The Burnt Ones [antikvár]

Dead Roses 1 Val Tulloch liked to look at her husband while he was reading, and not exactly chat - a word dangerously close to chatter -she liked to think of it, rather, as speaking her thoughts. She spoke them, too, with appropriate softness. Sometimes she wondered whether she irritated Gil by doing so, but she had never asked, because she did not want to find out for certain. Now she was going over the house-party she had arranged for the Island that Christmas, speculating again on the desirability of those she had invited, and Gil Tulloch was frowning slightly as he read. His wife was of the opinion that a frown suited his otherwise flawless face, giving it authority. Val was saying: 'The Furfields are always good value. Helen doesn't jib at the washing-up, and Doug is so handy in the boat. We're so used to them, darling, don't you think? It's restful. Though I can't say I'll ever take to Marcus. Bashing up poor little Jeremy. But after all, that's life, and Jeremy had better find out.' Gil Tulloch, who was giving Tristram Shandy another go, increased his slightly authoritative frown. 'And Mollie Aspinall - certainly one has to take some trouble with Mollie, one has to listen to her - but she does love children.' If she had been all like this, all the time, Gil Tulloch could not have put up with his wife, but here and now Val's social speculations were hardly more boring than the battle with Sterne. 'And Barry Flegg.' 'Why did you invite Barry?' Gil Tulloch asked, reading. To balance Mollie Aspinall' 'Isn't Mollie a bit leathery, a bit long in the tooth for Barry?'