Natasha Walter - A Quiet Life

The Borough Press

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

Copyright © Natasha Walter 2016

Jacket design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016

Cover photograph © Jayne Szekely / Arcangel Images.

Natasha Walter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

Source ISBN: 9780008113773

Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2016 ISBN: 9780008113766

Version: 2016-11-24

For Mark, Clara and Arthur

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Copyright Copyright Dedication Prologue: Geneva, 1953 Water: To London, January 1939 Fire: London, 1939–1945 Earth: Washington, 1945–1950 Air: 1950–1953 Transition: August 1953 Acknowledgements About the Author Also by Natasha Walter About the Publisher The Borough Press An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016 First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016 Copyright © Natasha Walter 2016 Jacket design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016 Cover photograph © Jayne Szekely / Arcangel Images. Natasha Walter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books Source ISBN: 9780008113773 Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2016 ISBN: 9780008113766 Version: 2016-11-24

Dedication Dedication Dedication Prologue: Geneva, 1953 Water: To London, January 1939 Fire: London, 1939–1945 Earth: Washington, 1945–1950 Air: 1950–1953 Transition: August 1953 Acknowledgements About the Author Also by Natasha Walter About the Publisher For Mark, Clara and Arthur

Prologue: Geneva, 1953

Water: To London, January 1939

Fire: London, 1939–1945

Earth: Washington, 1945–1950

Air: 1950–1953

Transition: August 1953

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Natasha Walter

About the Publisher

How slowly the light dies on these interminable summer evenings. Laura is so keen for each day to finish that she pulls dinner earlier every night. She hurries Rosa through her bath. ‘Rub a dub dub!’ she sings with some impatience as she towels her daughter’s hair. Rosa looks up, her flawless mouth half open, her dark eyes serene. ‘Dub dub,’ she repeats in a serious tone. Her hair is still damp, sticking up in spikes, as Laura settles her into her lap with a bottle of warm milk beside them.

The potatoes are already bubbling in their pan, the glass of cold vermouth is already poured and waiting at Laura’s elbow, the way to Rosa’s bedtime seems clear; but then the child suddenly pushes away the half-full bottle of milk and slides to the ground. ‘Open, open,’ she says, standing at the door that leads to the balcony. Laura fights her impatience as she lifts and encourages her – ‘Come on, my sweetheart, for Mama’ – to come back and finish her drink. ‘Nearly supper!’ she calls out to her own mother as Rosa finally drains it. Mother is reading some magazine on the sofa, still mapping the world of new autumn modes that will never be bought and new destinations that will never be seen.

Rosa is still saying ‘More!’ hopefully as Laura carries her up the awkward ladder staircase to her attic room. For a two-year-old, every evening comes too suddenly to an end. She is never in a hurry for the day to close. Laura lays her down in her cot with a solitary white rabbit for company. ‘More’: that was Rosa’s first word. My life is all run out, Laura thinks, stooping over the cot, but nothing is ever enough for you. Her daughter burrows into the mattress, face-down, a chubby starfish. Struck with unexpected guilt at wanting to hurry her into unconsciousness, Laura whispers, ‘Lullaby?’ But Rosa is gone suddenly into sleep, that enviable sleep that ebbs and flows over her with unpredictable tides.

Then Laura is back downstairs again, standing in the kitchen in front of the stove. As she downs half of her second glass of vermouth, she prods at the potatoes, cuts some tomatoes roughly, slides slices of ham onto two blue plates, and that’s it. That’s supper. Her mother’s glance moves to the drink as she comes into the room. She doesn’t say anything, but in almost unconscious reaction Laura lifts the glass and finishes it as her mother sits down and waits to be served.

‘Potatoes, Mother?’

‘Just two, thank you – now, what time is it that you want to leave this weekend?’

They have been over this a dozen times, and Laura pauses before she answers. ‘It’s this Friday, we can get a train just after three. It’s quite an easy journey, really. Wine?’

‘No, not for me, not tonight. And he has booked the hotel, has he, this – Archie?’

‘That’s right. He said it would be quiet at the end of the season, but still fun. He’s got daughters himself, but doesn’t see much of them – I think he misses that side of things, family life.’