by Clara Benson
‘Yes,’ he replied. He hesitated, then went on, ‘I don’t suppose it’ll be of much interest to you, given your earlier stated opinions on the subject of my character, but I wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to retire.’
Whatever Angela had expected, it was not this. She glanced up, and was surprised to find that he looked almost embarrassed.
‘Oh,’ she said. She was about to go on when there was a loud knock at the door, followed by a series of rings at the bell, which made her jump.
‘I thought you said you weren’t busy,’ said Valencourt.
‘It’s Marthe again. She must have forgotten something,’ said Angela. ‘She needn’t have made such a racket, though.’
She went into the little entrance-hall and opened the door, expecting her maid to hurry in apologetically. Instead, she was confronted by a most unexpected and unwelcome sight. Her heart gave a great thump, and she stared in shock and dismay at the man who stood before her, smiling from ear to ear.
‘Hallo, Angie,’ said the newcomer.
‘Davie!’ said Angela when she found her voice. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Why, I came to see you, of course,’ he said. ‘You might look more pleased to see me.’ Then, as she made no move, he said, ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Aren’t you going to invite me in?’
He did not wait for her to reply but instead pushed past her and into the house. Angela’s head was in a whirl, but she exerted herself to be calm and act as though everything were quite normal.
‘I guess you’re doing well for yourself,’ he said, looking around him as he entered the sitting-room. He caught sight of Valencourt and stiffened. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realize you had a visitor. I guess that’ll teach me not to call first.’
He grinned genially and held out a hand. Valencourt took it with some reserve.
There was no getting around it now. Angela pulled herself together with the utmost effort.
‘This is Mr. Smart, Davie,’ she said, at her most distant and imperious. ‘Mr. Smart, this is David Marchmont, my husband.’
TWO
It was all terribly awkward, of course. Fortunately, Valencourt had sized up the situation immediately and was at his blandest and most self-effacing. Davie Marchmont, meanwhile, helped himself to an apple from a nearby bowl of fruit, threw himself into a chair and smiled broadly as though it had never occurred to him to doubt his welcome. To judge by the strong smell of spirits that hung about him, he was in drink.
‘So you’re a friend of Angie’s, I guess,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Valencourt. ‘Or rather, my mother is.’
‘Do thank her kindly for me,’ said Angela, jumping on this with relief, and inwardly blessing the fact that Valencourt was still wearing his coat. ‘Of course I’ll come on Sunday. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
‘She’ll be very pleased to hear it,’ said Valencourt.
Angela escorted him to the front door and handed him his hat. He glanced warily towards the sitting-room and turned a questioning gaze on her, but she gave a little shake of her head.
‘I’ll see you all on Sunday, then,’ she said brightly.
‘Don’t forget to bring your raffle tickets,’ he said, and then he was gone, leaving Angela alone with her husband—the last person she wanted to see at that moment.
She returned to the sitting-room, where Davie had now wandered across to the window and was idly pulling open the drawers in a little chest and glancing into them as though he were quite in his own home. He was a tall, well-built man who had obviously once been handsome, but too much alcohol and too many late nights had done little for his appearance, and he was now running distinctly to seed. His skin wore an unattractive sheen and there was a thickening around the jaw and the waist that spoke of an excess of self-indulgence over the years, but despite this, he was still an imposing presence.
‘Congratulations,’ he said without turning round, as she entered the room. ‘I liked your little pantomime just then. You don’t think it fooled me for a second, do you?’
‘What are you doing here, Davie?’ said Angela. ‘I thought you were in New York.’
‘You mean you hoped I was in New York, to judge by what I just saw,’ he said. He turned away from the window. ‘Who is he? I guess he’s not too fussy about whether a woman’s married or not.’
‘Don’t be absurd, Davie,’ said Angela. ‘He’s an acquaintance of mine. You don’t suppose I sit at home all day, avoiding people, do you? I have lots of friends—both women and men—and they’re all quite welcome to visit if they like. But never mind all that. Why are you here? I thought I’d made it quite clear before I left the States that I wanted nothing more to do with you.’
‘That may be so,’ he said, still wearing that self-satisfied smile of his, ‘but I never said I wanted nothing more to do with you. And who knew whether you were serious or not? Married couples fight all the time, but they make it up again often enough. If you really meant it, then why didn’t you divorce me when you had the chance?’
‘That was a mistake on my part,’ said Angela. ‘I ought to have done it before I came here.’
‘Well, you didn’t, and from what I hear it’s a little more difficult in this country to get rid of a husband you don’t want. That’s good news for me, I guess.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Angela, taken aback.
‘Why, it means that you still belong to me, and that’s how it ought to be, don’t you agree?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You wanted the separation as much as I did,’ said Angela.
‘Is that what you think?’ he said. ‘Then you’re wrong. You’re my wife. Why would I want to let you go?’
He took a step forward and tried to put his arms around her, but she shook him off and stepped away.
‘Is that any way to treat me?’ he said, quite unabashed. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t love me any more.’
