The incongruous sound of the door chimes started, playing their thin musical box melody.
Andrea scrambled to her feet, opened the door and began to weep. ‘David,’ she said, her voice choked with tears.
The young man who stood there could have been nine or ten years younger than Justin. Tall and thin, he looked like a modern version of ‘Mr Chips’, his glasses and serious expression contributing to that school-masterly appearance.
‘Well, haven’t you done well, Doll?’ sneered Justin. ‘Arnold Schwarzenegger to a tee.’
David looked from one to the other and said, ‘Phone the police, Annie.’
‘Annie! Is that what your toy boy calls you? What did you pick her out for, Professor? If you wanted to learn the ropes, you should have found yourself a real woman. All she can teach you is how to clean loos.’
‘Shut up,’ David muttered. ‘Phone the police,’ he repeated to Andrea.
‘Not the police,’ she pleaded and Justin felt a moment’s satisfaction. She still cared about him.
‘She thrives on it really,’ he said, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her towards him. He kissed her hard on the lips. ‘Perhaps you’ve learned something from that, teacher.’
As Andrea gasped and wrenched herself free, Justin felt a hard blow land on his face and reeled as blood started pouring from his nose.
‘Leave her alone,’ David gasped, his voice shaking. ‘Are you going to get the police, Andrea?’
‘Just get him out of here,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t want to have to see him or have anything to do with him.’
‘Did you hear that?’ said David, taking Justin by the collar and ushering him to the door. ‘Stay away from Andrea. Don’t come back here again.’
He shoved Justin out of the house, so that he fell to the ground. The door slammed shut behind him. Struggling to his feet, Justin cursed and aimed one last kick at the door before limping onto the darkening street. He edged along the pavement. He coughed as blood trickled down the back of his throat, and held his hand to his face to try to stem the flow. He could do with a drink, but he didn’t even have the bottle of wine.
He wandered in the direction of his home, a home where no-one waited, no-one would welcome him. He tried to think of anyone who might offer him refuge and there was no-one.
Chapter 7: Lavender
(Thursday evening)
‘I’ve never seen you like this before, David,’ said Andrea, sitting up, her shoulders taut, in the armchair so recently vacated by her husband. ‘I could hardly believe it was you, just now.’
‘I was a bit surprised myself,’ he admitted.
David knelt on the floor next to her, a pad of cotton wool in his hand. He dabbed at the wound with a gentle hand. Even so, Andrea winced and took a shaky sip from a glass of brandy he had poured for her.
Making a face at the taste, she offered it to him.
‘This is horrible. Why don’t you have it? You look as if you could do with it as much as me.’
‘Rubbish, it’ll do you good. Yes, actually, I was half afraid he wouldn’t go. I wouldn’t have known what to do next. I’m the original ten-stone weakling.’
Andrea’s smile was warm and affectionate. ‘You under-estimate yourself.’
‘Not really. Well let’s hope I don’t have to prove myself again. He might discover I’m just a fraud.’
‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your coming here, David.’
‘When I said I’d try to help you, I never expected to have to get involved in that way. Just point you in the right direction to get the legal situation sorted out. The sooner the better, I feel, now I’ve seen him. An injunction keeping him away from you and a divorce - as soon as possible.’
‘And then?’ murmured Andrea.
‘I’ve been on to my divorce lawyer friend, Charlotte Saville-Banks, and if you want to see her in the office, she’ll get her secretary to fit you in.’
‘That’s kind,’ said Andrea twisting the glass in her hand.
‘But, in view of what’s happened, I think we should go and have a chat with her tonight. I’m sure she won’t mind. As I told you, the other day, she’s an old friend from university.’
She knew he was aware of her tension and that much of what he was saying was to relax her.
