The Merciless Ladies

by Winston Graham

  He changed up and took his foot off the clutch. The mileage of the speedometer was only 4l76. As I watched, the six changed to a seven. The petrol gauge now registered eight gallons. The oil pressure was forty pounds.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘We fell in love’, said Paul, ‘ almost as soon as we met. I can’t explain. She’s just – Holly. She represents something … that I haven’t found before.’ His voice was unsmooth.

  We separated a village; yellow stucco pub, cars outside; square-towered Norman church, people coming out in their best clothes; thatched cottages; a village shop with green blinds drawn.

  ‘Do we turn here?’ he said.

  ‘No, the next one.’

  ‘I went wrong last time.’

  Presently we turned.

  ‘She’s just twenty’, I said.

  ‘I’m only twenty-eight.’

  It wasn’t age that made the obstacles. Holly bowling off-breaks with a straggle of lank hair and thin drumstick legs. The blossoming Holly of Funchal and the Patience. But as a sophisticated society woman …

  ‘What about Olive?’

  ‘Olive will have to divorce me.’

  ‘You’re not going to bring Holly into …’

  ‘Good God, no.’ He spoke irritably. ‘I can provide the normal phoney evidence.’

  It was a narrow road now and winding, and when we had to pass another vehicle the camber made the car tilt sharply.

  ‘Olive didn’t give me the impression she would be willing to divorce you.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Last week … We met outside the Law Courts.’

  ‘She’ll have to change her mind.’

  ‘Supposing she won’t?’

  ‘She will.’

  I watched the altering numbers on the speedometer. Were the miles trailing behind us as quickly as it said?

  ‘I can’t see your proposition quite straight’, I got out. ‘I’ve known Holly, of course, all my adult life. And you. Something one of the Grimshawe brothers said suggested that he thought you were – interested in each other. I didn’t pay much attention at the time. I confess I didn’t notice it. Perhaps you were – didn’t show it – when I was there. How does she … Does she feel the same?’

  He nodded. ‘She seems to. At least I think so … I knew it would be a surprise to you, Bill. In a way it was a surprise to me – to us both. It isn’t the sort of thing one looks for. You’re going to have to be patient with us …’

  ‘If she feels the same …’ I said.

  ‘Does that surprise you?’

  ‘No … Many women have found you very attractive.’

  ‘This is not many women. This is Holly.’

  ‘Paul …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’

  The muscles of his face moved. ‘Say what you have to say.’

  Still I hesitated. ‘We’ve been good friends a long time. And running our own private lives. The fact that you’ve had a number of love affairs and one crash marriage is no business of mine – except when you’ve cared to discuss it with me. But this is different. I’ve known the Lynns longer even than I’ve known you.’

  ‘So you’ve said.’

  ‘In dealing with the Lynns – all of them – you’re dealing with innocents and children. I’ve long since taken up a voluntary responsibility for them. To say that I’d be sorry to see Holly’s life mucked up for the sake of a passing attraction just isn’t making use of the possibilities of the language.’

  ‘One thing’, Paul said. ‘Tell me before we go any further. I hope you haven’t got anything else at stake in this affair, Bill?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘In the only way you could have.’

  Olive naked on her oval bed half lit by the street lights outside; Olive brushing her red-gold hair, delicate wrist raised, silver brush glinting; Olive smiling, teeth alive in the semi-dark …

  I said: ‘ What I want most is Holly’s happiness.’

  ‘You haven’t answered me.’

  I stared at the patchworked Berkshire fields.

  ‘If I felt like you suspect, I should already have put my claim in …’

  Paul let out a breath. ‘Thank God for chat. It hadn’t occurred to me until … But you were going to say more.’

  I was oppressed by the futility of my own life, everything I was and thought and did.

  I said sharply: ‘I can’t preach at you, Paul. But if you value my friendship don’t let this be another snarl-up.’

  ‘I can’t predict the future, can I? All I can say is that this is different from anything there’s ever been in my life before.’

  We were almost there. Fortunately a flock of sheep blocked our way and this gave a breathing space.