‘Of course I don’t love you any more,’ said Angela. ‘Sometimes I wonder whether I ever did. Listen, Davie, I presume this is all a joke on your part, but I can assure you I don’t find it very funny. We agreed to separate a long time ago, and I expected you to keep to your side of the bargain. Oh, I see,’ she said, as a sudden realization struck her. ‘You want money, don’t you? You’ve spent what I gave you and now you want more. That’s it, isn’t it?’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Still the same old Davie, I see. You won’t lift a finger for yourself but you’re quite happy to live off your wife.’
‘What if I am? I’m not fit to work, you know that. What choice do I have?’
‘Not fit to work, indeed,’ she said scornfully. ‘Only because you think it’s beneath you. You weren’t too proud to let me support you, though.’
‘And you never missed an opportunity to rub it in, did you? Making me come and beg for money, keeping me short. A wife ought not to embarrass her husband, but that’s what you did. I could never make a show.’
‘In front of all the other women, you mean? I see. It wasn’t enough for you to humiliate me with your unfaithfulness—you wanted me to fund it too, is that it? Well, I told you when I left that I wouldn’t give you another penny, and I meant it. You’ve come a long way for nothing, I’m afraid.’
They glared at one another furiously, Angela trembling slightly as years of resentment that she had thought long smoothed over rose to the surface. How she had hated all the rows and the recriminations! It had been nothing but misery almost from the start, and now, just as she was congratulating herself on having escaped and created a happy, contented life for herself in England, here he was again, bringing up the past and all the old feelings she had worked so hard to bury. Was there no end to it?
Davie regarded his wife calculatingly and changed tack.
‘Listen, Angie,’ he said wheedlingly. ‘I didn’t mean to get you all riled up. I just thought that after all this time you and I might be able to talk to one another without fighting.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ said Angela coldly. ‘I haven’t changed my mind. As soon as I am able, I shall file for a divorce, and until then I should be very glad if you would leave me alone.’
‘I told you, you can’t divorce me,’ he said. ‘Not here, anyway. You have no grounds. You ought to have done it back in the States while you had the chance. Here you’d have to prove adultery on my part, and you won’t do that—just you try! I’m smart enough to be careful.’
Angela’s heart sank. Of course he was right.
‘As a matter of fact,’ he went on meaningfully, ‘I wonder what would happen if I did a little digging into your life here. You’re a good-looking woman, Angie, and you’re still young enough to want to have fun. I’ll bet you get plenty of attention. What exactly have you been getting up to in the last couple of years? I saw the look that passed between you and that fellow just now. A friend of his mother, are you? How long do you think it would take a private detective to find out whether that’s true or not? How would you like to have it all brought out in court and hear yourself called an adulteress? That would look good in the newspapers, don’t you think?’
While he spoke he had advanced slowly upon her, and for a few seconds she stood frozen in fear. Then the spell broke, and she regarded him with disdain.
‘Do as you please,’ she said. ‘But you may as well save your money, because you won’t find anything.’
‘Are you quite sure of that?’ he said. ‘Don’t forget, I know all about you. You weren’t exactly all white when I married you, were you? How would you like everyone to know about that?’
Again she felt the thrill of fear, but hid it.
‘It’s a pity you never wanted to give me children,’ he went on. ‘Maybe that’s where things started to go wrong between us. It’s not right to deny a man an heir. Kind of unnatural on the part of a woman, don’t you think?’
Angela said nothing, and he again gave that self-satisfied smile.
‘Still, never say die, eh?’ he said. ‘I don’t have to worry about that any more. Not now. Not all women are as frozen as you.’
‘How much do you want?’ she said suddenly, and his smile widened.
‘Well, now,’ he said. ‘I thought that might bring you round.’
‘You haven’t brought me round at all. I want you to leave, and I want to know how much it will cost me to get rid of you.’
His smile was so wide now that he was practically grinning from ear to ear. He came slowly towards her. Angela smelt the alcohol on him again and felt slightly sick.
‘Suppose you suggest a figure,’ he said.
THREE
For the next day or two Angela existed in a state of permanent nervousness and agitation. Davie’s visit had upset her greatly, but she had hoped that once she gave him some money he would leave her alone—or, better still, go straight back to America. To her dismay, however, he turned up again on Thursday and announced that he would be more than happy to give her a divorce as long as she signed an agreement to pay him a generous annual allowance for life. This she refused absolutely to do. He laughed, for he had not really expected her to accede to it, and said in that case perhaps he ought to come and live with her at the Mount Street flat for the time being, so as to make the money she had already given him last a little longer. There had been an unpleasant scene, but Angela got rid of him at last, and it was not until Friday that she noticed to her consternation that Marthe’s key, which she had left on the table as she departed, was no longer there. Angela called a locksmith as soon as she discovered the loss, and asked him to come and change the lock, but he was unable to come before Monday, and so she knew she would spend the weekend worrying that Davie might turn up and let himself in whenever he felt like it. He had refused to say how long he was planning to stay in London, but it was perfectly obvious that he meant to make a deliberate nuisance of himself while he was here, and she feared that now she had given him money he would keep on coming back for more and never leave her alone.