‘No glamour girl - I never saw her out of jeans. She was a bit large too. But we all used to have a lot of fun together, as you do at college. I haven’t seen her much recently. She married one of the rugby team who drank rather a lot, and had an unpleasant marriage break up herself. That was when I was going through my own particular hell.’ He paused for a moment, as if his mind had taken him to another place. ‘But she was pleased to hear from me when I rang. When I told her all about you, she said she thought I wasn’t interested in women now.’
‘And aren’t you?’ asked Andrea, blushing and looking down at the glass.
‘Don’t play games with me, Andrea. You know I’m in love with you. I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you.’
Andrea smiled at his words. Sometimes you couldn’t believe that your hopes would come true. She said nothing for a moment, thinking back to the day when she first met David, and remembering all that had gone before. How glad she had been to have a place that she could regard as a refuge. She never imagined what it would lead to. When she saw the advert in the paper shop, she knew it would give her a little bit of independence and for that she was thankful. And when she arrived at the house, she was sure she could make it homely. She could tell it had been cared for before - that a woman had looked after it.
On the mantelpiece was a wedding photo, a young couple, he thin and gangling, the woman rosy, her face full of smiles. The young man, Andrea had decided, was the son of the house. His father - in her imagination, a tall, distinguished man with silver hair - was the person who had advertised for a cleaning lady. ‘Widower requires domestic help’ - it had conjured up a picture of a sixty or seventy year old.
Even so, the young man in the photo seemed to smile at her as she dusted.
David applied a dressing to the wound with a deft hand. ‘I’ll never forget seeing you for the first time. I remember coming home because I’d forgotten my Filofax. I walked in, and saw this woman sitting on the floor crying. You looked up and I saw a bruise on your face. I put two and two together, and thought - how could anyone hurt that beautiful woman? There was the scent of lavender in the air. That’s when I realised who you were.’
For the moment, Andrea didn’t know what to say.
‘Oh, David,’ she breathed.
For so long their relationship had been formal - as formal as it could be - for his sympathetic manner kept slipping into the most mundane conversations and she found it hard to contain her feelings of attraction to him. Now what he said couldn’t be ignored. She, too, remembered that day when she first saw him - when the young man in the wedding photograph came alive for her.
David carried on talking, and it was as if, now he had started, it all had to come out.
‘And, after that, I noticed the smell of lavender every time you’d been. And then I had a picture of you in my mind. And I couldn’t get it out of my head.’
Andrea felt dizzy for the moment. Could this all be true? Did he just want a fling with an older woman? She had to be sure about his feelings.
‘It’s lovely that you should say that,’ she said. ‘But there’s nearly eight years’ difference between us. You heard what Justin said - “Toy boy”. I’m afraid I’m too old for you. People will say I’m an old hag, cradle snatching.’
David stroked her fair hair with a gentle hand. ‘You’re so lovely, Annie. How could anyone think that? They’d think I was lucky to have you. Anyway, what does it matter what the rest of the world thinks? When two people are right for each other, age doesn’t come into it.’
She was aware of her voice shaking. ‘I want it to be true. But I have to be sure. You’ve been a wonderful friend and I don’t want t
o lose that friendship. I don’t want any more mistakes in my life. You loved Sarah, and now you say you love me. What about the other women since Sarah? There must have been others.’
‘I warded them off after Sarah died. Not that many of them regarded me as the model for a centrefold, I’m sure.’
She smiled, because he was quite unaware of how attractive he was.
‘They all seemed to want to mother me. All I wanted was to be left alone. I didn’t want a mother. I didn’t want another wife. I just wanted Sarah back. I missed her so much. She was my lover and my best friend. I didn’t want a relationship with anyone else.’
‘That’s why I don’t want you to rush into something you’ll regret.’
‘I’ve moved on, Annie, I don’t feel the same pain any more. It’s true I didn’t want anyone at first. There were several women who offered to come and do things around the house, friends of Sarah, friends from Uni - their sympathy was unbearable. Strangers were easier. That’s why I advertised for cleaning help. You were ideal. Totally anonymous. A happily married woman, I thought.’
