Stolen Beginnings

by Susan Lewis

  ‘As long as I live,’ he told Harry, ‘I’ll never understand how it is a woman can make a man feel so ridiculous by simply saying nothing.’

  Harry looked up. ‘What are they doing?’

  ‘God knows. They’re in my study. Girl-talk, I was informed.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be in in a minute,’ Harry smiled, but his face had paled, and as he leaned forward to pick up his drink Paul couldn’t help noticing the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

  Another half an hour went by and again Paul got to his feet. Not only was he angry with Madeleine, but Harry’s discomfort was becoming positively embarrassing.

  This time he listened at the door before going in, but the heavy wood muted their voices, and though he knew it was Julia doing most of the talking he couldn’t make out what she was saying. In the end, without knocking, he pushed open the door and walked in. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, apart from the two of them sitting as he’d found them before – and they were, except that now Madeleine was wearing a dress he’d forbidden her to wear, even about the house. It was white and flowery, belted at the waist, and covered everything from neck to knee.

  She looked up as he came in, flicked back her hair and smiled.

  Quickly swallowing his amazement, Paul forced a chuckle into his voice as he said, ‘It must be one hell of a conversation you two are having. You’ve been in here hours.’

  ‘Classical history,’ Julia informed him before Madeleine could speak. ‘I’ve been telling Madeleine all about what went on in the Greek gymnasia.’

  He looked from one to the other and could see that Madeleine didn’t have the faintest idea what Julia was talking about.

  ‘Anyway, I think that’s probably enough for one night, don’t you?’ Julia said, getting to her feet. ‘Let’s go and liven up the male side of the party.’

  Harry’s nervousness abated slightly when Julia came back into the room, and he complimented Madeleine extravagantly on her dress. ‘Everything all right?’ he said, as Julia sat down beside him.

  ‘Yes, yes. Everything’s fine,’ she answered. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  Paul found that an extremely odd remark, and watched the two of them closely as they finished their brandies. There had been a sub-text in that small exchange, he was sure of it, but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what it might be. Eventually Harry said it was time they were going, and while Madeleine and Julia kissed one another on both cheeks, Paul walked to the door with Harry.

  ‘Think about the suggestions I made earlier,’ Harry said, once again his affable, though somewhat stiff self. ‘I want to publish you, Paul, very much – but the book’s too long and too obscure the way it is.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll think about it,’ Paul promised, then as Julia came out of the sitting-room he gave her a polite kiss, and he and Madeleine stood at the door waving them off in their old Bentley.

  ‘What the hell was going on?’ he demanded as he followed Madeleine back into the sitting-room. ‘And why are you wearing that bloody awful dress?’

  Madeleine shrugged. ‘It seemed more suitable for a history lesson.’

  ‘Don’t get smart with me. I thought . . .’

  Madeleine was shaking her head and laughing. ‘You thought wrong, Paul. There was no point me doing anything to try and seduce Harry. You see, I have it on the best authority that you’re more his type than I am.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘He’s gay.’

  ‘But he’s married.’

  Again Madeleine shrugged. ‘Married or not, he’s gay.’

  For a long moment there was silence, then suddenly Paul threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘That’s what you two have been talking about all night?’

  Madeleine nodded. ‘Mostly.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, drawing out the words with dawning realisation. ‘Now I see the connection with the Greek gymnasia. What did she say?’

  Madeleine was still obviously baffled by the Greek business but didn’t bother to ask about it. ‘Basically, she said that I was wasting my time trying to get her husband into bed.’ She tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘It’s quite sad really, you know, because she’s desperately in love with Harry, and I can’t say I blame her – he’s gorgeous. She didn’t know about the way he is until after they got married; they keep up appearances for the sake of the family name and the children. He’s very discreet, apparently, and never tells her who he’s seeing, or when.’

  Paul was watching her suspiciously. ‘No one comes out with highly guarded secrets just like that,’ he said. ‘How do you know she’s telling the truth?’

  ‘I don’t, for sure. But I can tell you one thing, I didn’t give him an erection. Anyway, why should she lie?’

  He shook his head. ‘To throw you off the scent perhaps. But it’s a bit excessive, going to those lengths. She could have just confronted you with it, and told you to back off.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t. And as I said, I don’t think she’s lying. She made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone. You know, she might be posh and all that, but I think she quite liked me. She said we ought to have lunch together some time next week.’

  ‘Are you going to?’

  She shrugged. ‘Doubt it. I’ve got a really busy time coming up. Unless you want me to, of course.’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  She started to pick up glasses and cups and pile them onto the coffee tray. ‘What are you looking like that for?’ she demanded. ‘He’s queer, isn’t he? That must give you some ammunition.’

  ‘Ammunition, yes,’ he answered thoughtfully. ‘But what we need now is the gun to fire it with.’

  Madeleine screwed up her face. ‘What?’

  ‘Proof,’ he explained.

  – 12 –

  London hadn’t been so hot since 1976. In the hope of even a breath of air Marian had the doors and windows open, but all that came in was the din and grime of Soho’s passing traffic; and with only a paltry electric fan to keep the cloying humidity at bay she was finding it increasingly difficult to get on with her work.

