The Seduction of Mrs Pendlebury

by Margaret Forster

  ‘Will you have some tea?’ she said.

  They had tea, but nothing could quite wipe out the things they had said to each other. Stanley was polite and even managed to make a small joke, but he was constrained all the same by Alice’s clearly revealed opinion of him, and she, in turn, smiled and was friendly but couldn’t forget how he had intended to treat her. When he finally stood up and said he must get back she had no idea how she stood.

  ‘I hope everything will be all right,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, don’t you worry – it’ll all blow over.’

  ‘What if – what if she – Mrs Pendlebury – has another attack – another turn?’

  ‘I’ll just have to take things as they come, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, if you need any help, if there’s anything I can do –’

  ‘I’ll remember.’

  But he knew he would never call on Alice’s services again. Rose had been right all along – best keep yourself to yourself. It saved so much trouble. She was a nice girl, very kind, but too highly strung for his liking, too liable to get het up over nothing. Her husband was more his cup of tea, a steady fellow who knew the score, could take a hint, or that Charlotte along the road, she was a solid type. It was pity she hadn’t been the one to befriend Rose instead of Alice. Rose needed stability, that was it. That was all he had to do – keep calm, go along with her, the same old formula that had worked before.

  Stanley ignored the part of him that said it hadn’t worked. To start thinking that would be fatal.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  IT WAS LIKE being shelled, like enduring a twenty-four-hour bombardment and no relief in sight, with the enemy coming up over the hill in never-ending waves. Stanley feinted this way and that, made the best use of his ammunition, lay doggo as long as he could, but after a month he knew he could not go on much longer. Complete surrender was near, and with it would come total anarchy. Rose would run amok. His tired body – tired with tearing about after her, tired with getting up at all hours with her – and his reeling brain would both give out. He would just lie down and accept defeat, not caring what she did to herself or to him.

  There had been no possibility of keeping calm and steady. From the minute he came back that day from Alice’s, Rose had become obsessed with the one idea calculated to create the maximum amount of havoc: they must sell the house. He reasoned with her, he argued till he was hoarse, he pretended to agree hoping the scheme could be dropped after a decent interval, but it was no use. She wanted to sell the house. It was, she said, the solution to everything. It was the only thing that would save her sanity – yes, he had heard her say that – ‘It will save my sanity,’ she’d said and, though the fact that she could say that told him her sanity couldn’t really be threatened, he felt the warning was too plain to ignore. If she wanted to move so badly, they must move. Her reasons were silly – she said she was the laughing stock of the neighbourhood – but that didn’t matter.

  They had never sold a house before. Quitting their rooms had been straightforward, merely a matter of giving notice and handing in the rent book, but Stanley quickly discovered selling a house was hideously complicated. Rose was adamant that they didn’t need an agent – all they had to do, or all Stanley had to do, was put an advert in the local paper. That would fetch them. Unfortunately, it did, in hordes. Their bell never stopped ringing, from nine in the morning on the day the advert appeared, and there were couples queueing outside. Rose was furious, livid with rage. She told him to go and tell them all to go away – but how could he when he’d put an advert in? They were all crazy too – offering £20,000 and more without even coming in. Some of them waved cheques at him and some had bundles of notes. It was all horrible and confusing and Stanley was quite overcome. All he could think of to say was that it was a mistake, but some of them wouldn’t take no for an answer. They pushed pieces of paper with their addresses on through the letter-box asking him to contact them if he changed his mind. There was no peace for a week afterwards.

  Stanley hoped it would put Rose off, but not a bit of it – she was more determined than ever. The only difference was that she conceded they might need an agent and sent Stanley round the area writing down names and addresses from boards. When he brought them back – terrified at leaving her even for a few minutes – she took one look at the list and picked one at random. Stanley had to phone straight away. They were very keen and sent a young man round immediately to take particulars. He put Rose into a high old state of excitement by telling her they would get £25,000 with no trouble. She was triumphant when he’d gone, flushed and happy, chanting, ‘We’re sitting on a gold mine’, and, ‘The sky’s the limit’, over and over again.