‘You found out the truth about that!’
‘But by that time it didn’t matter any more. In any case, Annie, it meant a lot to me coming home and finding everything looking nice. Sarah used to be house-proud like you. After she’d gone, I tried to keep it the way she would have wanted. I’d go round the house every Saturday.’
He got up and walked round the room, almost as if he were enacting his former routine. Andrea watched him, wondering if the love she felt for him would be sufficient to assuage the pain of the past.
‘I’d hoover and dust and clean the kitchen floor,’ he continued. ‘I’d throw all the sheets and towels in the washing machine and get them dry on Sunday. It was disciplined, but there were no frills. After she died, I missed her touches. I missed the warmth and the smell and the homeliness. All the things that were part of her before, and all the things that reminded me how much I missed her.’
He sat down again, his expression, for the moment, far away.
‘It was good of you to take me on trust,’ Andrea said, and his eyes returned to her.
‘I have a confession. I asked at the paper shop if they knew you.’
‘Really? What did they say?’
‘That you were a lovely lady. So I wasn’t much the wiser. But that seemed enough for me to know. Though when you first posted that note to me, asking for the job, I tried to analyse your handwriting. ‘
‘I didn’t want to talk on the phone in case it was anyone I knew.’
‘I used to look at all your little memos and guess at what you were like from the slant and the loops. At first I decided you were a frustrated career woman with a young child.’
‘Fancy trying to analyse my boring notes.’
‘But there was no evidence of a child. And the notes were a bit down to earth, so I changed my mind about that.’
Andrea remembered how, in her eagerness to remain anonymous, she had succeeded in erasing any trace of personality from her notes, saying things like, ‘Clean sheets in the linen cupboard. Have polished the candlesticks.’ It was still surprising to her that David could have had any interest in the uninspiring person who wielded the vacuum cleaner and wrote such comments.
‘Then I started to have this charlady image in my mind - a bit like someone from Coronation Street, with a pinny and a scarf round your hair.’
‘No-one looks like that nowadays, David.’
‘Then when you put that slice of meat pie in the fridge, I got a new image.’
The almost empty fridge had been a pitiful sight for Andrea. Perhaps because of the despair in her own life, she had viewed the contents of the fridge, belonging, as she thought, to an elderly bereaved man, as particularly touching. The tiny bag of frozen peas, a frozen pizza one day, a frozen pie the next. She had decided to bring a home cooked meal into the life of this lonely man.
‘That pie was the best thing I’d tasted for a year. As I heated it up, the house smelled as if Sarah was at home there again. I so rarely use the oven - nearly always the microwave. After I’d eaten, I tried to pretend she was in the kitchen washing up. But all I could think was that she’d betrayed me, she’d walked out on me.’
‘But she died,’ protested Andrea.
‘Yes, but I felt so angry with her for leaving me behind. She had no right to go. She was only twenty three. We thought we had all those years together - children - holidays - problems - schools - even growing old. We thought we were going to share so many things. Why did she take such a chance, pulling out when the road wasn’t clear?’
‘She wouldn’t have wanted to leave you, David,’ said Andrea, tears in her eyes.
‘After that meal, I sat down and cried. It was the first time for ages. I hadn’t cried since the funeral. And I picked up that empty plate and threw it across the room.’
Andrea couldn’t speak. She could tell how deep his despair had been. How could he love her, when he had loved Sarah so much?
‘Then I went to bed and tried to remember what it was like when we were making love. And all I could feel was an ache, a constant ache. Like a limb had been torn from me.’
‘Oh David, if only I’d known it would just cause you more pain.’
‘But it was wonderful, Andrea. I could feel all your warmth and kindness in that meal. I had to change my idea of you once again. Got it wrong again, of course. I decided you were chubby and motherly. The pinny turned into a crisp apron, and you were bustling and brisk. But the meal was wonderful. I had to thank you.’
