by Belva Plain
Very slowly, very delicately, he replaced the receiver in the cradle. Without speaking a word, he turned and looked at Roxanne.
Unexplainable pictures rise to the surface of the mind and connections are made. In split seconds she found herself in a cave, deep, sunken, and dark, with endless, turning alleys and channels, lost, frantic, trying here, there, but trapped and finding no way out. “Spelunking,” Clive had said while they watched a play on television. Queer word. Spelunking.
“Well? So you never lie to me.”
Her mouth went dry, and she was sick, nauseated, gasping. “We did have a date, but I had to cancel it because the dentist took too long. I know it sounds silly, and I’m sorry, but I thought you’d be disappointed if I didn’t have something to tell you about Michelle, so I made the lunch story up. You’ve been so good to her, so interested in her—”
“Please don’t insult my intelligence, Roxanne.” Clive was very, very calm. “Just tell me in a few simple, truthful words where you were all day.”
“Shopping. After I finally got finished with the dentist, there wasn’t much time left, so I just went around the stores.”
“I don’t believe you, Roxanne,” he said, still calmly.
“It’s the truth. I can’t help it if you don’t believe me.”
“There’s something here,” he said to himself, “but I don’t know what it is.”
Then he, too, sat down at the table, resting his chin on his hands and frowning. She watched him, took a bite of cake and, barely able to swallow it, pushed the plate away.
“There’s something,” he muttered, still to himself, “a trail … So much information, private information, and this afternoon’s ‘going around the stores.’ In downtown Scythia dressed in a mink coat … Dressed …”
He looked over at her, observing the gold collar, which was handmade, twenty-two-carat Greek jewelry, his birthday present, taking in the rose-colored dress, scarcely concealed beneath the tiny apron, just bought a week before, worn today for the first time, as he well knew because he observed everything about her—
“Whom were you meeting today, Roxanne?”
“I met the dentist, for God’s sake.”
“Dressed like that.”
“What do you want me to wear, a pair of overalls?”
“Who was the man, Roxanne?”
“Who, the dentist? It was she, Dr. Helen Kraus.”
“I’m not joking, Roxanne. Who is he?”
“You’re insulting me. You’ve got no right to insult me. Who do you think you are?”
“I know who I am. What I’m wondering is, who are you?” He rubbed his forehead as though he were in pain.
“Listen, Clive,” she said, “you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. You’ll make yourself sick. It’s not worth it.”
“What’s not worth it? My trust in you? I want to trust you. It’s worth everything to me.” He stood up, grasping the table edge and leaning so far across it that his face approached hers. “Everything to me, do you understand?”
“You can trust me, Clive,” she said gently.
“No. Not till I clear this up. You saw somebody this afternoon. You were too late to have spent a whole long afternoon alone in the shops of downtown Scythia. There isn’t a store there that would satisfy you, now that you’ve become used to better things.”
“You don’t have to sneer at me, to remind me where I came from.”
“Don’t dodge the issue. I only want you to tell me the truth about where you were today. And I also want to know who told you about Amanda and the company stock.”
He was breathing the smell of fish into her face. She pushed the chair back and stood away from him. He came closer and grasped her shoulders, not hard enough to hurt her but firmly, so that if she were to pull away, her dress would be torn.
“The truth. The truth, Roxanne. Clear this up for me. I don’t want to have any doubts in my mind about you. Don’t do this to me. I can’t bear it.”
The passionate appeal was frightening. There was a look in his eyes that did not seem quite sane. And she whimpered, “Let go of me.”
“No.” His hold tightened. “You mustn’t play games with me, mustn’t do this to me. I love you, Roxanne.”
His hands slipped down to caress her breasts, and his mouth clamped down on hers. It was disgusting, unbearable, and she pushed him away, but not before he saw the grimace on her face.
“Do I disgust you that much because you’re thinking of some other man? Yes, that must be it. I know the signs. You’ve found another man.”
