Another roll of thunder interrupted the confession and Lena was grateful for it, because it prevented her from answering. What could she possible say to this?
“I am also much too proud to be somebody’s mistress, reduced to furtive meetings in secluded motels, where nobody raises an eyebrow if we rent a room for a couple of hours, and where hopefully nobody would recognize us. I am not the type for that role, and I would not degrade the precious love we now have to that. The only decent solution is to part now, just in time before a separation would destroy us. And before I violate my marriage.”
She paused for a moment. Lena guessed that she was reaching for a cigarette. When she continued to talk her voice sounded anguished, raspy. “Lena, I can’t make the break with him over the phone. Not in a letter. I cannot say my farewell sitting in his car on a side street hoping, that no one will see me. I cannot do it in a public place, where strangers would scrutinize us and witness the pain. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. I need time to gently explain my decision. My slipping out of his life should not leave a raw wound. The only way I can accomplish this separation is to meet him in a neutral but friendly place. We need time and peace to work through it. Without an audience.”
Adrienne’s short sentences with the breathless little pauses between them spoke clearly and painfully of her agitation. It was all so unlike the friend Lena knew well. Adrienne was hurting.
“Of course, you may use the house.”
“Won’t your husband object? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“He would not object, but it would distress him. He controls me in just about every aspect of my life, but he would never think of setting up rules for me on my own turf. He does respect my sole ownership of the cottage. He might be a control freak, but he has integrity and pride. So far I have done nothing behind his back with the one exception of the ill-fated contest. I will make an exception now. There is no need to worry him.”
“You don’t know how hard it was to ask for this and you will never know how grateful I am that you consented.”
“You are forgetting that it is the other way around. You are doing me a favor. Other than that, the wise man’s advice is to praise the day after the sun set and not a minute before it. I hope all goes well for you. Since you pass our house on the way to the lake, you could pick up the keys when you are ready to drive out there.”
The meteorologists promised that spring was at the door, but they forgot to inform spring about their prophecy for it. It was still raining and raging the following day and the heavy winds did not show any inclination to leave town. Lawns were soaked, the bare branches glistened from icy rain, and even the smoke from the chimney had a lethargic downward curve as it tried to fight its way through the rain and fog. However, two days later, on the first of April the happiest forecasts finally came through. Spring has undeniably and gloriously arrived overnight. Buoyed by the balmy weather and brilliant sunshine Lena spent the morning doing errands and visiting her hairdresser. It was her day to work at the retirement home in the afternoon, but before the duty time she hosted two of the volunteers for lunch. The two women were older than Lena, both secure in their First Wife Role, married to Very Important Men, and while they had some reservations as far as young second wives were concerned, they liked Lena and were generously forgiving, but very prudently they also kept in mind that she was married to a most important man with an even more brilliant future.
The sun was shining with carefree brilliance and was quiet oblivious of the devastating storm that raged a few days ago. Lena served an excellent lunch, prepared by her cook. The table was set in the winter garden among lovingly spoiled plants. She placed daffodils on the lunch table and everywhere else, where a vase could fit. Of course, these were not yet from her garden, but the pedigree of florist-origin did not lessen the intoxicating charm; their yellow and cream exuberance abolished winter so that it was no more than just a cold memory.
Conversation was easy, light as air and about as insubstantial. Trained well as perfect wives of important men, they carefully avoided controversial issues and also anything else that could compromise their status, or the position of their husband. Gossip of course was below their dignity, so they chose the safe road and praised the most recent best seller, the popular play everybody seemed to enjoy, and of course the weather and how it affected the people in the Home.
“Well, I am not close to their age, but I too feel the weather changes. I am about to sell my body to some meteorological institute, so it could help predict the weather more accurately,” said Veronica of the perfectly styled hair. Her ‘have-not-eaten-a-full-meal-this-year-yet’, well-exercised body was stylishly packaged into a designer suit of elegant simplicity with an astonishing price tag,
“You are late with your offer, because hundreds of others are already standing in line for that,” said Susan. With that, the conversation reached a dead end; Lena could not contribute much to it Her thirty-some year old body could not provide tales of pain to enrich the conversation, and she was not about to talk about Mrs. Singer’s hurt, or about the caregiver’s insensitivity. That would be gossip and she knew better than to indulge in it. Tactfully she asked the maid to bring the coffee and with that she successfully concluded the lunch. It was pleasant enough, even if it lacked any real content. Lena was relieved when it was over and her guests drove off to the Home to offer their charitable ministrations.
Just as Lena too was getting ready to leave, Adrienne pulled up at the driveway to get the cottage keys. She was pale, serene and controlled her emotions admirably. She wore a coat of simple cut and combed her hair into a smooth chignon. She looked exactly what she was: an elegant and successful woman of the privileged class. Lena removed the keys from the glove compartment and hugged her friend. She never felt so much gentle love and tenderness for this unusual woman than at the moment when she said farewell to her. Adrienne’s eyes glittered in a strange way. Perhaps tears not spilled gave them the unusual brilliance, or it could have been the reflection of the tragic excitement she felt at having to leave the man she loved.“Take care, darling,” Lena whispered. “Call me as soon as you are back.”