  He said: ‘ Did Olive say much? How was she?’

  ‘Well enough in health.’

  ‘No change in her feelings towards me?’

  ‘No change.’

  Paul shut his mouth tightly. ‘ I can’t go on tied to her all my life, Bill. It was an honest mistake. I don’t owe her anything. What advantage does she get out of clinging to the empty position of being my wife?’

  ‘Cat in the manger. I can’t, you shan’t.’

  ‘Something’s got to be done. Can’t I divorce her?’

  ‘If she gives you grounds.’

  ‘I must go and see her sometime. Horrible thought. But it’s got to be done. We have our own separate lives to lead.’

  I said: ‘Holly’s led a secluded, studious, careless, desperately untidy existence. Are you expecting her to come out of the shade of a small country house and a study at Lady Margaret Hall into the limelight of society with all its business of sophisticated gossip and cocktail parties and entertaining and first nights as the wife of a well-known artist—’

  ‘I’m only asking her to marry me. That’s all. D’you think I should want to marry her for what she is and then ask her to change into something else? I could get ten better than her in Mayfair any day! I fell in love with her because she is what she is … careless and intelligent and untidy and shy and charming. That’s how I want her …’

  ‘In a Mayfair drawing-room.’

  ‘Damn a Mayfair drawing-room! I’m at the top and nobody’s going to dictate how I shall live!’

  ‘Nobody but yourself,’ I said. ‘Can a leopard change its spots?’

  ‘Of course it can’t’, he said. ‘But I wasn’t born with mine.’

  Through the moulting trees the shabby square Georgian block of Newton lay ahead. As we turned in at the gate I wondered what else lay ahead. Time only would show, and by then the thing would be done and it would be too late for second thoughts, too late to wish you’d acted otherwise. Fired by his own immutable determination, Paul would drive on towards whatever lay ahead, undeterred by the obstacles in his way.

  What was that old problem about the irresistible force and the immovable object? Did Olive constitute the immovable object? And even if she could be moved, what sort of a future could Holly and Paul build together?

  The bright October day seemed shadowed with the presentiment of winter as clouds sidled up to cover the sun.

  II

  All the Lynns were delighted to see me, and we spent what should have been a pleasant day together. Holly went out of her way to make me welcome; she was happy and talkative and apparently carefree. She and Paul were obviously close friends, but this didn’t stand out in a company where all were on the best of terms. I didn’t even know if the elder Lynns knew of Paul’s designs and was doubtful whether their sketchy idea of parental responsibility would prompt them to any action if they did.

  Not until it was nearly time for us to leave did Lady Lynn resolve this question by drawing me aside into the abominably littered drawing-room and pouring out all the doubts and fears of an anxious mother.

  ‘Bill’, she said. ‘ Clem told me to ask you something. I wonder what it was?’

  ‘I hesitate to i
magine.’

  ‘I remember; it was about Paul Stafford. He seems quite personable, don’t you think?’

  ‘My best friend.’

  ‘Yes. Just so. I like him better than his pictures. Less genteel. He and Holly, you know. They seem to be striking it off. But what’s all this about his being married?’’

  ‘It happens, you know.’

  ‘Hm. Very temptatious, being a portrait painter. All those females.’

  ‘He was married about three years ago, but they never got on. They’ve been separated quite a while.’

  ‘Whose fault was it, d’you think?’

  ‘I should say largely hers.’

  ‘I remember my great-aunt marrying a divorced man. Very shocking in those days. And she was rising forty. She died of arteriosclerosis. Often happens with these hot-blooded people.’

  ‘Paul isn’t divorced’, I said.

  ‘No. He says he’ll arrange it. Can one arrange adultery?’

  ‘The courts frown on it as collusion, but it’s often done. The question is whether his wife will be willing to free him.’

  ‘Roman Catholic or something?’

  ‘No. She just feels vindictive.’

  ‘Jealous as a Barbary pigeon. I know the type. Well, what’s he going to do?’

  ‘Try and persuade her, I imagine.’

