Sensible Life by Mary Wesley Page B

time they spend beautifying themselves. Who for, one asks? Who would they find in St. Malo?”
    Felix, thought Flora, who had seen him board an early vedette. “I saw them,” she said, “go into the coiffeur.”
    “You funny little thing, d’you spy on us?”
    Flora flushed. “No! I just notice people.” And Felix does not notice anybody, she thought. “I’d better go now.” She shut the board.
    “Don’t run away.” Cosmo caught her by the ankle. “Stay here, sit down. I have an idea. When Blanco comes for his bridge and conversation, you can teach me how to play this game properly. Will you?”
    Flora said, “Oh—I—”
    “Got something better to do? Does your mother want you, or your father?” He gripped her ankle, squeezing it hard.
    “No, I—” She tried to move. Cosmo was hurting her.
    “Hello,” said Blanco, entering from the street. “There’s a skinned horse’s head next door; spooky. What are you two doing? Its teeth are rather like young Joyce’s, except that it never needed a brace.” He kicked the door closed. “Eugh, horse blood. Are Anne and Elizabeth still here? What an age they take. I’ve been out to buy cakes and blown the last of my francs as it’s the last but one of the hols. I bought enough for everybody except Igor. Cakes make him throw up. Has the little horror had his run?” he asked Flora.
    “Yes.” Flora jerked her ankle free and stood up.
    Above them the volume of talk grew louder. Elizabeth opened the door. “Look at you all,” she said. “Why don’t you come up? We are quite decent, we’ve finished our fittings. Anne and I thought we would stay and make a four for your bridge, Hubert, but since you have Cosmo we shall be de trop.”
    Cosmo said, “Please stay. Flora is going to teach me to win this bloody game, aren’t you, Flora?”
    Flora did not answer, but sprang ahead into Madame Tarasova’s room.
    “You’ve been teasing her,” said Blanco.
    “I don’t tease little girls.” Cosmo went ahead of Blanco into the crowded room. “Hello, Madame, bonjour, bonjour.” He shook her hand with the hand which had held Flora’s ankle vice-like.
    Madame Tarasova chirruped with pleasure over the patisseries, moved her sewing onto the chaise longue, bundled Prince Igor’s basket underneath it, brought out the cards, placed chairs for the card players and arranged the cakes on a plate.
    Elizabeth, Anne and Blanco squeezed round the table, while Cosmo and Flora, using the music stool for the backgammon, sat on the floor. “Now, start at the beginning,” said Cosmo. “Explain everything. Tell me all the hows and wherefores and how to win.”
    Gaining confidence, Flora was soon demonstrating the game, showing Cosmo when to double, when to draw back, when to give in. When presently Madame Tarasova made tea, serving it in glasses with a slice of lemon, Elizabeth and Anne conducted a bridge post-mortem, accusing each other of crass mistakes with the utmost good humour, leaning back in their chairs, sipping tea, nibbling their cakes. They aired their excellent English in accents which charmed the ear. Cosmo, from his position on the floor, was impressed by the size of their breasts, which jutted like the prows of galleons under their jerseys; so unlike his sister Mabs and her friend Tashie’s fashionable flatness or his mother’s discreet curves. Holding his steaming glass in one hand he unconsciously cupped the other, until, aware of Flora eyeing him across the piano stool, he made a fist and feinted a punch at her nose. Flora did not flinch but, leaning across the stool, whispered, “Jules’ wife’s tummy has moved up high like Elizabeth and Anne’s fronts.”
    “Has it really?” Cosmo calculated the length of her eyelashes. “Keep still,” he said, “I won’t hurt you,” and tweaked an eyelash out. “Nearly half an inch, I’d say.” He laid the eyelash on his palm.
    “Is that dangerous?” Flora’s eye watered.
    “Another rubber?” Blanco