“No. It’s your behavior that’s disgusting, your suspicions.”
“Then clear them up.”
He had backed her against the wall and was pressing against her from head to foot. For a man so ill, he was surprisingly strong. It came to her that for the rest of her life, she would have to submit to this intimacy. Yes, this revolting intimacy. And it was Ian’s fault. When it could have been so different, so wonderful.
“Clear up my doubts,” Clive said, with his breath in her face. “Go on, I’m waiting.”
All her rage, her fears, and her grievous disappointment collected into one explosion, and she burst out, “I told you where I was this afternoon. As for the other business that you’re upset over, I can’t see why it’s so awful for me to know a little something about the company’s troubles. Anyway, for God’s sake, what do you think—I mean, how much did he—” She stopped.
“ ‘He’? Who?” Clive’s eyes bulged, and all the color, the sickly color, drained out of his face, which went gray.
So she had done it. In her stress, her stupid tongue had slipped. She was so stunned that for a few seconds there was no thought in her brain. It went blank.
“You’ve been talking to my brother,” he said.
Thought flowed again. Better come out with a half truth, then get in touch with Ian so their stories would mesh.
“Okay, yes, I met him accidentally and we got talking about the business.”
Clive slumped to a chair. She thought for a moment that he was going to have a heart attack and die right there in that chair. He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. She waited, still standing flat against the wall.
“He told you to talk me into the sale. Of course,” he said. “How stupid I was not to have guessed it at once. And that’s where you were today, all dressed up. How many todays have there been, Roxanne?”
His voice was dull. It seemed to have its own echo in it, as if he were speaking from far away. Or perhaps it was the pounding of the blood in her ears that made it sound like that.
“It was the only time,” she said.
“Lies and more lies!”
All her strength left, so that her arms dropped limply at her sides and even speech, the very forming of words, was an enormous effort. Her reply was faint. It was unbelievable and she knew it.
“I’m telling you again that I don’t lie to you, Clive. This is a misunderstanding, that’s all it is.”
If his eyes were darts, they would be penetrating her flesh, marking every entry point with a drop of her blood. She was unable to turn her head away from those eyes, and she stood there as if hypnotized, shivering.
“I’m telling you again, Roxanne, not to insult my intelligence. You met him ‘accidentally’ and you ‘got talking,’ did you? ‘Accidentally,’ eh? Where? At the office, at his house? What do you take me for? Or perhaps you just passed each other on the highway bumping fenders. You, dressed for afternoon tea at the Waldorf-Astoria, except that there is no Waldorf-Astoria in Scythia. Answer me! Where?”
She tried to think fast. Never an accomplished liar, she was, in this terrifying moment, completely unprepared.
“Don’t you understand that I know my brother? He never could keep his hands off a beautiful woman. So why should he have kept them off you?”
“He … no, you’re wrong … we didn’t … we only …”
“Ah, stop it, Roxanne. Save
your breath. Tell me this, though, was it good with him? Yes, I’m sure it was. Far better than with me.”
And suddenly the angry light that had almost penetrated her body died out of his eyes; in their place there seeped angry tears. Between the reddening, sore-looking lids, they puddled.
He was so ugly and so pitiable! And seeing him like this she had a revelation of horror at the sight of another human being so wretched. The man was being destroyed in front of her eyes.
She began to talk, hurrying, babbling, “You mustn’t take it like this. Please. There wasn’t anything, honestly. We never did anything—”
Without warning then, he went mad. He sprang up, showing his fists. “ ‘Did anything’! You … you … you lying bitch! As if I don’t know, can’t see you—you know what I’m going to do with you? I’m going to throw you out for good. I ought to throw you out in the snow right now. I should have known! That day I brought you to Hawthorne, the day after we were married, the way he behaved. I should have guessed something.” His sleeve brushed the coffee cup, which crashed into a brown puddle on the floor. He took the other cup and threw it deliberately to the floor. “What the hell. The whole house can crash as far as I’m concerned,” he said.
