THALIA - Bergotte (best book reader txt) 📗

after Thalia,” interjected David, “until such times as she gets a job. I won’t be charging her any rent or anything like that. I will make no financial demands on her. She is free to come and go as she pleases. I will supply all her needs. She only has to ask.”
“How can you afford such magnanimity?” rejoined Uncle Billy, looking very sceptical, as he poured himself a cup of tea.
“My father, as you know is very rich and makes me a generous allowance. I don’t spend much money. I don’t go out much and such interests as I have don’t cost much.”
“So, you don’t have a job yourself?”
“I am not in gainful employment, but I don’t sit around doing nothing,” answered David, truthfully.
“How the other half live…” murmured Aunt Jane.

After they had eaten, David did not stay long with the Phillips family. He knew that Thalia's aunt and uncle would want to talk to her without his being there. He would be content to leave them to it and enjoy thinking through the issues on his own, as he made his way back home. Thalia saw him to the door, where she bade him goodnight and said she was looking forward to seeing him again. He smiled at her and turned to go, but as he did so she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, cousin David,” she said, “I do appreciate it.”
“I do hope it all works out for us,” he replied, walking down the front path and through the gate.
“Bye,” she whispered. She turned quickly on her heel and was gone, closing the front door gently behind her.

David strode into the night. He crossed the little road bridge over the canal in Bathampton, climbed the steep hill to the Warminster road and waited for a bus to take him into the city. As he did so he ruminated on all that had happened that day and much else beside.

Like Thalia, David was an only child. At the age of eight he had been sent to boarding school by his parents, his father thinking that his son should not be ‘living in the lap of luxury’, with his mother and father. This was partly why David had never met Megan Phillips. He had usually been away at school, during family occasions. always The other part of the explanation was that the two Phillips brothers, did not get on. They had fallen out in early adult life, and had not seen or spoken to each other for many years.

David had never minded being without his parents for weeks on end. He thought he was living a normal life; after all, the other boys in the school were experiencing the same thing, though many of them did have older brothers higher up the school, whilst others had siblings in the senior school, not far away.

David found that he liked reading. The prep-school library contained a great deal of literature that was very much to his taste. He spent many happy hours devouring the popular novels that appeal to young boys. When, at the age of thirteen he finally moved to the senior school, a new interest engrossed him, playing his violin. He was encouraged by a new violin master to take his violin lessons more seriously and started to make a real effort to secure an excellent tone and good intonation. He was also inspired by some recordings of Heifetz which he found in his father’s record collection when he returned home for the Christmas holidays.

Literature and music became his life: singing in the chapel choir was a great joy to him, in addition to playing in the school orchestra. He passed his exams quite comfortably and secured his place at university with consummate ease. Life, for David, was sweet and good.

“I’m going to mark today, Thursday 12th September, in my diary as a red-letter day,” said Thalia on the phone to David, later that night. “I’ve discussed all the ins and outs with them and my uncle and aunt have given me their blessing. They like you and trust you, and so do I.”
“That’s very good. I’m pleased. If you can help me clear your room tomorrow, you can bring your things over on Saturday and move in.”
“Yes please,” answered Thalia, “I’ve already told them that I will probably be leaving on Saturday… no time like the present…”
“Indeed,” said David, “see you tomorrow, as early as you like.”

CHAPTER III

At nine o’ clock the next morning David heard the front door bell ringing. Thalia was standing, waiting with a small bag of cleaning materials in her hand, as David undid the bolt and lock to the door.
“Good morning. I see you’ve come prepared,” he said, gesturing towards the bag.
“Yes, my aunt’s idea. Have you just got up?” she asked, staring at his tousled hair and rather unkempt appearance. She also noticed that he was barefoot.
“No, I’ve been up ages. Since about seven, actually. To tell you the truth, I haven’t had much sleep. I’ve been thinking about your coming and what today will bring. I have to confess that I live as a bit of a recluse. I enjoy my own company. I'm used to be being on my own, which is not the same as being lonely! So, I’ve quite surprised myself that I’ve made this arrangement with you.”
“I hope you won’t live to regret it,” said Thalia, warmly, giving David a broad smile, which made him happy, though he betrayed no emotion.
“Not a bit of it. Come in and make yourself at home, because after all, it is going to be your new home.”

