by Jess Foley
‘I know that, Edward. Anyway, as I say, Mrs Sandiston opened your study door and I went in and found the reference at once. There in the middle drawer where you’d left it.’
The briefest pause before he said, ‘And what else did you find?’
‘What?’
‘I said, what else did you find?’
She forced herself to look directly at him now, her unflinching gaze meeting his own. ‘What else did I find? I didn’t find anything else. I wasn’t looking for anything else. I opened the middle drawer of your desk and there was the maid’s reference. I saw what it was at once, so I didn’t need to go rummaging around.’
Silence between them, a silence that hung in the air like a fog untouched by the sound of the wind that buffeted the house. It was a silence that Grace knew she must break in order to save the situation.
‘Anyway, that was it,’ she said, almost breezily. ‘I gave Effie her reference and she’s sent it off to whoever is wanting to see it.’ Then she added, equally lightly, but with just the right touch of concern for the maid, ‘I hope she gets a decent post. I don’t mind telling you, I shall be sorry to see her go. She’s a very obliging girl.’
‘So you told me.’
Grace took up her cup and sipped her coffee.
Edward took another swallow from his whisky glass then said, ‘So how was your shopping expedition?’
Grace gave a little laugh. ‘My shopping expedition? Hardly that. Hardly an expedition. Just a little trip. I only wanted a few colours of silk and some odds and ends.’
‘Is that all.’ He paused. ‘And what did the doctor have to say?’
The question took her completely by surprise. How could he know that she had paid a visit to Dr Mukerjee? It was not possible. How could it be?
‘The doctor?’ she said.
‘Dr Mukerjee. You went to see him after your shopping trip.’
It took all her control to say calmly, ‘Oh, that was nothing important. I wanted to see him about – well, I haven’t been sleeping so well lately, so I thought I’d call and get him to let me have some medicine or make me up a prescription for something.’
‘And did he?’
‘Yes, he gave me a little hydrate of chloral and a prescription for more if I need it.’
‘I didn’t know you were having trouble sleeping.’
‘Yes, for some little while now.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You’re so busy, Edward. You have enough to deal with – all the demands on your time.’
‘You should have told me.’
‘It’s not that important.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
She said nothing.
‘I thought it might be to do with something – something more important,’ he said.
And hearing his words she realized that he was referring to her having possibly conceived. Something more important.
‘It was just sleeplessness,’ she said. She hesitated, and added, ‘How do you know that I went to see Dr Mukerjee?’
And now the silence was back. But this time Grace was not aware of the sound of the wind. Only of the beating of her heart and the dampness of her palms.
‘How do I know?’
‘Yes, how do you know?’
He lifted his glass, threw back the whisky into his mouth, swallowed, then said, ‘Because it’s my business to know.’
‘Your business?’
‘You’re my wife.’ He crossed over to the side table and sharply put down his glass on the tray. ‘I have a right to know what my wife does when I’m not around to keep an eye on her.’
‘You’ve been spying on me.’
He turned and looked at her, saying nothing. Giving a little gasp, Grace put down her cup and raised her hands to her mouth. After a moment, she said, ‘Tell me, please, how you knew.’
‘I have my ways.’
‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘Yes, you have your ways. You have Rhind. You have that monster Rhind. You’ve sent him following me, haven’t you?’
Still Edward said nothing.
‘He’s a monster,’ Grace said. ‘That man hates me. He wants me gone from here, you know that, don’t you?’
‘That’s a bit strong, my dear, isn’t it?’ said Edward. ‘After all, he’s only doing what he’s told.’ Lifting the decanter, he poured more whisky into his glass and added a dash of soda water.
‘Only doing what he’s told,’ Grace said with contempt in her voice. ‘Yes, and he will do anything you ask him to do. And also he’ll do things you don’t ask him to do. Whatever he thinks suits you he will do. Anything to please you.’
Edward said, ‘Well, I hardly think I have any reason to complain about that, do you?’
‘He’s a dangerous man, Edward. More dangerous that you think. He – he’s unbalanced. You must know that yourself.’
‘He’s a faithful servant, that’s what he is. And so long as he stays that way I shall have no complaints.’
‘So you admit it – you set him to spy on me.’
‘Could anyone blame me?’
‘What!’
‘I’m only looking after my interests.’ He took a swallow from his glass. ‘Protecting my possessions.’
‘I am not one of your possessions.’
‘You’re my wife.’
‘Edward –’ As Grace spoke his name a little sob rose up in her throat. She set down her coffee cup and hung her head.
And then she was aware that Edward was there, sitting at her side on the sofa, his arm reaching out to draw her to him.
‘You mustn’t disappoint me,’ he said. ‘Oh, Grace, you must not. I only want you to love me and be a good wife to me. That’s all I’ve ever asked, you know that.’
And she could not protest. She could not make herself say, I have been a good wife to you, for she knew she had not been. She had made love to another man, she had loved another man. Loved him still. At the same time, she had neither loved Edward, nor made love to him; she had submitted, that was all.
Now, feeling his arm drawing her to him, she tried a little to resist. ‘Edward, I can’t believe you’ve done such a thing – to set Rhind on my trail like that. In God’s name, how could you?’
