by Una Gordon
“Yes, I'll get her.” He waited. Would she come? Would she want to speak to him? His nerves tautened as he heard footsteps approach the phone; the rustle as the receiver was lifted seemed much longer than the second it took before, with relief, he heard Fiona's voice.
Hello, Gresham.”
He was unaware his own voice sounded quite calm. “I shall be in London in a couple of days. May I see you?”
“That would be nice.” Little indication there if she were pleased or not, but at least she had not refused.
He arranged to meet her in the Ritz.
When he saw her coming towards him, he felt his heart thumping almost as if in fear. He rose to greet her, trying to smile. Her expression was unfathomable, but she smiled her thanks as he drew out her chair.
“Coffee?” he asked.
She hesitated. “I'm a bit off coffee just now.” She seemed embarrassed and looked down at her hands. “I'm pregnant.” She said it so quietly he almost didn't hear.
He didn't try to pretend that he didn't understand.
“You must think it very stupid of me.”
“No....no.” He just wanted to grab her in his arms and say, “Marry me, marry me,marry me.”
“Why didn't you let me know?” His voice was also low because he was afraid of the answer.
“I didn't want to put you under.....I didn't want to make you feel...” She hesitated again. “Well you're rich and I....”
“Don't you want to marry me?” His voice in his own ears sounded harsh and hectoring,
“It wasn't that.”
“I love you.”
She looked slightly surprised as if he'd said something completely unexpected. Suddenly her expression changed and she started to giggle. She tried to suppress it, but she couldn't stop. Was she laughing at the idea of marrying him?
She stopped almost as suddenly as she had started. “We sound,” she said, “ like a couple from a Victorian melodrama.”
All his stiffness, his inability to relate to people came back. He tried to picture himself as she saw him – dull, uninteresting. She couldn't possibly want to marry him. What did he say now? Offer to give her money? He felt so ill at ease.
She took a deep breath. “We must try to discuss this sensibly – without embarrassment. Can we go to your flat?”
He was surprised, but he agreed at once. When they got to the flat she was brisk and businesslike. “We must be completely honest with each other,” she said.
Again he agreed. He waited for her to speak, not quite knowing what she expected of him.
“I don't want you to marry me just because you feel you ought to and presumably you wouldn't want me to marry you just because I am pregnant. You said you loved me. Did you mean that? There was no hesitation in her voice now.
“I did,” he said, “and I do.”
She smiled and seemed to know exactly what he meant. “I want to marry you,” she said softly. “I love you, too.
Many times since then Gresham had wondered if she had said that because she felt she had to, but he had never wondered more than at this moment. Had she, who seemed so practical baulked at the thought of having an abortion or of having an illegitimate child and that was why she had married him? She had never given him any reason to doubt her, but he had never quite believed that she loved him.
Chapter Five
Guy drove home as if the proverbial devil were at his heels. He didn't bother to put the car in the garage and when he got in the flat he made straight for the bedroom. Melissa had been dozing lightly, but Guy's sudden entry and his switching on the light wakened her. She looked at his furious face in surprise. The expression she had expected to see there was one of delight or had it? She knew she hadn't been strictly honest with Guy. What had he found out? Her mind went into overdrive and she knew she had to be ready to counter any accusations Guy made. He threw the card he'd got at Derwent's on the bed. She picked it up with apprehension and read it. Relief flooded through her.
“But you knew this already, didn't you?”
“Yes,” Guy stuck his vicious face almost up to hers, “but I want the truth – the truth,” he bellowed, “and none of your fancy tales. I've had enough of those. What did he promise you?”
Melissa knew she dare not tell the truth. What could she say that would sound convincing. “Well... he was a bit vague.”
“A bit vague! Huh! And you couldn't pin him down? You can handle men, you say. Get them to do anything you want, you say. Oh, bloody marvellous! He was a bit vague!”
Melissa felt her temper rising. “Yes, he was a bit vague. That's what I said and that's what I mean. I could hardly force him to make promises, could I? Damn and blast – what do you expect – miracles? I did my bloody best and he didn't come up with the goods.”
The row went on and on with the same acrimonious phrases peppering the air like rifle shots. Again and again they went up the same blind alleys, blaming each other and for what what? Money which they didn't need.
Guy eventually got into bed and as daylight transformed the room with early morning sun, he fell asleep. When he awoke several hours later Melissa's bed was empty and his head was throbbing as if each word Melissa had shouted had hit it like a hammer blow.
Guy fumbled his way out of bed towards the bathroom, searching for the painkillers. Even a headache could send Guy into a panic. He couldn't stand illness in himself or in others and each symptom which he suffered spelled doom. He was certainly a hypochondriac who died many deaths.
Melissa wasn't in the flat, but when she came back with a load of shopping in bags that revealed she had not been frequenting chain stores, it aroused Guy's suspicions that she had already had a pay-off from Derwent.. It was quite illogical for him to think this because Melissa always seemed to have access to money somehow or she could have used one of her many credit cards.