All this agitation was not helped by Angela’s worry that Edgar Valencourt might appear again and confirm Davie’s suspicions about them. She had heard nothing from Valencourt since Wednesday, and wondered whether he had gone back to Italy or wherever it was he lived at present. If that were so, it was probably for the best, although it was a pity they had not had the chance to finish their conversation before Davie had turned up. Had he really meant it when he said he was retiring? There had been reports in the newspaper in the past day or two about a daring robbery in which some valuable jewellery had been stolen from a private collection at a house in Kent. A servant had been knocked out and the thief or thieves had made off through a broken window. Angela’s heart had given a great thump when she read the story, but it did not sound like his way of doing things, and sure enough it soon emerged that the police believed the theft to be the work of a well-known and ruthless gang. Angela was relieved despite herself, for although she had always maintained carelessly that it was all the same to her whether Valencourt retired or not, since she would accept no responsibility for his moral character, that part of her which would forever have a weakness for him had always secretly hoped that he would give the thing up one day. Of course they had no future together, for even if he did decide to stop doing it, there was still the unavoidable fact that he was wanted by the police in several countries and would be in danger of arrest for the rest of his life. Nonetheless, she would have liked to hear more about what he intended to do with himself now.
By Saturday Angela had quite given up any hopes of seeing Valencourt again, so she was surprised when she returned from lunch with a friend to see a familiar figure standing in Mount Street, fifty yards or so away from her flat, apparently engaged in examining the window display of a picture-framing shop. She reached a decision and, glancing about, headed in his direction. She did not stop or turn her head when she reached him, but instead said as she passed:
‘I’m going to the Park. You can follow me in five minutes if you like.’
It was a grey day, but dry at least. Angela found a bench not far from the Serpentine, from where there would be a good view of anybody approaching, and sat down. Sure enough, in a few minutes he joined her and sat down at the other end of the bench. Angela glanced about again.
‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said.
‘You can’t get rid of me that easily,’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry about the other day.’
‘You weren’t to know. Nor was I, for that matter.’
‘Weren’t you expecting him, then?’
‘Goodness, no,’ she said. ‘I last saw him more than two years ago when I left New York. Rather stupidly, I thought he wouldn’t follow me over here. It seems I was wrong.’
‘You’re not divorced, then?’
She gave a rueful sigh.
‘Unfortunately not. I meant to do it—certainly ought to have done it, but somehow I never quite got around to it, and then I came back to England and he was a thousand miles away and so I thought it didn’t matter. The separation was agreed and I considered myself free. But don’t let’s talk about him—he’s not in the slightest bit important.’
‘Then why are you so nervous?’ said Valencourt.
‘Nervous? I’m not nervous.’
‘Yes you are. You’re all tense and worried-looking, and you keep glancing about as though you’re expecting someone to turn up.’
‘Do I?’ said Angela.
‘Yes. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were afraid.’
‘Nonsense. If I were afraid then I shouldn’t be here with you now,’ she said without thinking, then could have kicked herself.
‘Why?’ he said, suddenly alert.
‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Of course it does. He said something, didn’t he? About us, I mean.’
She did not reply directly, but instead said, ‘It was all empty threats, of course. It’s not as though there’s anything to f
ind out.’
‘Isn’t there?’ he said softly, and she looked up and was caught by a sudden jolt of remembrance.
‘Not here—not in England,’ she said, although she was aware as she spoke of how feeble that sounded.
‘I suppose not,’ he said. He paused for a moment, then went on, ‘I didn’t come here to make things difficult for you, Angela. As a matter of fact, I came to say goodbye.’
‘Oh?’ said Angela. ‘Are you going away again?’
‘Yes, and for good this time. I dare say that will be something of a relief to you.’
‘But why? You said something about retiring—unless I misheard you. Is it to do with that?’
‘No, you didn’t mishear. I have decided to retire.’
‘But why?’ she said again.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘After I was shot I had a little time to think while I was recovering, and I started to realize that it’s not fun any more—I’m not quite sure why. Perhaps it’s just that I’m getting too old for all this sort of nonsense.’
‘Was it fun, once?’
‘Oh, terribly good fun to start with. You can’t imagine what a kick I got out of it. But I was a young man then, and I’d taken a few knocks that hurt me rather, and I felt the world owed me something. Very arrogant of me, I know, but there’s youth for you. I was dreadfully complacent and full of myself for a very long time. I’m starting to tire of it all now, though. I can’t go on doing it until I’m an old man. Sooner or later I won’t have the energy to run any more.’ He paused, then went on ruefully. ‘And much as I hate to admit it, I appear to be developing a rudimentary conscience in my old age.’
‘Dear me, how unfortunate for you,’ said Angela. ‘Where did that spring from?’
‘I rather think it all started last May,’ he said. ‘There’s a woman, you see,’
‘Is there?’ said Angela, raising her eyes to his.
‘Yes,’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘It’s all her fault. I met her in Italy and we got along rather well. She’s a much better person than I am, but she refuses to take on the job of reforming me.’