‘I just told you.’ As he spoke she could smell the whisky on his breath, and the smell made her catch her own breath. He drew back his arm, stretched out his legs before him on the carpet, then went on:
‘Don’t forget I have my reasons to be suspicious.’
‘What reason have I ever given you?’
‘You were seen with your old lover – isn’t that reason enough?’
‘I was – ?’
‘You know what I’m talking about. When you were on the platform at Redbury. Rhind saw you then, the two of you. You already know that. Granted, his train pulled out before he could see anything else, but he certainly saw the two of you together. And you’ve admitted to that.’
‘So I have – but I told you there was nothing to it.’ Her lies did not come any easier; there was just less shame following them. She said, partly to gain time and composure: ‘And speaking of Mr Fairman like that. He was your good friend. Once.’
‘Once, yes. And there’s no limit to the things a good friend will do to you, nor how many times he’ll stab you in the back.’ He paused. ‘I wouldn’t ever tolerate you going off with another man,’ he added quietly.
Grace said nothing.
‘I told you this before.’
‘I’m aware of that …’
‘So take note of it. And remember that what is mine I keep.’ He paused then repeated the words, ‘What is mine I keep.’
‘I heard you the first time.’
‘You have to love me. You’re my wife. You have to love me.’
Grace did not answer, but waited a moment, then said, ‘I shan’t finish my coffee. I shall go to bed. And I’ll take a little of the medicine the doctor gave me.’
‘Yes, that’s it,’ Edward said bel
ligerently, ‘take some of your medicine so that you can make sure you’re asleep when I come to bed.’
Grace rose and started across the room. ‘Goodnight, Edward,’ she said.
Upstairs she undressed and got into bed. She was bone tired, and felt that she barely had the strength to hang up her clothes.
Once in bed she turned on her side and closed her eyes. And please, Edward, the words went through her mind, leave me in peace tonight. Sometimes of late, when he had been drinking, he had taken to sleeping alone in the second bedroom. She hoped fervently that he would do so tonight.
She tried her best to relax, but sleep would not come. She did not want to be awake when he came to bed. If she could be asleep when he came in perhaps he would not disturb her, but her rest remained uneasy and she lay looking wakeful into the room, now lit only by the light of a single lamp.
But then at last she fell into an uneasy sleep.
Grace was awakened to the knowledge of his presence with the sound of the bedroom door closing. She had no idea what time it was, or how long she had been sleeping; it seemed like only moments. With the realization of his being in the room she kept closed her eyes and did not move, hoping he would believe her to be still asleep, and listened to the movements as he went to and came from his dressing room. And then, after some time, there was silence. But he was not in bed. Judging by the sounds she had heard of the last moves he had made, he was somewhere in the middle of the room. She thought she could hear the sound of his breathing.
After some hesitation she flicked open her eyes a crack and ventured a swift glance into the shadows.
He was there, just standing there in his shirt and trousers, his head turned towards the bed. At once she closed her eyes again. And the silence crept on, and still there was nothing but the sound of his breathing and the gentle ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. He had not seen her open her eyes, had not realized that she was looking at him. Then, moments later, she felt the mattress bend under his weight as he sat on its edge. ‘Are you awake?’ he whispered sharply near her ear.
She opened her eyes. ‘Edward …’ The note of sleepiness in her voice was real, but if he heard it he did not heed it.
‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘Don’t sleep – listen to me.’ She could smell so strongly the whisky on his breath as he leaned close to her, and hear too the slurring of his words.
‘What – what is it?’ she said. ‘I’m so tired.’
‘Listen to me.’
‘What? What?’
There was a sudden little flurry of movement, and she realized that in bending over her he had overbalanced and almost fallen across her. But he recovered himself, putting out an arm to support himself, his hand pressing just beside her pillow. He must have been drinking quite heavily, she thought. ‘What – what time is it?’ she asked.
‘Time? I don’t know. Who gives a damn what time it is. I’m trying to talk to you. Listen to me. And turn round.’
She did as she was bidden, turning in the bed so that she now lay on her back.
Seeing her like this in the soft light of the lamp he leaned down to her. And she felt the pressure of his moist lips on her cheek, and then, as if he had just missed his mark, on her mouth. She kept her own mouth closed and made no sign of returning his kiss. Her eyes were open now.
Then his head moved again, this time bringing his mouth closer to her ear. Not to kiss her, though, but to whisper to her in a slurred, drunken hiss:
‘I did it – did it for you.’
She said nothing.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ he murmured after a moment, drawing his head back slightly, ‘I said I did it – for you.’
‘Yes,’ she breathed, nodding her head slightly on the pillow. She had no idea what he was talking about.
He straightened then a little, and sat looking down at her, frowning, his mouth pressed shut. She could see in his jaw a little muscle working away.
‘You don’t know what I’m saying, do you?’ he said.
‘What? No. No, I don’t.’ She did not want to hear. ‘Edward, I’m so tired.’
‘Yes, I know all about that. Listen to me – I might never feel like saying this again.’ There was a little pause in the quiet of the room. Then he said: ‘She was not well, anyway.’