  Lady Lynn rubbed her long pink cheek thoughtfully.

  ‘I shouldn’t like Holly to be illegal. So upsetting for everyone. They seem quite to have struck it off.’

  ‘It will be a big change’, I said warily. ‘Paul’s life has been very different from hers.’

  ‘So he told me. He says he wants to live differently. Mutatis mutandis, so to speak. Have you any weight with this wife of his?’

  ‘I wish I had. Paul may succeed. He’s an extraordinary fellow for getting his own way.’

  ‘Puppy, puppy, puppy!’ said Lady Lynn. ‘Come here.’ She sighed. ‘You know, I always pictured Holly marrying a curate. I rather fancied that. I want lots of grandchildren, and curates are generally fertile.’

  ‘What about her own work?’ I said.

  ‘Well, she should be able to do some after she’s married. Anyway, it’s for her to choose. Women do marry, Bill; it’s their nature. Most of ’em go all domestic then, but the few that matter carry on.’

  ‘You won’t raise any opposition, then?’

  ‘Not if Paul gets rid of his obstruction. If he doesn’t I don’t know what will happen. I never took any notice of my mother. I’d have married Clem even if he’d been a Mormon.’ She bent down and raised a struggling, wriggling cocker spaniel to her face. ‘Holly must live her own life, Bill. Ethelred’s tail is getting quite out of hand.’

  ‘You’re very broad-minded’, I said.

  ‘He must have it clipped. Is it true that some dealers bite ’em off? Disgusting! Christianity was not broad-minded in my young days. Nor tolerant. It’s time it became so.’

  ‘Surely it’s become so’, I said. ‘The question now is where tolerance ends and indifference begins.’

  ‘Dear Bill. I believe you’re a Presbyter at heart.’

  ‘Far from it. But while we’re on this subject, tell me something I’m curious about. Holly said to me recently that you never taught her much of religion. I wonder why that was.’

  The puppy made a substantial meal off Lady Lynn’s face, and presently she set him down on the table among all the books and papers and candies and siphons and scientific magazines. He stood there looking up at her uncertainly, waving his top-heavy tail, then began a cross-country journey over the litter to the other side of the table.

  ‘Dear Bill’, she said again. ‘ I taught Holly a certain amount about Christianity; as much as I taught any of them; so that they could approach the subject with an historically informed and perfectly open mind. I didn’t teach them religion, because nobody can do that. Religious life is a mattet of a priori experience.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ I said.

  She darted round the table in time to prevent Ethelred from committing suicide over the other edge. I wondered if she would have done the same for her daughter.

  ‘Naughty boy! Naughty boy!’ She picked up the puppy and set him down on the floor, whereupon he squatted and made a pool. ‘Naughty boy’, she added perfunctorily. ‘You know Paul better than we do, Bill. Do you think he could make Holly happy?’

  I hesitated. I don’t know quite what he wants to do with his life. As you say, he talks about changing, somehow. Well, what is that going to mean? I’d put nothing past him if he made up his mind to it. But he’s overflowing with commissions, overflowing with engagements, overflowing with invitations. It isn’t human nature to refuse them. But Holly may like all that.’

  ‘You remind me of Old Moore’; said Lady Lynn. ‘He generally contrives to say that there may be war next year, but if there isn’t there’ll be peace.’

  ‘Well, I don’t charge twopence for my prophecies.’

  ‘No’, she admitted reasonably. ‘Now where did I put that rag?’

  ‘This it?’

  ‘Thank you, dear.’ She bent down and dabbed half-heartedly.

  ‘Let me do it.’

  ‘Thank you, dear.’

  ‘Do you train your dogs?’ I said. ‘Or do you allow them to learn house manners by a priori experience?’

  ‘Now, Bill, you’re being rude. I should be furious with you. Thank you, dear; give me the cloth and I’ll hang it out of the window to dry.’