  When people came to view the house, he had to show them round. Rose wouldn’t have anything to do with it. She stayed in the garden until they’d seen round the house and then she slipped in by the side door and upstairs while they inspected the garden. On no account would she speak to any of them, though afterwards she wanted to discuss what the prospective buyers looked like and even what they wore, until Stanley was bored to death. It seemed to give her such pleasure that all the people who came were such ‘quality’. She didn’t want to sell the house to riff-raff but to somebody who would appreciate it. Stanley didn’t dare tell her the nature of the disparaging remarks generally made.

  Within a short time they had a firm offer of £27,000, subject to contract. Rose was ecstatic. She mouthed, ‘say yes’, at him while he was on the phone and did a little dance when he told her the contract would be ready in two days and that a deposit had been paid as a demonstration of good faith. He felt the time had come to explain to her the legal implications of what they were about to do and tried to speak solemnly to her, but she pooh-poohed his approach and said she understood everything perfectly well, thank you very much: she knew all about it taking six weeks to exchange contracts and about the deal being final after that. She said she could tell him quite a lot he didn’t know she knew. What Stanley most wanted to know was what next? What were they going to do after the house was sold? Where would they go?

  Rose was scathing at his lack of foresight. Where would they go? Where had they always wanted to go? Stanley couldn’t for the life of him think. He wondered if she was thinking of Australia and his relief was enormous when she announced Bournemouth. Well, it was new to him. He didn’t know they’d always wanted to go to Bournemouth. All right, they’d had two holidays there and several outings for a long day but that was the beginning and end of any connection with Bournemouth. Trust Rose to develop an attachment to a place she hardly knew. He asked her what was so attractive about the place and she said the sea air. He replied Margate, where they went for their Club trips, had sea – but she wouldn’t even let him finish. Margate was a common-as-muck place she declared, a place she wouldn’t be taken to in a box. So he gave in, and merely pressed her to tell him where exactly they were going to go in Bournemouth. She said anywhere, she didn’t care, they’d find somewhere when they got there. He asked her what they would do about the furniture and all their belongings with no address to send them to, and she turned on him and accused him of spoiling everything.

  As far as Stanley was concerned, there was nothing to spoil. The even tenor of his life had been utterly ruined. But Rose would go on as though they had been incredibly lucky and was literally transported by the thought of their good fortune. She talked a lot of rubbish about silver linings and everything turning out for the best. Her shrill singing and all the noise she seemed to make these days got on his nerves. The only time she stopped was when they went out and then she behaved with a modicum of decorum. She came with him on several occasions to the estate agent’s office, rather to his surprise, and was absolutely charming to everyone, laughing and smiling fit to burst. Though he was pleased at her going out and taking such an interest, he was upset by one thing. On the way to the agent’s they had twice met Alice, and Rose had neither returned her greeting nor looked in her di
rection, just ignored her and walked straight on. It upset Stanley. He himself said hello and nodded and wanted to stop, but he had to rush on to keep up with Rose. He tried to challenge her on this but it was no good – she refused to discuss her attitude, merely saying she had an elephant’s memory. What that was supposed to mean, Stanley couldn’t for the life of him fathom.

  Harried and hurried, Stanley was glad to get to bed at night, but he was allowed no proper rest. Around one in the morning Rose would get up and wander around the house weeping and wailing and clutching her nightdress in both hands. He couldn’t leave her to roam about so he had to get up too and accompany her on her tour. He couldn’t decide whether she was sleepwalking or not. Certainly, she didn’t reply when he talked to her but then that was nothing new. On the other hand he saw in her face, creased and red with crying though it was, a look of the old Rose that made him think it was only at night time that she was really herself. The smirking, staring, blank look of the day gave way to a pitiful, worried, distressed look that he recognized from other days. She was terribly upset but not hysterical. She would finally end up on the bed sobbing in his arms as though her heart would break and shaking her head pathetically when he tried to comfort her. Once she said, ‘I don’t know what got into me,’ and another time, ‘What will she think, what will she think,’ but he didn’t try to open up either remark, just patted her on the back and concentrated on getting her back to sleep.