The exclusive carrier bags gave Derwent an excuse, if he needed one, to start sniping again. His headache added fuel to his vile temper. Shopping always made Melissa's adrenalin rise, so the battle was an epic one even by their standards and eventually brought a protest from one long suffering neighbour.
With short bouts for recuperation the arguing went on week after week. Guy knew that Melissa was not telling the truth and Melissa knew that he knew, but she also knew he'd be even more angry if he did know the truth. There seemed no way out.
Theirs had always been a tempestuous relationship – bloody battles interspersed with kiss and make up sessions, but this time it was total war and neither had any intention of surrendering.
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If Gary had been thinking straight or if he had been lacking that strong streak of naivety which even sophisticated men often have, it might have dawned on him that there was quite a simple way to resolve his problem. As it was, he was so sunk in misery that he even contemplated suicide, but he pulled himself together. He didn't know how he was going to face Diana. In his mind he made all sorts of excuses, some likely and some very unlikely, concerning how he could avoid going to see Diana, but he couldn't avoid it for evermore. He couldn't confront her with the accusation, she might lose the baby or he would lose her. He was heartbroken, but he still loved her and his manly pride, his macho self esteem felt as if it had been dragged out of him and trampled on the ground at his feet.
He forced himself to go to work where he made some stupid blunders, although none that were catastrophic. His colleagues presumed he was worried about his wife, so no awkward questions were asked. As the end of the working day drew near, he realised he'd have to spin Diana some story to account for his behaviour – and his appearance, he thought, as he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
In the flat he looked at himself again in the mirror. “Sorry, old girl, had rather too much to drink last night.” No, that wouldn't do – that would only worry Diana because she was always terrified he'd be involved in a road accident. “Don't feel so goo
d – must have eaten something which didn't agree with me.” Lord, what if she thought he was worrying about her and he had been told something about her state of health which she didn't know?
He decided he just could not visit Diana that evening. He rang up and told the nurse who answered that he wouldn't be able to visit that evening because he wasn't feeling too well. Less than five minutes after that call, the phone rang. It was Diana, agitated to say the least. When he spoke to her, he was amazed at how calm he sounded – how easily the lies slid off his tongue. “Oh, darling, sorry about this. I've developed quite a bad throat. I saw the quack at work ( didn't want Diana checking up with their own doctor) and he said it was just a slight infection and that it would be safer not to expose you to it. Not in your condition.” He gave a forced laugh.
“You're sure it's nothing much.” He recognised the mother hen note in her voice. Oh, yes, she'd make an ideal mother, but apparently it wasn't the only thing she was good at. He felt his heart momentarily harden, but he just could not say or do anything to upset her.
“I wouldn't even have thought twice about it if it hadn't been for your condition.”
“Look after yourself then. Daddy's got to be well.” She uttered some silly phrases which they often used when speaking to each other in private and he had great difficulty in replying in like vein.
He had intended to take a couple of Diana's sleeping pills and go straight to bed, but he sat down with a drink and started to watch television. Some time later the doorbell rang and standing at the door were Diana's parents.
“We looked in on Diana this evening and she was so worried about you that we said we'd call just to make sure you were all right. You know what she's like,” burbled her mother. “She's such a sweet girl - always so concerned for others, even in her present condition.”
If only you knew what your sweet girl had been up to, thought Gary!
There was no alternative, but to invite them in. Mrs Steadman, Diana's mother, insisted on making tea which he didn't want. She went on and on about Diana and all her virtues until Gary could have screamed, but without being extremely rude there was nothing he could do. George, his father-in-law, as usual, said very little except to agree tacitly with his wife.
“Now, I've been thinking,” said Doris ( Mrs Steadman) after about an hour and a half, “it isn't good for you to be here on your own. You must come home with us. It'll stop you worrying and there'll be a hot meal waiting for you when you come home at night. We shan't take no for an answer, shall we George?”
“No, Doris dear,” replied George who would have agreed to anything his wife suggested.
Gary thought fast. “It's very kind of you, but this is nearer the hospital.”
“Not all that much nearer.”
“And my clients have this phone number in case they want to contact me.”
“How often does that happen – only once in a blue moon? As she said this Gary was aware that the phone had remained uncooperatively silent since his parents-in-law had arrived. He was beginning to feel desperate when the doorbell rang again. Hurriedly he made his escape, hoping he'd be able to think of some other excuse before he came back.
At the door stood Eric, the husband of the couple who lived in the flat below and with whom they were quite friendly.
“We were just wondering how Diana was?” said Eric.
“She's as well as can be expected,” replied Gary, at the same time putting his finger warningly to his lips. Eric looked puzzled and even more so when Gary went on, “I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it's nothing serious. Going tonight, are you? Of course I'd be pleased to feed and walk the dog for you – no trouble at all.” At Eric's look of blank amazement, Gary pointed frantically to the sitting room door. “Diana's parents,” mouthed Gary silently and Eric cottoned on. He nodded in comprehension.
“Oh, that's very good of you, Gary. I hope the news of Diana continues to be good.”
“I hope she soon recovers,” Gary responded.
