appeared unduly prolonged: she should, I felt, have grown used to the ways of the world, as I had. My dislike of Chekhov’s virtuous heroines now extended to my mother. Such ludicrous innocence! Then I remembered those afternoon flights of hers, those voluntary escapes, those perhaps hopeless attempts to get back into character, away from Simon’s loving tyranny. For I had no doubt that by this time she was made to pay for his indulgence. I myself was now at the risk of his displeasure, for I had introduced an unwelcome reminder of his age and incapacity into the house he had thought of as a safe haven. Suddenly our lives were darkened with discord, with various incompatibilities.
I was in no position to effect any kind of reconciliation, since none of this was in the open. But I resolved to spend less time in Nice, to let my love for my mother take second place. This had never happened before. But Adam would now fill my horizon, though I knew that this was not in his plans. I shrugged. I had managed so far. I had indeed managed so well that his inconstancy was now part of my life. This accommodation removed me even further from my mother’s way of thinking. But perceiving the imperfect nature of her own happiness merely reinforced my instinct that we would be better apart, at least for a while. And Adam was the cause of this, though no blame could be laid at his door. His very freedom, and the unapologetic use he made of it, would have invited censure even in less constrained circumstances. At close quarters, the uneasiness, which had to do with sex as much as with age or even good manners, was too apparent to be ignored.
It had nearly all gone wrong. The situation had been rectified, the danger just averted, by our decision to leave. The time thus saved would be spent away from unwelcome vigilance, a vigilance which we had brought into being. I was now free: we were both free. Freedom seemed to me the only worthwhile objective. I wondered whether Simon’s insistence that he and my mother live in Nice sprang from a desire to isolate her as much as possible from her few friends, even from those generous but intrusive patrons so anxious to remove her from her solitary life. He was clearly opposed to any form of closeness that did not approximate to his own. That was why an occasional look of distaste, of suspicion, at my activities was so difficult to ignore. At the same time I had to remind myself that without his financial indulgence I should not have been able to pick an hotel in Paris which was so much more expensive than the ones we had formerly chosen. There was a certain amount of defiance in my acceptance of this. I wondered whether thoughts for my future had played a part in my mother’s acquiescence. But I dismissed this thought as being unworthy even of myself. The compromises I had learned were of a different order of magnitude to those of two solitary people who had found an approved form of company. At least, that was what I told myself.
In the three perfect days that followed I even managed to feel a little sorry for Simon and his makeshift family, for he seemed to have none of his own. This was now threatened by defection by at least one of its members. He had wanted us to remain as we had been initially, undemanding, grateful, appreciative. Instead we, or rather I, had been perceived as restless, seeking gratification outside the fastness he had arranged for us. He saw that even his wife, whom he surely loved, preferred to be out of the house, although I was
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