  Elsie, when she came over a few weeks after all this had been going on, was shocked by his appearance. She came unannounced, on Sunday afternoon, and when he opened the door she said, ‘Good God, whatever’s happened to you?’ He just said he’d had a slight cold but she wouldn’t let the subject alone, going on and on about how he looked at death’s door. She naturally went on to ask, with a sniff, how Rose was, and he was aware that she had no intention of believing him when he said Rose was fine.

  ‘I suppose you heard about me coming as I said I would?’ she accused him.

  ‘No, no I didn’t, but I guessed you would, I knew I could rely on you. I was sorry you were put to all that trouble for nothing.’

  ‘She was in, of course, I knew that.’

  ‘No, she wasn’t, she went out, that was what upset the apple-cart. My fault really, always risky trying to plan surprises.’

  ‘Where is she then? Don’t I rate a hello?’ – and Elsie looked suspiciously about the room.

  ‘She’s busy. There’s a lot to be done. I dare say she’ll be down later – I don’t suppose she heard the bell.’ Then the whole story of them selling up had to come out and luckily Elsie was so dumbfounded that the emphasis was shifted away from Rose’s health. By the time Rose did appear Elsie was too busy concentrating on the details of the house sale to notice her.

  ‘I would never have thought it,’ she said, ‘never – your house has always been your pride and joy – to sell up, to go so sudden – I can’t work it out.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Stanley said, keeping a careful eye on Rose, ‘they say change is good for you.’

  ‘Change! I’ll say – but what made you do it, what made you think of it? That’s what puzzles me – you must have a reason.’

  ‘We have reasons,’ Rose said, smiling that smile Stanley had come to hate, that teeth-showing, wide, stretched-tight smile, nothing like her real, quirky, up-at-the-corners smile.

  ‘Well what are they?’ Elsie said, not at all put off by the looks the two of them were exchanging.

  ‘That would be telling,’ Rose said. ‘We’re not at liberty to say.’

  ‘Why not? What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Then why can’t you say?’

  ‘It’s difficult to explain,’ Stanley said, ‘just a feeling we wanted to see a bit more of the world.’

  ‘Oh well,’ Elsie said, deeply offended, ‘it may never happen.’ She started pulling her gloves on, even though she hadn’t yet had the tea she’d been offered. ‘I expect it will all fizzle out in the end.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rose asked. Stanley thought she looked blue round the mouth and moved his chair closer to her.

  ‘Oh, nothing, just a feeling it may never happen,’ Elsie said, as usual a little frightened when she saw she had scored. ‘After all, you didn’t get to Australia and you were set enough on that. You might never sell the house – it wouldn’t surprise me one little bit.’

  ‘Bitch,’ Rose said.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Bitch,’ Rose said again, and began to cry.

  There was a moment, standing on the doorstep, when Stanley felt very tempted to ask Elsie back in and unburden himself. After he’d smoothed everything over and Rose had gone to bed, or at least to her bedroom, Elsie had been most understanding. She’d actually said she was sorry for stirring things up and you couldn’t get handsomer than that. But in the end, he let her go. Once you started roping in other people you were done for. It made him realize that what he most looked forward to about Bournemouth was not knowing a soul. He became quite inspired at the thought of some bungalow, all on its own, where they wouldn’t be bothered. He would find a club to go to – bound to be one a bus-ride away – and Rose would have peace.