“What?” said Eric. “Oh, yes, my mother-in-law. Oh yes, yes. I'll be off then. Give our regards to Diana.”
Gary leaned against the closed door in relief. He knew Doris would not have missed a word of what was said. She looked up sharply as he returned to the sitting room. “I thought you weren't supposed to keep pets in these flats.”
Damn, she would remember that, thought Gary – memory like an elephant. “No, we're not supposed to, but...eh..Lucy, Eric's wife got a fright when she was on her own one night, so they got a dog.”
“I've never heard it barking,” commented Doris.
“N- no,” said Gary, “it's very good. It never barks.”
“Not much good as a guard dog then, is it?”
Oh, God, thought Gary, if only she'd go.
“What kind of a dog is it?” demanded Doris.
“Em...em,” Gary's mind went completely blank. The only breed he could think of was a St Bernard and it didn't seem very likely that anyone would keep one of those in a small flat. “I think it's a... some kind of mongrel.”
Doris sniffed as if no one with any decency would own a mongrel. “Well, if you're lumbered with that dog, we'd better come to stay here meantime.”
“However shall I get to work in the morning?” whined George.
“Don't be so infernally selfish. I'm like Diana – always thinking of others and what thanks do I get for it?”
Gary gulped. “It's very kind of you, but really it's better if I stay here on my own. We don't really have a spare room. We've made it into a nursery and I promised Diana I'd put some finishing touches to it before she came home.”
“That room was finished weeks ago,” said Doris accusingly. “What are you going to do to it now?”
Diana thought one of the walls could do with another coat of paint – that the previous colour was still shining through. Think of the smell of paint and the mess.”
“Yes, I am thinking of the mess. It would be better if I was here to clean it up. We can have your room and you can sleep on the sofa.” Doris's voice sounded final.
Gary felt absolutely frantic. They must not move in here, he thought. Excuses whirled through his mind, but he was discarding them as quickly as he thought of them. He was already supposed to be walking and feeding a fictitious dog and if he put any more paint on the nursery walls, the paint would be thicker than the wall. To invent Canadian cousins about to descend would only lead to greater problems and he could hardly say the two year old sofa was going for recovering. He was literally praying for inspiration when George spoke again, still in the same pathetic whine.
“I'll never get to work from here. I'm staying in my own house.”
“Your own house!” Gary thought smoke was going to start coming from Doris's nostrils. “Whose money bought that house? Tell me that.”
Why yours, Doris, but it is my home and I want to stay there. I....”
“Look, Doris,” using her first name always made Gary feel he would choke, “it's extremely kind of you, but you can't look after everyone and I'm quite able to fend for myself. You've been so kind taking all this trouble coming over here. I do appreciate it, but I think your first duty is to George.” He knew she was very keen on one's duty. “His need is greater than mine. I'll tell Diana how kind you have been. She'll be very grateful.” He could see she was becoming mollified. “What a lucky baby to have a grandmother like you – not every child is so lucky.” Shut up, Gary, he said to himself, you're piling it on too thick. “We'll all be so busy once the baby is born perhaps we should stick to our usual routine now because it will make things easier later.” He had no idea what he meant by that, but it sounded good.
The arguments Doris put up after that were only token, Good old George. Gary had never heard him before dispute anything that Doris had suggested. He certainly felt very grateful to him now.
When they finally left, Gary collapsed onto the sofa, glad to be alone. Eventually he did what he had intended to do hours earlier, he to
ok a couple of sleeping pills and went to bed. Even so, he slept fitfully, dreaming weird, grotesque dreams in which he alternately tried to escape from some kind of horror or was turning to face it with great courage.
When he awoke, he automatically went through the motions of getting ready for work and driving there. He sat through several traffic jams, his mind roving over all the possibilities of what he could do. Before he arrived at work, he had decided. He'd stick by Diana. He tried to tell himself he was being altruistic – that it was the best thing for everyone. When he later looked at himself in the washroom mirror, he finally admitted the truth. He was a coward. If he left Diana there would be such a hooha he wouldn't be able to cope with it. He'd have to live with it. How shall I react to the child, he thought? And to Diana? These questions went through his mind again and again, but he knew he was in a one way street – he couldn't reverse or turn. He would just have to wait to see what happened. Eventually he reached a kind of peace of mind, immersed himself in work and felt all he could do was wait to see where the prevailing tide washed him up or where the one way street led.
Chapter Six
The row in the Dewey household almost equalled the one in the Pather flat. Peter had been made a fool of and he didn't like that one little bit. What was sauce for the gander was most certainly not sauce for the goose. He had thought Derwent was a friend and all the time Derwent had been laughing at him behind his back. Derwent had been more than repaid for all his loans. Derwent knew perfectly well about Peter's jealousy and temper, but he had played his cards well and closely. I could murder him, thought Peter and wasn't even mildly amused when he remembered that Derwent was already dead. There was no way of getting his own back now and all his hopes of a nice, fat sum from Derwent's will had been blown sky high. Derwent had been paying him in hard cash for services rendered.