After they served the evening meal (in Lena’s opinion far too early), she was ready to leave the Home. She and Clyde had no pre-planned program for the evening and once again she felt empty, without a real purpose. The pointlessness and the hollow emotional state reminded her of a recurring dream in which she had to go somewhere, most often by an airplane, but she had one mishap after another. She could not find her luggage, or her plane ticket, but most frustratingly, she could not find the gate of departure. When someone finally gave her directions she found that the departure gate was ridiculously out of the way and she could only reach it through a body of water. There were no bridges or boats, and fully dressed she had to slip into the water and all along she knew that she was frightfully late. As soon as she stepped into the water the shores, the buildings disappeared and she was floating far from everybody in the middle of some enormous sea. She knew that she missed her plane, missed her appointment, missed her belongings and nothing could be done about it. Dreams so often reflect life, although usually in a twisted, barely recognizable presentation. When finally fully awake she understood that the circumstances in her dream were fantastic and unlikely, but the sensation of having missed something important remained and was very real.
Considering the long evening awaiting her, she felt as she did in her dreams: far from everybody, alone and lost, pointlessly floating on unchartered waters and with each passing day, just like in the dreams, the waves drove her ever farther from her goal .Clyde would be working or reading about issues that were bound to come up for discussion or perhaps he would be conducting telephone calls. She could read, or listen to music. She could make up menus for upcoming dinners, or plan her social calendar, or call somebody. None of these occupations had a bit of romance, or the fragrance of tea just infused, let alone expectations of nuptial bliss
.
As she turned into the street where their mansion stood, she was unpleasantly surprised and then agitated. Two police cars parked in front of their home disturbed the usually sedate mood of the street. Her first heart-stopping thought was that something horrible happened to Clyde. Instantly she became a terrified victim of her own wild imagination.
However, as she entered the central hall Clyde came forward to greet her. He was perfectly healthy and radiated the image of the born gentleman: splendidly polite, caring and the master of the situation. His sense of honor and excellent breeding were marking him as a man of the world, who was and always would be in full control.
“Dear Lena, I am afraid we have very bad news for you. An unspeakable crime has been committed in our… in your summer house.”
The walls of the room started to spin, the floor under her feet moved like waves on troubled seas. Gray mist enveloped the once familiar room; she was no longer certain where she was. What happened in the cottage? What happened to Adrienne? She could not form the question and just stared at the police officers. Why doesn’t Clyde tell more? What horrors are they hiding from her? Lord God, I hope those two did not harm each other, she prayed silently. Of course, they could not have. It would have been senseless and cheaply dramatic, totally out of character as far as Adrienne was concerned. If she loved Steve so much, then obviously he must be a kindred spirit and therefore just as incapable of cheap drama or violence as Adrienne was. Creating a tragedy would have been senseless; after all, this was the U.S.A. not Mayerling in Austria, and Steve was most certainly not an exalted crown prince.
Someone made a sign, which she did not see, and instantly a maid handed her a glass of water. She looked at it without comprehension. Who made up the rule that at the time of a great emotional occurrence a glass of water is the best remedy? Probably the same person who decided that when in a movie a woman announces the first twinges of labor pain, someone has to shout for hot water. For what? Probably to wash the baby, who would be born a day later. Both offerings of water were thought to be prudent interventions. In such a situation Adrienne would probably offer tea and it would make more sense. The fragrance and the warmth would be soothing. She drank the water obediently and tried to control her fear. Instinctively she felt that much would depend on what she would say and how she said it. She took a deep breath and forced the fear into the background.
One of the policemen prodded her with questions. Did she give the cottage keys to Ms. Adrienne Whitman? Yes, she did. Why? The answer came easily: Lena was worried what the storm could have done to her cottage and lacking the time to drive there herself, accepted Mrs. Whitman’s offer to investigate. She stopped talking then, reminding herself that saying too much always awakens suspicion.
For a moment she considered how far she could stick to her statements without actually lying. She shuddered because she hated lies. Lies always carried a whiff of decay and of death. It was not virtue that kept her from dishonesty, but a horror of something basically rotten, spoiled, dark and sticky. Yet, in order to save Adrienne she decided to lie, or at least to stretch the truth as far as she could. So much for Kant’s categorical imperative.
Did Mrs. Whitman go alone? This policeman was as aggressively insistent as a dog working on a choice bone. Well, Lena would not know whether Mrs. Whitman went alone, but it is quite possible that she could have taken someone along. Why? Because she could have been worried about major damage which she could not handle alone.
May they ask her how she spent the day? She tried not to choke. Did they really think she was somehow involved? Not to worry, Mrs. Cambray, this is just a formality for the report, somebody said. Where did she hear that before? Perhaps Peter Falk as Columbo said it in one, or in all of his films. She squelched the rising panic and recounted to the policeman the events of the day. He made notes on a yellow pad and she wished she could do the same, so she would not contradict herself during future interrogations.
