Bargain Wife

by Mary Burchell

  ‘It may surprise you to know that I never regarded Charles in that interesting light,’ Tina said dryly.

  Eileen whitened slowly with sheer temper, Tina felt sure and her usual self-control seemed to crack all over, like fine enamel.

  ‘You smug, self-satisfied woman!’

  ‘Be quiet!’

  Tina held up her hand for silence not because she so much resented what was said, but because the door behind Eileen had opened and Charles stood in the doorway, surveying the scene with some astonishment.

  But Eileen meant to say what was in her mind now, irrespective of whether the detested wife liked it or not. And, ignoring Tina’s gesture, she rushed on in a furious flood of low-toned but clear speech.

  ‘How long do you suppose you will hold him? You can’t even appreciate his work. You and your boy-friends who meet you at railway stations and come snooping round here without giving a name!’

  There was a perfectly terrible little silence for a few seconds after that. Then it was Charles, and not Tina, who broke it.

  ‘I think, Nurse, that Matron wants you,’ he said very coolly indeed.

  Eileen switched round, white to the lips, and at the sight of Charles she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, as though even now she would try to keep back the words which had been all too clearly said.

  Then, as though she suddenly realised that she had completely done for herself and might as well injure Tina as much as possible, she started to speak again.

  ‘I’m sorry you heard what I said. But there’s a great deal more that you ought to hear. Do you know that—’

  ‘Nurse Unsworth’ Charles regarded his admirably shaped finger-nails with attention ‘I think I have already heard more than I ought to hear, and I’m sure you won’t want to keep Matron waiting.’

  She gave a little gasp that was almost a sob of rage.

  Then, with a look like daggers at Tina, she fled from the room.

  Charles came slowly forward and held out his hands to the fire, while Tina watched him in fascinated silence.

  ‘Pity,’ he said at last. ‘She was a good nurse.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That I’ll have to find another one equally good.’

  Illogically Tina felt faintly sorry for Eileen. Her world must have crashed so completely.

  ‘She was rather overwrought,’ she murmured at last.

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Charles, girls do sometimes get silly like that about—’

  ‘I’ll recommend her to our senior ear, nose, and throat man. He’s the safe side of sixty. And there’s nothing like perpetual tonsillectomy for reducing romantic excesses.’

  Tina laughed slightly.

  ‘I feel a little guilty. I said something which provoked her. You see—’

  ‘I don’t think it matters what you said, my dear. I shouldn’t dream of keeping in the house anyone who spoke to you like that. Besides’ he frowned ‘stupid of me not to have noticed before. It doesn’t matter.’ And then, quite casually, ‘Did your caller stay long?’

  ‘N-no.’ In the agitation of this scene with Eileen, Tina had almost forgotten the much greater worry.

  She glanced sharply at her husband now, trying to read from his expression whether he had recognised Collier and was indulging in some disagreeable wondering now. Nothing in his face suggested that. In fact, it was singularly blank of expression. And suddenly that frightened Tina much more than anything else could have done. In the ordinary way, Charles’ face was so lively and expressive that there was something strange and disquieting about that slightly blank look. As though he were deliberately controlling any expression in case it should be the wrong one.

  She tried to tell herself that she was imagining things that her stupid fears were preventing her from enjoying any relief even when there was some. But a deep, inner instinct told her that Charles had seen her visitor and knew there was something wrong.

  Then why not question her?

  She waited, breathless, for some question, unaware that her uncommunicative reply was a little surprising in itself. She was past making herself try to say the natural thing—invent some conversation about an imaginary visitor in the hope that all was still well, in spite of her inner misgiving.

  But no question came. Charles seemed inclined to let the subject drop. But then he seemed equally disinclined to take up any other. And that was unlike him. He was usually rather amusing when the day’s work was over and he could relax in his own home again.

  Suddenly she felt that she must touch on the subject, even if he would not. But how? If she staked everything on his not knowing who her visitor was, and told some easy, convincing little fibs, he would know immediately that something was seriously wrong if he had recognised Collier.