She stepped inside and made her way down the hallway to the back room, whilst David went to the kitchen to put the kettle on and make coffee for them both.

For the next three hours they both worked very hard, saying little to each other, but concentrating on the job in hand. They took everything out of the room and stacked it carefully in the hallway, making a careful note, with a worn down pencil, in an old exercise book that Thalia had found, of all the room’s contents. They then stopped for some lunch, which they ate in the living room.
“You’ve got a lot of records,” said Thalia, examining the shelves when she had finished eating.
“It’s all classical music. I haven’t got any pop,” said David. “I don’t really like it,” he added.
“It’s okay at parties, I suppose,” rejoined Thalia, “but I’m quite keen on serious music myself. That’s partly because I play the violin.”
“Oh, do you? So do I. Well, I used to but I play the viola much more, nowadays. Shall we listen to something?”
“If you like,” said Thalia, extracting an LP from the shelves, “I see you have the Brandenburg Concertos here, played by the Concert Group of the Scola Cantorum Basiliensis. May we listen to concerto number three?”
“Yes, certainly,” replied her host, getting to his feet to put the record on the turntable, “a bit of Bach always makes good listening.”

After refreshing their spirits with the sounds of J. S. Bach, the pair returned to their labours in preparing the room for Thalia to occupy. At about four o’ clock in the afternoon they had finished. Thalia went into to the living room to rest, whilst David started to make phone calls from his bedroom; he was trying to find someone who might remove the pile of unwanted items littering the hall.

Thalia lay down on the sofa and went into a deep sleep as soon as she closed her eyes. She was not used to hard physical work. During the next half hour she experienced another of her strange dreams. She told David about it when she awoke. “I can remember every detail,” she told him. It started with her entering a large garden that ran down to a river. Not far from the river bank stood a large stone built, windowless, potting shed. A large oak door covered the entrance, in front of which was a threadbare door mat. Without thinking, Thalia lifted the mat at one end and discovered a large key lying on the dank ground.

She picked up the key and found to her surprise that it fitted the lock. However, try as she may, she could not get the key to turn in the lock. She pulled it out and examined it closely. It was rather rusty. She used the skirt of her long dress to clean it up and remove the rust. She tried the key in the lock once more, but to no avail; it just would not move. She repeated the cleaning process once more, but still no luck. At the fifth attempt, the key began to move, but not very far. She left it and walked down to the river.

There was no-one about and no sound of anyone in the distance. The garden was quite deserted. Thalia looked around her, realising that the plants had been left unattended for some time. She decided to return to the door for one last attempt to turn the key. This time it turned all the way and she managed to push the door open a few inches and squeeze through.

She stood still, inside the room, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the dark interior. She turned to pull the door open, to let in more light. A beam of sunlight fell across the room, illuminating a sturdy trestle table, on which stood a very large terracotta planter. This, Thalia took to be a Grecian urn. She clambered on to the table in a vain attempt to look inside the pot, but even when standing on tip-toe she realised that she was not tall enough.

She reached inside and pulled up a handful of dry sand. She was pouring the free-running sand back into the pot when her hand glanced against a hard object, which seemed to be wrapped in oilskins. She pulled it out of the planter and shook off the sand, tearing away the wrapping as she did so, to reveal an old, very large biscuit tin. She was holding it in both hands now, struggling to manage its heavy weight, as she wrestled it towards the table top, trying hard not to overbalance and fall to the ground herself. It landed on the table with a bang. Thalia breathed a sigh of relief, as she gently eased herself down from the table.

The tin opened quite easily, to reveal an assortment of oddments within, but they were oddments that had been very carefully arranged inside. There were two books, which on inspection turned out to be large, desk diaries for 1956 and 57, respectively. She put these to one side. In addition, she found some pieces of costume jewellery, an old camera, a transistor radio and a large number of candles, of various shapes and sizes.

Thalia suddenly became conscious of feeling quite cold. She shivered uncontrollably for several seconds as she leaned over the table and the contents of the biscuit tin spread out before her. She went out of the building and stood in the sunshine, hoping to get warm again. “There are no living plants in this area,” she thought, as she gazed round about her. She went to the potting shed door and managed to force