The Runaway Visitors by Eleanor Farnes

fact, as they went to their table, Charles was twice stopped by friends, to whom he introduced Victoria and with whom he chatted for a minute or two; and soon after their arrival, the place was full up, and people arriving after that would have to wait some time.
    ‘You are going to Washington?’ Victoria asked, as they handed the menus back to the waiter and sat back to await their meal, for one of those friends had mentioned his visit to Washington.
    ‘Not until the autumn. There’s a possibility I may do an important monument there. Negotiations are in the early stages, but I have to go over about it. ’
    ‘Do you like the States?’
    ‘ What a big question, Victoria! There’s no quick answer. There are things one likes and things one hates; places one likes and places one dislikes. The important thing is to do my work.’
    ‘And have you done a lot in America?’
    ‘Quite a bit. They’re still the big spenders.’
    ‘And is that what makes you rich?’
    ‘Rich?’ He threw back his head and laughed. ‘I’m not rich, Victoria. What makes you think so?’
    ‘Well, your beautiful house. And you have a flat in London . . .’ ‘Rented to Americans at the moment for a fantastic rent. ’
    ‘And all your friends seem very wealthy.’
    ‘And how do you know that?’ he asked, amused.
    She was caught out. How could she say that she had watched his guests arriving at his party? She blushed and chose not to pursue that topic. Charles’s expression as he saw that blush was slightly quizzical, and Victoria knew that he had guessed. She changed the subject by reverting to the marvels she had seen that morning.
    ‘I don’t think I ever realised how derivative all creative artists must be,’ she said. ‘Seeing some of the Michelangelo sculptures this morning, for instance, one sees how much Rodin derived from them ... ’
    ‘I suppose we are all derivative up to the point where we have the courage of our own convictions and begin to break away. ’ ‘Oh, I don’t know. I feel that nowadays nobody wants to do the ground work and build a foundation, but start right off being as original as all-get-out. ’
    She had been pursuing her own line of thought, and had not realised with how much interest Charles was regarding her. He smiled at her.
    ‘I didn’t realise you were so interested in the arts, Victoria.’ ‘What, with my parents? We were fed the arts in our cradles. You must have understood that. However interested they were in their jobs, they always wanted to see the exhibitions and galleries; and as soon as my father had enough money, he bought pictures and sculptures—as of course you know. ’
    ‘Indeed,’ agreed Charles.
    ‘I remember, as a child, nearly always going to bed to the music of a symphony on records, or an opera, or my father playing the piano himself. When they were at home. And there were always books on every conceivable subject, and they were always available to us. We looked at pictures and were taken to museums, even to lectures. One either hated it, or liked it very much. I happened to like it very much.’
    ‘Good. Then you’ll like the Uffizi this afternoon. . . . What lucky children you were, Victoria, you and Sebastien and Amanda, to have parents like Paul and Barbara, who could make life so interesting for you, and so vivid. ’
    She was silent, pretending to look with interest about her, but Charles elected to follow up his observation.
    ‘Don’t you agree, Victoria?’
    ‘We must have been lucky. Everybody is always telling us so.’ ‘Which hasn’t actually answered my question,’ he said, but he did not repeat it and Victoria did not answer it.
    Lucky? she wondered. She supposed they had been, but she could not help remembering times when Amanda, as a very small girl, had cried herself to sleep night after night at the Innes’ house because she wanted her mother, who was flying off to the jungles of South America to hunt for orchids. Or the time when General