‘Who? What are you talking about?’
‘Eleanor. She was not a well woman. She never had been. She was always somewhat – somewhat weakly and frail.’
‘Eleanor? Why are you talking about her?’
He went on as if she had not spoken: ‘And you know she was quite a lot older than I.’
‘Edward …’ His words were taking on something that was alarming. A part of her was able to see the direction in which they were leading, and at the same time she instinctively shrank from it.
He gave a groan and shook his head. ‘I never wanted her to suffer. Believe me. But I had to do it. Our marriage was going nowhere. I had no more life with her. Anybody with any sense could see that. I could never have a child with her. She had no interest in the house. The only reason she lived here was because I insisted on it when we were married. She’d have been content to live with me in some small cottage somewhere, I swear to God.’ He fell silent for a moment, looking off into the shadows of the room, as if reading his past.
‘And there’s another thing – the life she had with me was better than the life she used to have. She’d have been the first to tell you that. So at least I gave her something real, something positive for some years of her life. That’s something I can be glad of. But she couldn’t give me what I wanted, could she?’
Silence. Grace realized that it was a question addressed to her.
‘Couldn’t she?’ she said.
‘No, of course she couldn’t. Oh, at first, yes. She had the house and the business. And that’s what I wanted. This house particularly. It should have come to me anyway. Everything should have been mine when Gresham died. So I was only getting what was my due, wasn’t I?’ He sighed. ‘But it wasn’t enough. Having the house wasn’t enough, was it?’ He paused and said again, ‘Was it?’
‘I don’t know, Edward. Tell me.’
‘Well, of course it wasn’t. I saw you, Grace. That day in your father’s yard. And I had to have you as well.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Grace got little sleep that night, and when she did manage to doze off she dreamed, and her dreams were touched by Edward’s revelations. In her nightmare she saw again the first Mrs Spencer lying in her bed, first tossing and turning, and then her body wrenching and writhing in convulsions. And then the woman was pushing her sheets aside and getting up from her bed, and moving towards Grace, her dead eyes raised to the ceiling. Grace had silently shrieked and, turning, tried to escape. Her legs were like lead, however, and would carry her no more than inches.
In the morning she had lain there with a heavy head, her eyes still closed, feigning sleep, while Edward rose and dressed and left the room.
She followed very soon afterwards, and to her surprise found him in the breakfast room, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette, that morning’s Times open beside him. By this time he was usually on his way, and she wondered at the deviation from his usual routine.
As if answering her unspoken question, he said, ‘I’ve had my breakfast. I merely wanted to see you for a minute before I set out.’
‘Oh?’ she said, prompting him, but he said nothing more. She poured herself a cup of coffee, took some toast and sat down at the table. She had no appetite.
‘Is that all you’re going to have?’ he said.
‘I’m not that hungry.’
‘It’s not enough to keep a sparrow alive. I hope you’re not sickening for something.’ He drank from his coffee cup and took a drag from his cigarette, then added, ‘I didn’t have much appetite myself this morning. That’s what comes of having that extra whisky.’ He smiled, but it was an awkward smile, without any real humour. ‘That extra one will always do it, y
ou can be sure.’ He got up and poured himself more coffee. ‘It certainly gives a chap a devil of a thirst.’
His tone was light, and intentionally so, Grace thought. He was trying to go on as if nothing had happened between them, as if the dreadful things had not been said; trying to put on an appearance of normality. He did not even comment on her own taciturnity, which he could not but be aware of. She would not, could not join him in the charade and be party to the deception. She concentrated on her coffee.
‘I don’t think I told you,’ he said, folding the newspaper and setting it aside, ‘but I shall be off to Italy again in a few days. And soon I shall be going there for the last time. Now I’ve made my decision to sell up I want to get it done. And thank God – I shan’t have that damned business hanging round my neck for too much longer.’
‘It’ll be a weight off your mind, then, if you find it so onerous,’ Grace said stiffly.
She wondered if this – his intention to sell the soap factory – was what he had meant by having something to talk to her about. She could not think that it was.
‘And perhaps when that’s gone,’ he said, ‘and there’s a few less calls on my time – maybe we can have a little more time for ourselves.’
Grace said nothing.
‘That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’ he said. ‘We could go to Italy purely for pleasure. Wouldn’t you like that? I could take you to France. I’ll take you to Paris. And Brazil. Have you ever thought you might like to see Brazil? We’ll go to Rio. I know it well. You’ll find it’s like a different world.’
It was all empty talk, she knew. They would go nowhere. Perhaps Corster, perhaps Redbury or Bath. But as for those other places, no. She would never see them. All his money, all his dreams, were set in this house. To perfect his possession – that was his one driving thought. He would never be satisfied with it until it was finished. Perhaps only then would he feel it was completely his own.
And how did he feel about her? He loved her, she thought, but he had also made it clear that, in his eyes, she was another of his possessions.
She nibbled at the toast and sipped the coffee. She could not bring herself to look at him across the table, though she could often feel his burning glance upon her bent head. After a time, when at last she found it unbearable to sit there with him, she murmured an excuse, got up from the table and left the room.