  The silence lengthened—unnaturally, it seemed to her. And then she rather desperately tackled the subject from another angle.

  ‘Charles I don’t know how much you heard of what Eileen was saying—’

  ‘More than enough,’ he assured her dryly.

  ‘Then I feel since you heard her accuse me I ought to explain that—’

  ‘For God’s sake don’t explain anything!’ Charles exclaimed more violently than he had ever spoken to her. ‘If you don’t want to tell me anything about some concern of yours; I certainly don’t want to hear of it by way of Eileen Unsworth’s catty insinuations. Let’s leave the subject alone. Anything I ought to hear about you, I suppose I shall hear from you yourself. I certainly don’t need the assistance of my nursing staff in understanding my wife.’

  And abruptly he went into his own room, leaving her to wonder, with chilly anxiety, whether his violence were prompted by a certain anger with her, or an indignant desire to disclaim any idea of suspecting her.

  Tina sat down slowly by the fire and put her head in her hands.

  In whatever way he had meant them, those words, ‘Anything I ought to hear about you, I suppose I shall hear from you yourself,’ cut very deep indeed.

  He trusted her to tell him. And she couldn’t.

  To Tina that really was the bitterest moment yet. And the thought that there was no end—

  ‘But there will be an end!’ she reminded herself with desperate hope. ‘Collier means to take all he can and get out. That’s what he meant. That’s what he must have meant! Oh, I hardly care what it costs, if only he goes.’

  She wondered if she were building too much on what was little more than a strong hint. But the word ‘settlement’ had been used. He couldn’t mean anything else. She couldn’t bear it if he meant something else.

  And to Tina it seemed that, disagreeable though that ‘little talk’ with Collier must be, it represented the brightest hope she had ever known.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  To Tina the next ten days were a nightmare, only brightened by the singularly undramatic departure of Eileen.

  She never knew how Charles managed it so tactfully, but Eileen left, with nothing more than a slight ripple of regret from one or two of the patients who thought her ‘sweet’. Certainly there was no breath of scandal about the whole arrangement—only the vague suggestion that certain private affairs of Nurse Unsworth made it inconvenient for her to be nursing outside London, after all.

  ‘And though it’s not for me to say, madam,’ remarked Mrs. Ardingley, determined to say it all the same, ‘she is not what one might call a loss to anyone.’

  ‘I think she was very popular with the patients, Mrs. Ardingley,’ Tina said diplomatically.

  ‘I’ve been in the world a lot longer than you and I’ve seen things. And I know trouble when I meet it, be it never so smiling and dressed up. Nurse Unsworth isn’t a new type. They had her kind in the Garden of Eden. And we all know how much bother that caused.’

  And, smiling grimly to herself at her rare little joke, Mrs. Ardingley took herself off with an extremely satisfied expression.

  ‘I wonder,’ thought Tina amusedly, ‘whether she was
casting poor Eileen for Eve or the Serpent. A mixture of the two, I dare say. Well, at least she was right about one thing? Eileen was trouble incarnate.’

  And now she was gone. If only one could savour the full, delightful relief of that!

  ‘But everything will be all right, once I’ve seen Collier for the last time and paid him off,’ Tina assured herself feverishly. ‘I can be happy and feel free. Oh, the day he goes back to Canada will be the happiest of my life! For of course he will go back. He must go back. He was only here on a visit, when all’s said and done. Only he’s succeeded in frightening me so dreadfully that he means to make every penny he can before he has to go back. Perhaps,’ she thought forlornly, ‘it’s largely bluff really. And if I defy him—’

  But she knew she was not prepared to defy him on any real scale. She would pay and be thankful. And then at last she would be free.

  Of course if his demands were exorbitant, there would be the difficulty of explaining to Charles sometime why her capital was so seriously depleted. But she couldn’t think of that now. Some explanation would offer itself. And even if Charles had to think her a bit of a fool where money matters were concerned, that was better—ten thousand times better than that he should know the truth.

