Trespass by Rose Tremain Page A

thought about this a lot since I’ve been here, and now I’ve made a definite decision. I’m going to sell up. I should have done it two or three years ago. I’m going to be reborn in France.’
    The moment he said this, he looked for and found – and enjoyed – a flash of terror in Kitty Meadows’s eyes. It was such an eloquent flash.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ Anthony said, smiling lazily at her. ‘I won’t perch on your doorstep. I’m not that insensitive. I’ll look further south – near Uzès, probably. As long as the view’s beautiful and I have enough room for a few of the beloveds. Nothing else matters.’
    Veronica got up and crossed over to Anthony and put her arms round his neck. ‘Darling,’ she said, ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea. It’s colossal and brave and brilliant! Let’s drink to it! We’ll help you find the perfect house.’
    Kitty sat motionless in her chair. She folded her small hands in her lap.
    Anthony telephoned Lloyd Palmer. He began by apologising for his drunken night at Lloyd’s house.
    ‘It’s OK,’ said Lloyd. ‘At least you weren’t sick. How’s France?’
    ‘Listen,’ said Anthony, ‘I’ve had a kind of epiphany. Too long and dull to explain, but I think I might buy a house down here.’
    ‘A tree-house?’ said Lloyd with a snigger.
    ‘All right, touché , Lloyd. But why I’m calling is, I may be asking you to put in hand the sale of some of my shares . . .’
    ‘ Sell shares? Is that what I just heard you say?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Are you out of your fucking tree? I couldn’t bring myself to do it, old son. Have you checked the Footsie lately? I could not do it . Not even for you.’
    ‘If I find a house, Lloyd, I need to be able to move quickly. You can’t dilly around here when you buy property. You have to commit.’
    ‘Use cash.’
    ‘I don’t have any cash. All I have beyond the shares is debt.’
    The d-word silenced Lloyd Palmer.
    ‘I’m shocked,’ he said at last. ‘What happened?’
    ‘Reality happened. Time happened. And selling the flat is going to take more time, so—’
    ‘ Selling the flat? I can’t believe what I’m hearing in this conversation! Have you lost your marbles, Anthony?’
    ‘No. It’s over for me in London. You and Benita know that as well as I do. So I’m going to try to make a new start, down here, not too far from V.’
    Lloyd let out a long, melancholy sigh.
    In the silence that followed this sigh, Anthony said quietly: ‘I’m trying to save my soul, Lloyd, or what’s left of it.’
    ‘ Borrow ,’ snapped Lloyd. ‘It’s the only sensible thing you can do.’
    Rain fell.
    Veronica and Kitty sat on old wooden chairs in the stone arch that led to the terrace and watched it.
    It was manna: the thing they longed for, month in, month out. They listened to it swishing along the smart new gutters, clattering on the leaves of the Spanish mulberry tree. If the ground underneath the Spanish mulberry was soaked, then it was a good rain, more than what the people of Sainte-Agnès called deux gouttes . This was one of the ways they measured it.
    They breathed the moisture-scented air. Imagined how, in the million upon million tiny fibres of the roots of the grass, an imperceptible swelling was already occurring and how, if only the rain would keep on and not stop suddenly from one moment to the next, their lawn would be bright green again in thirty-six hours.
    The blessed rain was becoming heavy now, the sky above was the colour of slate. The water was beginning to make puddles on the uneven stone of the terrace when Anthony wandered through into the arch.
    ‘What are you doing?’ he asked Veronica.
    ‘Watching the rain,’ she said.
    ‘Watching the rain,’ said Kitty.
    Anthony looked at the two women. They held themselves so still, appeared so moved and entranced by the falling rain, they might have been spectators at some exquisite performance of Swan Lake . So it seemed only right that he join them, that he