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Sample text

Perhaps I was respecting Harry's wishes. Or was overwhelmed by my own inadequacy in comparison with him. One thing was sure, none of us would remember the events of this time in quite the same way. Gupta would describe how a devas­ tated Clarissa sought refuge with him. How he drove with her to the top of Mt Victoria one stormy night and tried to console her. Clarissa, mindful of her self-image as a feminist, would commit her story to print thirty years later, recounting an agonising choice between marriage and domesticity on the one hand, and an inde­ pendent academic career on the other.

Then the crunch of tyres on the crushed-stone driveway. I climbed down from my perch and stood in the path of the Jaguar. When it stopped, I went to the back window and gestured for her to wind it down. "I wanted to say goodbye," I said. "Goodbye," she said. " Her father turned impatiently in his seat. "We're running late. " "I had no intention of stopping you . " "Candace," I said. From her reluctant mother I got Caddy's address in London, and wrote several times. She replied only once. "You wouldn't like it here," she wrote.

At times we blamed our parentage, believing that our fathers had failed us in some way. When Fletcher told me how his father had clumsily pressed money into his hands on the day he left home, unable to express his feelings in any other way, or when Harry confessed that his father had never shown him any physical affection, I recognised these signs of Anglo gauche­ ness in my own father. But more, I remembered the January day I returned home from a Student Congress at Curious Cove in the Marlborough Sounds and Dad and I went downtown to a movie.

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