  Her conscience prompted her then to remember that it was really Charles’ money with which she proposed to deal so lavishly. But then it was Charles’ happiness, too, which she was trying to save. She hoped wearily that the one cancelled out the other.

  During this time she watched with the most acute anxiety for any change in Charles’ manner towards her any sign that although he refused to voice his suspicions, they were there all the time. But there was nothing which could cause her real fear. He was rather more than usually preoccupied sometimes, but then she knew he was also overwhelmingly busy. And if he had a little less time for her than usual, he also had less time for anything else that did not directly concern his work.

  She assured herself that any possible suspicion there had been had died long ago, and once she could dispose of Philip Collier and his demands, there was nothing that need stand in the way of their growing happiness.

  To her immeasurable relief, Charles was out of the house when Collier finally telephoned to make arrangements for meeting her.

  But her relief turned to dismay when he said:

  ‘I must see you at once.’

  ‘Do you mean this evening?’ for it was already late in the afternoon.

  ‘I mean this evening.’

  ‘But I can’t. It would mean having to stay in town for the night. What possible explanation could I give? It would sound—’

  ‘I don’t care what explanation you give. Think up something convincing. Good lord, use your imagination, girl! It’s necessary that I see you and come to some arrangement at once.’

  With a sudden wild hope she told herself that could mean only one thing. He had to go back immediately! That was the reason for the haste.

  Then it was worth it! She would make up some story that would cover it. She could stay at her old hotel for the night. It was fairly simple, after all.

  ‘I’ll come. Where shall I meet you?’

  She knew from his exclamation that he had expected more protests and was pleasantly surprised by her capitulation.

  ‘Sensible girl,’ he approved. ‘Do you know a little street called Maltry Street off the King’s Road?’

  ‘I can find it.’

  There’s a restaurant there that stays open late. You’ll know it by the red door and a couple of shrubs outside in tubs. I’ll meet you there at nine.’

  ‘Nine!’

  ‘Yes. I can’t manage before then.’

  It was pointless to argue over details now.

  ‘Very well, I’ll be there.’

  She rang off, strangely excited and almost exhilarated now that the final moment was so near. It wouldn’t be long now it wouldn’t be long before she was free.

  She hastily packed the few things she would need for a night in town, and then called Mrs. Ardingley.

  ‘Mrs. Ardingley, tell Mr. Linton I was called away suddenly, but I’ll be back some time before lunch tomorrow. A very old friend from the States has just telephoned to say she’s passing through London and she managed to get hold of my address.’ (Tina hoped neither of them would wonder how!) ‘She wants me to go up and have dinner with her this evening. I shouldn’t like to miss her.’

  ‘You’ll have to stay in town for the night?’ Mrs. Ardingley was very disapproving.

  ‘Yes. Tell Mr. Linton that I’ll stay at my old hotel for the night, and if he’s still up at oh, twelve he can ring me there if he likes.’

  She thought how wonderful it would be just to hear Charles’ voice, when all this misery was over.

  ‘Very well, madam.’ Mrs. Ardingley spoke in the manner of one who must withhold approval but who realised that she was powerless to alter things.

  Tina smiled at her in a way that really did suggest she expected to have a good time. And then she went off to her final meeting with Collier.

  Audrey, she found to her relief, was out of London for a day or two. So there was no need to explain her presence or, still worse, be questioned about her version of the Eileen incident.

  Somewhat to her surprise she enjoyed her dinner, and it was with a genuine effort that she kept her spirits from mounting dangerously high.

  She took a taxi to Chelsea and as it hurtled round corners and negotiated bends Tina slid about on the cold, shiny upholstery and wondered if she would arrive at her destination with enough breath to deal with Philip Collier. But presently the cab drew up in the little street off the King’s Road.