‘I remember. Your note said, “Your pastry nearly floated me to heaven.” What a romantic way to write.’
‘And you wrote back an embarrassed stiff little note, saying, “Would you mind if I buy some lavender polish?”‘
‘I didn’t mean to sound cold. Things had got so bad at home. But your house was my little haven.’
‘Was that why you bought the bunches of daffodils, sometimes?’
‘Did you still think I was brisk and bustling?’
‘I’d heard your voice on the telephone, by then. It surprised me. Your voice sounded so much younger than I’d imagined. Why did you ring me?’
‘You’d left the house in such a mess.’
‘D’you know what I thought then, Andrea? I thought you were going to give me your notice.’
‘I was worried about you. It was so out of character. The unwashed crockery. The empty bottle. Glass all over the floor. The broken photo frame. The house looked like a bomb had hit it.’
‘Yes, I remember. It was our anniversary - would have been our anniversary, I mean. Four years. I tried to drink myself silly. I threw our wedding photo across the room.’
‘David. I know you love Sarah. You love her even now.’
‘I’ll never forget her. But all the bitterness I felt has evaporated. I feel privileged to love two special women.’ David gently stroked her cheek. ‘To me you’re still a dream vision,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have a second chance. You are going to give me that chance, Andrea, aren’t you?’
She looked up at him, her face still somewhat melancholy and frightened. He put his arms round her and embraced her with gentleness, still hesitating, as if it might be a mistake. They looked again at each other, now a little surer of each other.
‘Your glasses are steaming up,’ said Andrea, her voice shaky.
‘You’re enough to get anyone steamed up,’ David whispered.
Andrea smiled, put down her brandy and took off his glasses.
‘Justin used to say I was an iceberg - he called me the original ice maiden,’ she confessed.
‘Then perhaps he just didn’t know how to achieve a melt-down.’
‘Always the physicist,’ she laughed.
The arm of the chair was a barrier between them. In a single action, they both rose and moved towards each other and this time the kiss lasted longer. In a moment, they sank back on the chintz-covered s
ettee.
It was forty minutes before the chiming of the grandmother clock disturbed them with eight strokes. They smiled at each other without embarrassment, no longer with the hesitance of lovers still unsure of each other.
‘That cool lavender perfume you wear is a con-trick,’ said David, wiping perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘Justin obviously didn’t know that the major part of an iceberg is concealed. He didn’t know your undiscovered depths. Just the same, I’d say Mount Vesuvius was a better description. Is there somewhere I can shower?’
‘Yes, Professor. I’ll take you upstairs,’ replied Andrea, laughing at the description, but not moving from the settee. Picking up her no longer crisp white shirt with one hand, she linked her other hand with his.
‘Andrea, I’d forgotten about taking you to Charlotte!’ David exclaimed. ‘Now we know where we’re going, let’s get things started. I know she’ll want to arrange a meeting in the office, but I’d like you to meet her informally this evening. She’s very sympathetic with wife battering.’
They got up unsteadily. Andrea’s feet encountered a bottle, still on the floor where it had fallen.
‘Oh, that wine,’ said Andrea shrinking back. ‘Whatever possessed him to bring it? I don’t want any reminders of him around.’
‘We’ll take it to Charlotte, later,’ said David, picking it up and placing it on the coffee table. ‘A bottle of plonk in payment for unofficial advice is right up her street.’
Taking her hand, he allowed her to lead him from the room.
Chapter 8: Charlie Girl
(Thursday Night)
For a moment, when Charlotte heard footsteps on the pavement above her basement flat, she thought it was Stephanie. She finished chopping onions, scooped them into a frying pan and lit the gas. It was over an hour since Stephanie had telephoned. ‘I’ll be home late, Charlie. Don’t worry about me,’ she’d said, her soft little voice faint and indistinct.
Charlotte had gritted her teeth. Not worry. How could she help worrying when she thought of the state that Stephanie had been in, recently, whenever she came home late?
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