  It was just as he was at last getting enthusiastic that Rose called the whole thing off. She just said one morning she didn’t like the people the house had been sold to and she wasn’t going to do anything to oblige them. There was a terrible fuss, really terrible – Stanley’s head ached with the arguments that went on – but Rose was adamant. They withdrew from the sale just in the nick of time, the very day contracts should have been exchanged. He was angry with her, said she’d made a monkey out of him, but she didn’t care. She was her old snappy, bad-tempered self and wasn’t the least bit sorry. Stanley felt dizzy with it all, and afraid of possible repercussions. It came as no shock when, after two weeks of moping about day and night, Rose suddenly bounced up and said she’d changed her mind again and wanted to sell. He could find a different agent, different people.

  That was when Stanley took matters into his own hands, at last. He wasn’t going through all that rigmarole again for nothing. She was having him on, playing with him, and it wasn’t right, he’d had enough of all that. The time had come to lay down the law. He’d decided what to do – the house would have to be sold – but he would do it and tell Rose afterwards. That was the way.

  Tony said life would go on as usual and of course it did. She did all the things she usually did – housework, shopping, sewing, playing with Amy. The day-to-day routine went on effortlessly and she had no objection to it. But it was no good pretending that she was happy. The presence of Rose Pendlebury next door introduced Alice to a kind of mental torment completely new to her.

  She had often read, in the newspapers, of neighbours harassing each other. There was one case in particular that had always stuck in her mind, in which a quiet, peace-loving man had suddenly murdered his next-door neighbour who had been subjecting him over a period of years to excessive noise and intrusion of every sort. There was no question of Mrs P. doing anything like that but the strain of enduring her hate gave Alice the same feelings of persecution. She simply couldn’t bear not just the fact of Mrs P.’s antagonism but also the unfairness of it. She found herself all the time rehearsing what she wanted to say to Mrs P. and had fantasies in which her former friend confessed how wrong she had been and asked forgiveness. She wrote endless letters, sometimes getting as far as the letter-box with them, and then snatched them back.

  Tony was no help. Relieved that Alice had not brought a miscarriage on herself, he then went so far as to congratulate her on getting rid of the Pendleburys. They now used either Charlotte’s or the Stewarts’ au pair for babysitting – it was all beautifully easy and conscience-free and Tony never missed an opportunity to point this out. They had lost nothing, he insisted. It was all just as well, it had all worked out perfectly. In time, he was sure the old couple would come round sufficiently to exchang
e greetings and smile, and that was all they wanted. He advised Alice to go on saying hello to Mrs P.– he quite agreed it would be childish to behave as she did – but not to bother herself if there was no reply. One day there would be and until there was she remained above reproach.

  Alice didn’t know if she could wait that long. Every time she saw the Pendleburys coming down the street she wanted to hide. Walking, instead, directly towards them required courage. Her heart would thud, her limbs sing with peculiar pins and needles, and her face flamed. She hated these physical manifestations of apparent guilt. She knew Mrs P. would notice, even when seeming not to look, and she couldn’t bear the conclusions she felt were reached. Every day she saw them, long before they saw her, she struggled with common sense – and lost. Soon she was crossing the road to avoid them, yanking Amy after her. It was stupid and silly but she couldn’t face the alternative.

  When Alice first heard the Pendleburys were selling their house, astonishment was quickly followed by immense relief. It was the only possible solution, one she had never dared hope for. She even managed to convince herself that it was in their best interests – the house was too big for them, they couldn’t cope with it. Together with the rest of the road she followed what details they could glean about the sale and waited with them for the removal van to appear. When the weeks went by and there was no sign of the Pendleburys evacuating the premises, she found to her surprise that she was oddly glad. That would have been no fitting end. What cowardice on her part to hope for such an end! Her own defeatism, the negative way she saw she had looked at the problem, disgusted her. There would never have been any hope of rebuilding the relationship if Mrs P. had gone. She was deeply ashamed that, though she had publicly said the woman was sick, she had not really treated her as sick. She had had no real compassion in her heart at all, she had been far too interested in the wrongs she had suffered, the injuries she had sustained to her own ego, truly to care about Mrs P. She must have another chance.