  A dull red sign indicated that the restaurant was indeed open, and once inside, Tina found that it was not an uncheerful place. The chairs and tables were of unpolished white wood, but with a gay red-and-white check cloth. And the small vases of flowers made pleasant splashes of colour.

  One or two couples were scattered about the room, leaning towards each other across the tables and speaking in the low, urgent tones of people who want to talk privately but have nowhere really private to go. Sweethearts, most of them, Tina judged, as she sat down at a corner table and ordered coffee while she waited.

  A few minutes later the door opened and Philip Collier came into the restaurant.

  He stood there for a moment, blinking slightly in the bright light after the darkness. Then he saw her and came straight across, smiling in a way that was all the more disquieting because it would have appeared so cordial to the casual observer.

  You’re very punctual.’ He dropped into the seat opposite her.

  ‘Yes. I saw no reason for not getting this over as quickly as possible,’ she retorted crisply.

  ‘You do dislike me, don’t you?’ he said.

  ‘I have no reason to like you,’ Tina pointed out coldly.

  ‘No? But I’ve kept your secret very snug and quiet, so far. You might show a little gratitude for that, I think.’

  ‘For a matter of common or garden blackmail, you take a long while to come to the point.’

  ‘Blackmail is a very ugly word, my dear.’

  ‘It’s also a very ugly thing,’ Tina said dryly. ‘And the sentence for it is perhaps the ugliest of all.’

  He laughed scornfully in his turn.

  ‘But then I shan’t have to worry about that,’ he pointed out with a confidence which she envied him, ‘because the sentence for murder is uglier still.’

  She paled, but more with anger than with fear this time.

  ‘You’re wasting time by trying to raise that ridiculous bogy,’ she told him. ‘You know there isn’t a shred of evidence against me.’

  ‘Or for you,’ he said meditatively, staring down into his coffee-cup. ‘Only the fact that your friend disappeared in absolutely unprovable circumstances, and that you turned up later, impersonating her and gathering in her quite considerable inheritance.’

  ‘The most fantastic efforts won’t
make a murder story out of that,’ Tina retorted shortly, aware that, low though their voices were, the very bandying of these preposterous words made her wince.

  ‘No?’ He looked considering. ‘But it makes a very nasty story for the ears of a new husband.’

  Tina bit her lip until she felt the blood come. There was the rub, of course! A very nasty story for the ears of a husband.

  Collier never took his eyes off her. He knew in a moment when he had scored a point.

  ‘How much would you expect to get for clearing out of this country and never setting foot here again?’

  ‘For what?’ He laughed contemptuously. ‘But, my dear girl, I like your charming country. Why should I leave it?’

  Her lips were suddenly terribly dry.

  ‘I thought you were here on a visit? That you meant to leave?’

  ‘I was,’ he agreed carelessly. ‘And I did. But a visit can always be extended, particularly if one is a journalist and, even more particularly, if one is on to a good thing.’

  Tina felt a wave of the most utter despair engulf her. This was not to be the end then. However heavily she paid now, she was not going to purchase security at all. Only the cessation of these week-to-week demands because it suited him better this way. She had been deluding herself quite uselessly. He didn’t mean her to escape with a final payment, however large. He reserved the right to call on her again in the future even though it might be a fairly distant future.

  With an effort Tina concentrated her thoughts on what he was saying. If she had the thinnest faintest hope of outwitting him, she must at least have all her attention on him.

  ‘Hadn’t you better put your proposals yourself?’ she suggested. ‘Then I’ll tell you what I think of them.’

  ‘Always bearing in mind how awkward certain disclosures would be for you,’ he reminded her sneeringly.

  ‘Possibly. But there’s such a thing as choosing the lesser of two evils, you know. If you make your terms too unbearable I shall probably choose to tell my husband myself.’

  ‘A lot for a husband to swallow,’ Collier pointed out smoothly. ‘And I have some idea he might cease to occupy that happy position if he knew the truth.’