If you harbour an admiration for extreme womanly beauty, then feast your eyes on my wife - the mouth, the eyes, the aerodynamic cheekbones (and the light of high intelligence: he was very proud of her intelligence). If, alternatively, German technology is your thing, then get you to my garage, just around the side there. In fact, if you have an interest in real estate or fine living generally, you could do worse than take a tour of the whole house. If fine materials are what you like, then have a feel of that fleece there, on the extravagantly deep armchair (take as long as you like: don’t stint yourself). It wasn’t his style (we shall come to his style), but he might have put it this way: Leaving the house, he turned briefly to assess it - a customary means of assessing himself, assessing where he was positioned, where he was placed. ‘Where are you going,’ she asked him finally, ‘for your lost weekend?’ ‘It’s Daddy’s anniversary,’ Russia explained. ‘I’m off out.’ He kissed Sophie’s head (a faint circus smell) she responded by skidding a wet thumb across her cheek and into her mouth. ‘Like the frogs,’ said the girl, alluding to some other tale. And they all copped it from the fox, didn’t they, Billie.’ The one about those stupid chickens who think the sky is falling. ‘She made me read the same book five times.’ ‘Daddy’ll read to you when he comes back,’ said Russia. Xan Meo gave his elder daughter due praise. They took him to the doctor and the doctor said: No more monkeys jumping on the BED.’ ‘There were too many monkeys jumping on the bed. ‘No!’ said the baby, and yawned: the first lower teeth like twin grains of rice. ‘Would you like a bath with all your floaty toys?’ Russia took the baby and said, ‘Would you like a lovely yoghurt for your tea?’ Behind them, at a distance both dreamy and self-sufficient, loomed the four-year-old: Billie. A complex figure was descending, normal up to the waist, but two-headed and four-armed: Meo’s baby daughter, Sophie, cleaving to the side of her Brazilian nanny, Imaculada. Being kept waiting is a moderate reparation for their five million years in power … Now Xan sighed softly as the stairs above him softly creaked.
It is the obverse of their fondness for keeping people waiting. Xan would not publicly agree, but women naturally like to prolong routine departures. His half-conscious intention was to signal an impatience to be out. Now the husband with a movement of the arm caused his keys to sound in their pocket. The couple stood embracing in a high-ceilinged hallway. ‘… Mm,’ she said, and offered him her cheek. But he adopted an ill-used expression (a thickening of the forehead), and said, not for the first time, and truthfully so far as he knew, ‘I’ve got no secrets from you, kid.’
Xan knew that this was not a serious accusation. ‘You mean you sort of wanted to be alone with your girlfriend.’ ‘Ooh,’ she said, pronouncing it like the French for where. ‘I’m off out, me,’ he told his American wife Russia. And, minutes later, with urgent speed, and accompanied by choric howls of electrified distress, Xan Meo went to hospital. Renaissance Manīut I go to Hollywood but I go to hospital, but you are first but you are last, but he is tall but she is small, but you stay up but you go down, but we are rich but we are poor, but they find peace but they find …
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