May, 16th
Richard:
John came for his class this afternoon straight from his office as scheduled. Right before his arrival I tried to open one of my desk's drawers but it was stuck; after I let him in I went back to my drawer but with no avail.
John inquired about the matter and, being such a practical man, he lowered himself to one knee by the desk and inspected it from under. By stretching one arm and with no further tool than an experienced and capable hand, he dislodged the little object that was locking the drawer and slid it open. Before he got back to his feet, Margaret spoke from the hallway and said she'd be back in two hours.
After this interruption is over we start and carry on with the lesson as planned. While my student is reading one of the exercises I inspect the offending object. It's an awful cardboard box with a ripped lid, containing an ornate antique inkwell I bought in a flea market many years ago; pretty, though not exactly valuable. I don't remember ever putting it in this box, but here it was.
John asks me about it and I get the impression that he really appreciates art nouveau. I register this detail in a mental note.
Sylvia:
A few days ago I sent Margaret a parcel with fresh and dried herbs - some from my herb garden in our summer home in Helstone, some from the market. Inspiration struck because of Margaret mentioned her father cutting off salt and struggling to instill some flavor to her dishes, so I made sure I included some recipes for meals and herb mixtures.
She phones me today to thank me for the herbs and asks me:
-"Sylvia, what do you get if you mix admiration, thankfulness, lust and regret in a pot and you leave it simmering... for a while?"
-"You don't mention affection, but still", I reply, "minus regret, I get Melanie". "And minus lust it would be you" dances on the tip of my tongue but I swallow it back; I'd hate being so obvious.
-"Mmmh", the line is silent for a few seconds. "I'll change the subject now... How is your book coming along? Did that obnoxious art critic finally grasped anything about your art?"
I let out a good laugh. Margaret met once the art critic who was trusted with (or was simply thrust) the task of writing a book about me and my art, and didn't like her at all. I admit the critic can come across as dense even if she is well respected, but what makes my spirits soar about the event is that Margaret believed me to deserve something better.
As for the book, I wouldn't have thought there was enough interest in my art to grant having a book written and printed but apparently there's a small art publishing house who see potential in my paintings, and they want to have, so to speak, the scoop. Working on this book is a practice of unabashed vanity, an ego trip to the moon and back, but both Melanie and Margaret said I should go ahead with the project and make it worthwhile. Given that I have a small but faithful group of people who buy my paintings and come to my openings, it might be a good idea to have a book to send them as an appreciation gift.
Before we end the conversation I tell Margaret about an invitation I received: next July I'll go to Japan for an exhibition and I'll also give a couple of workshops. I've taught color theory and technique workshops in different art departments of European universities but I've never been to Asia. Margaret listens attentively to my blabber and congratulates me on this recognition.
Frederick:
Mr. West came to Cádiz for business and stayed with us overnight. He is so friendly and independent that it's always a pleasure to receive him, however, once our daughter is born he'll probably prefer staying in an inn.
He talks about my father and his only remaining student, Mr. Thornton. He doesn't say anything in particular (Mr. West is the perfect politician in that regard), but I think I'd enjoy talking to him, even if just as my father's friend.
I don't know when I'll go to Milton again. Dolores' pregnancy is almost full term and she doesn't want to travel with a newborn baby, and needless to say, I'm not eager to leave them on their own.
Bessy:
This daycare project is sailing smoothly but it takes quite a lot of work! Budget numbers, keeping track of children who attend and personnel hired is hard work. Mr. Thornton lets me have two hours on the clock, but still I bring home part of it.
This is why I've been seeing less of Margaret. I make a mental note of inviting her this weekend and make tea, because this feels quite unfair to her. Then again, she has her own things to worry about. I don't want to be on her hair and I don't want her to feel I've tossed her like an old broom. Where's the balance?