| II.1.046 |
|
'I am so sorry my husband cannot be here tonight, Reverend Williams. He has been
unavoidably detained in the Capital. He asked me to convey his profound apologies to
you.' Vera Passareil was like her daughter – lithe and graceful - and she had retained her
looks. She wore long fluttering lashes and had jewels in her hair. Her pale blue gown was
made of a satin unobtainable except from a Collecting Center and though not tight
concealed nothing of her body. All these features caused the Rev. Williams to cringe. He said, however, receiving her with her daughter at his front door, 'I too am sorry, Mrs. Passareil. Of course, I understand. Angel how are you?' 'Hello, Reverend Williams, it's nice to see you again.' Angel smiled her most charming smile. 'Are you pleased to see me?' 'Why Angel, of course.' The Pastor laughed pleasantly with Mrs. Passareil at her daughter's little joke while Angel waved to Elizabeth standing with her father across the room. 'Mrs. Passareil, I'd like you to meet my wife, Helga.' As the Bluemud's watched from afar Angel and her mother being greeted by the Pastor and his wife Elizabeth was thinking with disgust how obsequious the Rev. Williams really was. Bluemud however, had eyes only for the unchanging Vera. He had fond memories of her. Carnal memories: her red hard nipples; her ear lobes and neck; her thin long legs; his hand beneath her buttocks. And it wasn't before he met his wife, either, though it was before they were married and before she met Jack Passareil. Vera had been a forceful, ambitious, pushing woman except in bed; there she was limp and timid. He remembered her lying naked and compliant on a green cover, which had always been her favorite, with her long legs drawn up and thinking as he thrust himself into her that he might crush her bones. How long ago it was! Elizabeth had not told him what Angel had said and Bluemud was certain that Vera would hardly recognize him now. She was so different from his wife, who he had been forced to marry. Once he had them both on the same day: one in the afternoon, the butterfly, the other in the evening, the rose. His wife, she wasn't then, was the rose. She cried out in the end, like a raging torrent and a sigh; once. Like a bullet that has ricocheted Vera set out across the room towing Angel in her wake. 'Eldridge! How pleasant to meet you again! It has been so long. Angel told me she had made friends with your daughter and we have both been looking forward so much to meeting you. You have not changed. Well,' Vera laughed guiltily, 'perhaps a trifle more distinguished now?' They shook hands. 'You haven't changed, either, Vera. Still as ravishing as ever.' 'Why, thank you, Eldridge. Is this Elizabeth? My how pretty you are, Elizabeth. Angel has told me so much about you. I am sure your father has never told you about me, has he?' 'No.' Elizabeth blushed. 'Though Angel told me you knew him once.' 'Only this afternoon, mother,' said Angel quickly as she shook hands with Bluemud. She was impressed by him. Her mother was right. Briefly they stood talking then Vera excused herself saying she had someone else across the room with whom she must speak - which was true, the wife of the Secretary of State must mingle. And so she went but not without thinking, perhaps, if the opportunity arose, she might again... |
|
|