She was aghast, alone there with him. When he confronted her, she cringed.
“I’m not going to hurt you. What do you think I am? But I am going to throw you out of the house, out of my life. If it weren’t snowing, I’d do it tonight. You and the baby that isn’t mine.”
“You’re crazy,” she whispered.
“Then tell me it’s mine. Swear on its life that it’s mine.”
She could not speak. It came to her that there could be no mending here, that it was really over. Then she thought, I shall have to go to Ian. He’s smart, he’s resourceful. Yes, that’s the word, resourceful. Ian will think of some way to mend this. Or if it can’t be mended, he’ll think of something else for me.
“Go on, swear on the baby’s life.”
She had never been superstitious, yet she was not able to do that.
“No,” she said.
“Of course not. Well, it will be a better-looking child than I can give you, that’s certain.”
His voice rang out. She was sure that the walls must be trembling from the force of his rage.
“Don’t lie anymore! You’re a bitch and you’re making a fool of yourself. But you can never again make one out of me. Get out of my sight. I don’t want to be in the same room with you. You ought to die. I could kill you. Get in there, where I don’t have to breathe your air.”
She ran into the bedroom, the one Clive had so cheerfully planned for guests. If there had been someplace to go, she would have fled from the house, but the snow was falling steadily, the windowpane was almost opaque with it, and the wind was roaring. She was caught between two dangers.
From the outer room there came the sound of dishes being smashed. In his blind fury, he might have stumbled against the table, or perhaps he was deliberately destroying the house. And remembering that she had not locked her door, she got up. Through the crack, she saw the ruination of the room, and then she saw Clive racing out into the storm. The outside door closed with a mighty slam and this time the walls did shake with it.
She crept inside and sat down, huddled on the edge of the bed, too numb now for any thought except how to survive this night.
Chapter Fifteen
December 1990
Earlier that same afternoon, when the first tentative light snowflakes began to fall, Amanda Grey was having a cup of tea in Sally’s living room.
“I’m so sorry Dan’s not here,” she was saying, while Sally, who was curious about this woman whom she scarcely knew, observed her carefully. With the same strong, thick hair and the same lucid eyes, she was a feminine version of Dan. The tense manner and the too rapid speech were certainly not like him.
“My lawyer and accountant will be coming up from New York on Monday,” she said, “but at the last minute, I had the idea that I’d come ahead of them and visit my brother and his family.”
Sally’s lips tightened. The words “brother” and “family” seemed inappropriate in the mouth of a person who throughout the past year had been on the attack.
“I suppose I’ve startled you, barging in like this. I should have phoned ahead.”
Sally had indeed been startled, but she was not going to stoop to any possible argument, so she answered nicely, “If you had, I wouldn’t have wanted you to take a hotel room in downtown Scythia. You could have stayed here. The house is large enough.”
“Yes, I see. It’s a lovely house. Your colors keep summer alive in weather like this.”
“This is no ‘weather,’ only a few flakes.”
“You’re forgetting, and I forgot, how long I’ve been away.” For a few moments, Amanda paused. “Yes, it’s a long, long time.”
Her voice had the falling cadence that you hear when a very old person exclaims in wonderment at the passage of his years. It did not fit the young woman whose face was brightened by coral lipstick that matched her suit.
Suddenly she became brisk. “So. Christmas is upon us. No time for looking backward. I tend to get sentimental, and I shouldn’t.”
“I don’t see why, if you feel that way.”