Did she know Mr. Steven Mulligan? No, never met him. That was a half lie. She never met him, this was true, but knew more about him than about anyone in their social circle. It was second hand information to be sure, but that was probably a mere technicality as far as the police was concerned. She shuddered. A lie is a lie. When will it turn into perjury?
After answering all questions in a tone she hoped sounded sincere and convincing, she finally dared to question what happened. Clyde answered.
“Adrienne did not go alone; she had a companion, a man. As you surmised, she probably thought that she might need help. What happened there after their arrival sounds like a badly written crime story. When they entered the cottage they surprised a youthful burglar, who was trying to find valuables in the house he thought was empty. He had a gun and in his surprise or panic he started firing. He killed Adrienne’s companion and wounded her. She is in critical condition, undergoing surgery even as we are talking.”
“Good and almighty God,” she gasped. The room was spinning madly and she felt sick and started to shiver. Someone helped her to a chair and again water was offered. She tried to understand but other than repeating to herself ‘one dead, one dying’, she could not form any coherent thoughts for a while. For a brief moment the realization flashed into her almost dysfunctional mind that she could be dead now had she gone to the cottage instead of Adrienne; however, the situation was so enormous that she could not focus on the probabilities or details just yet, and was not able to comprehend all its horrors. Life hangs on such an unbelievably thin thread. One moment someone is full of life, sadness or happiness, rushing somewhere, or minding his own business, and a moment later he is no more. A lifeless body is left, but what happened to him, to his soul? And Adrienne! What is a medically critical condition? How critical? Will she join her great love soon, or recover only to discover that her life is in shambles?
The policemen had no more questions. Papers were signed, condolences expressed, but in her daze she absorbed little of it. Her husband ushered the policemen to the door.
After they left Clyde finally grasped that she needed more than water to sustain her, and appeared with two glasses of bourbon.
“The situation of course is not just dramatic, but insupportably stupid. As far as my chances at the next election, this could be quite destructive. I don’t know whatever you had in mind when you got involved.”
“Involved how? By accepting the help for something I could not do myself? You know there was no way I could have driven there during the next few days, and you could have done it even less. You also know how important it is to report damages as soon as possible. The insurance company would not wait for our report until Kingdom comes. I was grateful for her help.”
Her sudden anger at him shook her alive and she was able to think again. The decision to stick with her story about checking the damage at the lake was final. At this point, the only way she could help Adrienne was to save her from a scandal before it reached the papers. She was willing to lie for that. The realization that Adrienne might not live to know about all of this flashed into her tortured consciousness, and the pain she felt was searing. In horror she turned away from that awful possibility. Someone, whom she hugged just a few hours ago, cannot die. It was too horrendous.
How fragile the thread on which our life hangs! It takes so very little, and then the thread is cut. She could almost see silent Atropos wrapped in her dark cloak sitting in the shadowy corners of hospitals, near sickbeds or on highways, always holding the scissor ready to cut that thread. Unfeeling like a rock, her task is inevitable. With a small motion of the wrist she ends a life without the slightest concern. Hers is a job like any other; mere piecework, which she performs mechanically. After all, someone has to do that too. Never mind the pain left in its wake; that is not the concern of Atropos. Lena felt stress rising to dangerous levels.
“Was that all? Was it just a neighborly gesture from her? I wish I could, but truthfully I cannot believe that,” Clyde remarked.
“Whe
ther you believe it or not, that will not change the situation.”
“And you are so right on that point.”
They were silent for a while. She was trying to organize her thoughts, trying to make sense of it. He was calm, and honorable .Glancing at him, she knew that he already had a plan, a perfect solution to salvage his political chances and social position.
“Naturally, there will be a trial.” He spoke in his usual, calm manner, “but the case is rather simple.” She nodded silently and he related that the young man, who probably committed the murder and almost killed Adrienne, has been known to the police for some time. There were two witnesses, who saw him lurking in the neighborhood and they gave a fair description. The suspect is on drugs and has the antisocial habit of burglarizing homes in order to support his habit, Clyde said. His activities could not be proven, at least not until now. Unfortunately, the police did not know that he was armed. Since Adrienne was not the only one in the area checking for storm damages, some other cottage owners were alerted by the sound of the shots. One of them called the police and the ambulance. The burglar, perhaps inspired by precaution, parked the stolen car farther down the street, but apparently not far enough. The neighbors easily noted the license number, and accurately described the car. They will catch him in no time. “As I said before, you are not a witness, because you were not involved beyond the fact that the house is yours and that Adrienne went there with your knowledge and permission.”
“At my request, to do me a favor,” Lena corrected.
“Right. You said that before. You might be questioned once again, perhaps soon, but you are not even required to stay around for the trial, the policemen informed me. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Very reassuring.”
“It should be. However, the case will certainly remain on the front pages for quite some time. News reporters are delighted about the excitement and are grateful for the whiff of scandal in this season that lacks news. They now expect sales of the papers to soar. With the exception of the mysterious man, who was murdered, we are prominent people, recognized everywhere, and as long as the media can corner you, they will star you in situations, which never happened. Sordid details will be fabricated; assumptions soon will be presented as facts.”
The Reluctant Trophy Wife Page 8