  I followed her slowly to the window. Holly, Paul and Sir Clement were standing by the sundial in the centre of the lawn. Sir Clement was talking. Paul’s large well-groomed head was bent slightly forward as he listened; the cheekbones had become more prominent with maturity. One seldom attains to a detached view of a close and constant, friend; I thought, in ten years he’ll have the head of an apostle or a satyr, I don’t know which; God help Holly, for no one else will.

  Holly was standing beside him, as tall as he, still lanky but with a pleasant suggestion of shapeliness. Sir Clement, long-jawed and bald and full of pencils, was emphasizing his point by gesturing with a long bony hand. He often made these gestures when lecturing; they helped to illustrate his meaning or gather up the threads of an argument.

  I thought of the many times I had played about that dial in the past with Holly and Bertie and Leo. Lady Lynn, characteristically, had for many years used it as a bird table, so that the figures were now obscured.

  ‘Perhaps’, said Lady Lynn, ‘ you’d find out for us what he’s – er – aiming to do about things. Speak as an old friend of the family. Of course we could ask him, but we don’t know him well enough to see into his answers, if you follow me.’

  ‘Nobody can’, I said, ‘because he can’t himself. I’ll do my best. I’m convinced he’s in earnest. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Clem’s hair needs cutting’, said Lady Lynn. ‘Did you ever see anything so ridiculous as that beard he came home with? He looked like Uncle Sam.’ She stared down penetratingly at the puppy rolling at her feet. ‘I mustn’t forget to write to Bertie and Leo about Holly. I always forget these things when I take a pen in my hand. I wonder why dog breeders are so conservative. If they’d only allow all dogs to mix together, just separating them into large, medium and small, look what variety there would be. Eventually, too, one would achieve the mean average dog.’

  ‘Mr Everydog’, I suggested.

  ‘Exactly. The Dog-in-the-Street. Just like human beings. Most interesting. You’ll not forget to ask Paul, will you, Bill?’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  III

  If there was some truth in the suggestion that Holly was as much in earnest as Paul I didn’t learn it that day, for by luck or good management I didn’t catch her alone. In any event I should not have known what to say, for she would have been needle-sharp to detect any reservation on my part. If she was happy then the last thing I wanted was to cast any damper on her happiness.

  Might it last.
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  IV

  On the Wednesday I flew to Ireland with a couple of other Journalists. It was my first flight. I think it was a de Havilland 50 J. Anyway it was the type of plane in which Alan Cobham had just flown to Cape Town and back, and it was thought an interesting thing to write about. For my part, as we wobbled up out of Croydon and droned across England and the Irish Sea, with plenty of cloud to provide the bumps, I decided that a fifty-eight-ton cutter was much more to my liking.

  Of course I personally had no business to grab this fairly trivial assignment, but I had told the editor I wanted to get out of England again for a spell. (‘You’ve only just come back’, he said plaintively. ‘Scott won’t like it when he gets to hear.’) But having seen my set expression and having presumably some wish to keep me on the paper, he decided to square his conscience by arranging an interview for me with Kevin O’Higgins, who had done so much to put the Irish civil service on its feet after Independence; this I accordingly did – not knowing then that his life was soon to be cut short by assassination. I also sent back an article on the Abbey Theatre, and two on the partition problem; so in the end it was three weeks before I lacked an excuse to stay on. Then I worked at the head office of the paper for three more weeks before returning to London.

  I had only been home two days when Paul called at my flat.

  ‘You didn’t write’, he said. ‘ I wondered what had happened.’

  ‘I wrote to Holly. I thought she’d tell you.’

  ‘Later she did. But she’s been in Oxford and she’s not on the telephone …’

  I said: ‘So what news?’

  ‘D’you mean? …’

  ‘Have you been to see Olive?’

  ‘Yes. I went that first week after you left, but I didn’t get much encouragement. Not then. Since then she’s changed her mind.’

  ‘D’you mean about a divorce?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I stared at him. ‘I don’t know how you ever persuaded her!’

  ‘I didn’t have to!’

  I lit a cigarette and leaned against the mantelpiece, thinking this through, trying to feel pleased about it.

  ‘Have a drink’, I said.

  ‘No, thanks.’