A pile of boxes in glossy wrappings lay on the sofa next to Amanda. “Naturally, you won’t open the presents yet,” she said, “but I think I’d better tell you what they are so you can let me know if anything needs to be exchanged. The books are for Dan, and also a box of chocolate-covered orange peel; that was pure sentiment because I remember how when we were still with our parents he stole a boxful from the pantry and ate them all. I hope he still likes them. For Susannah, there’s a rag doll with painted eyes, no buttons to swallow, and a baby doll with a whole wardrobe for Tina. Little girls, I remember, really prefer dolls they can wash and dress instead of the beautiful ones that you’re not supposed to rumple up. And for you, Sally, there’s a hand-knit sweater, black and white, because I remembered your coal-black hair. One of my girls made it. I’ve gotten her set up with a couple of others in a little children’s-wear shop. She has real talent, and I see quite a future for her.”
“You were too generous.”
Sally was feeling confusion in the face of this generosity on the part of a woman who was apparently determined to ruin them all. And deciding to be completely frank, she said, “I have to tell you that I don’t understand. I thought we were enemies, that you were very angry at Dan. And now you bring presents.”
“As far as the business is concerned, I am angry. In fact, I’m furious. But that has nothing to do with Dan, my brother.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m still confused. You’ve made a distinction between Dan at work and Dan at home. Yet surely there’s a wide overlap.”
“There is, but I can’t let it stop me from getting my rights.”
“Nobody wants to deprive you of them, Amanda,” Sally said stiffly.
“Then you can’t know what’s been happening. All this stalling over some foreign deal, while I have to wait. I don’t believe a word they say anymore. I’ve given them to the first of the year, and that’s only ten days away, so—”
“I know all that, Amanda. There’s no use telling me about it anyway. I have nothing to do with Grey’s Foods.”
The woman was a nervous wreck. One foot was tapping the floor and one hand, in time with the foot, was tapping the arm of the sofa.
“Dan will be home tomorrow afternoon late. Perhaps,” Sally said, trying to placate her, “when you meet face-to-face, you will be able to make peace. It’s rather hard over the telephone.”
Amanda was silent, and Sally continued, “I wish you would all come to terms. Dan’s really sad about these arguments, and I know poor Oliver must be distraught, even though he keeps it all in.”
Amanda was staring into space as if she had not heard. With a sudden shiver, she hugged herself.
“Are you cold? Ther
e’s a shawl on the chair, I’ll get it,” Sally said, rising.
“No, it’s not that kind of cold. It’s inside me. I guess I shouldn’t have come back here. I’ve never had a happy minute in Scythia since I lost my parents.”
People don’t usually walk into a house and reveal themselves this way in the first thirty minutes, Sally thought. And she answered with sympathy, “No wonder you have no happy memories. You were a young girl who had just lost her parents! It must have been even harder for you than for a little boy like Dan. And to become the only female in a male household.”
“It wasn’t all male. There was my aunt Lucille. Do you know anything about her?”
“Only the portrait in the dining room at Hawthorne.”
“She committed suicide, you know.” Sally felt her mouth drop open. “I never heard that!”
“Well, you wouldn’t have. It is popularly supposed that she missed the bridge on a foggy winter afternoon and drove the car into the river. Or else that she had a heart attack. Take your choice. But I know better.”
“Are you saying that you are the only person who knows the truth?”
“Maybe not the only one, although I’m sure Dan doesn’t suspect, or he would have told you.”
This woman was probably ill. The very mildest adjective one might use was “eccentric.” Since she seemed to be expecting a comment, Sally made a brief one.
“It must have been terrible for you all.”
“I wasn’t there. It happened the day after I left for boarding school. I wanted to go home for the funeral because I loved her, but they didn’t think I should. The school thought it was too long a trip, since I had only just arrived, and my relatives—my mother had cousins in California, second or third cousins who took an interest in me—agreed. Aunt Lucille was a sweet, quiet woman, very gentle with me, and especially with Clive. He was a kind of misfit, I remember,” she said reflectively. “Poor Clive.”
This last remark offended Sally in spite of the fact that she had always thought much the same of Clive. Now she defended him, saying decidedly, “He isn’t one now. He’s happily married and doing well, even though he’s been very ill. But he’s recovering nicely.”