  In the corner the word processor was sluggishly printing out endless lists; the legal ramifications of the film, suggested production personnel, publicity proposals, actors for audition, a cash flow projection, and countless other details Marian was too hot and bothered to care about. Turning from her typewriter, she reached for yet another tissue and wiped the perspiration from her face, then glared at the telephone, willing it to ring. Since they’d arrived back from America two weeks ago, reality had returned with a vengeance and she was once again suffering a crushing sense of loneliness. To make matters worse, Bronwen had gone off to Wales and Matthew had reverted to his former arrogant self. The realisation that her moods were governed by his sat ill with Marian, especially when she had tried so hard to change things between them; and in New York, or so she’d thought, she had succeeded. She had even begun to get an inkling of why other people liked him so much, because on the rare occasions when he had bothered to flex his charm, she had found him almost irresistible. Since they’d got back he had been exeptionally busy, she knew that – but it did not excuse the way he had walked in through the door with Stephanie half an hour ago, passed straight by her office and continued on up the stairs. It wouldn’t have hurt him to pop his head round the door and at least say hello. Stephanie did. And she had bothered to tell Marian about the interview they’d just done on TV-AM. But politeness was obviously too much to expect of Matthew Cornwall now that they were back in London.

  It had been a different story during the latter part of their stay in America. She had spent two whole days in her hotel room, making rough drafts of some scenes for the script, and when Bronwen showed them to Matthew he’d had all the time in the world for her then, and had even spoken up in her defence to Deborah Foreman.

  ‘Don’t you see,’ he’d explained to Deborah, ‘because Marian has no real knowledge of either New Y
ork or the kind of life we’re portraying, her imagination is giving the whole thing an almost surreal quality – magical, fantastical, and at the same time profoundly sinister too. It’s what we need. It puts guts into the story that simply weren’t there before.’

  Perhaps not the most tactful thing to say, so it was hardly surprising that Deborah Foreman had remained resolutely unimpressed by Marian’s efforts; but behind her back Matthew had winked at Marian, and after that Marian couldn’t have cared less what Deborah Foreman thought.

  Sighing, she picked up a pen and began toying with her football pools coupon. She wouldn’t mind so much about Matthew if his unpredictability didn’t make her think of Paul. Not that Paul was ever temperamental like Matthew, but the way he had so abruptly absconded with Madeleine had been such a shock to her that, ever since, any erratic or confusing behaviour made her nervous and withdrawn. She would never have admitted it to anyone – except Bronwen during a weak moment in New York – but there were still times when the hurt caught her unawares and sucked her back into a chasm of loneliness that was every bit as desperate as it had been in those early days when she first discovered Paul had gone. Bronwen had told her that it was asking too much of herself to expect she should be over it all in such a short time, but nevertheless, she was determined to conquer it. It was just that being back in London, and being so often on her own again, made it particularly difficult. She wondered if having a friend to pour her heart out to would help, but there wasn’t anyone, so there was no point in thinking about it. Just as there was no point in buying magazines or newspapers any more, because Madeleine was always in them. Sometimes she felt as though Madeleine were dead, and that the pictures that smiled up at her from the glossy pages were ghosts coming back to haunt her. Two weeks ago, driving back to London from the airport with Stephanie, they had passed a billboard with Madeleine’s evocative face plastered all over it, and Marian had made up her mind then to stop wondering what her cousin was doing at any given moment of the day, and to start hating her. But it simply wasn’t in her nature to hate someone, so that had lasted no more than twenty-four hours.

  ‘Ugh!’ she snorted, throwing her pen across the desk. ‘You’re so bloody feeble, you can’t even get together a good, healthy dose of hatred. Why do you always have to go pussy-footing round people, trying to make them like you? What bloody difference does it make whether they do or not? Tell them all to go to hell, why don’t you?’

  The buzzer sounded on her desk, startling her, and she prodded the button angrily.

  ‘Marian, can you bring up the budgets I asked you to type out yesterday, please?’ Stephanie’s voice asked.

  ‘No!’ Marion snapped, and jabbing the button again, she turned back to her typewriter.

  Within seconds she heard footsteps on the stairs, then Stephanie saying uncertainly, ‘Marian?’

  Marian continued typing, faster and faster, trying to keep up with her heart-beat.

  ‘Marian?’ Stephanie said again. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ Marian answered in clipped tones.

  ‘Oh well, that’s all right then. I’ll just take the budgets if I may. Are they here? In the top drawer?’

  Marian spun round in her chair and stormed over to the filing cabinet. ‘No! They’re where they . . .’

  ‘Aaagh! Don’t hit me!’ Stephanie yelped, snatching her hands away as Marian yanked open the second drawer.

  For several seconds Marian glared at her, then suddenly her mouth started to twitch and her head dropped forward as her shoulders began to shake.

  Tentatively, Stephanie lifted her curtain of hair and peered into her face. ‘Are you laughing?’ she said, her own voice bubbling with mirth.

  When Marian looked up her eyes were swimming with tears, and she fell against the filing cabinets, holding her sides and gasping with laughter. ‘Hit you?’ she cried. ‘As if I would!’

  ‘Well, you sounded pretty angry,’ Stephanie laughed. ‘I didn’t know what to expect. What’s got into you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Marian choked. ‘I think I’m becoming hysterical.’ She was suddenly whooping with laughter again, and the fact that Stephanie joined in only made matters worse.

  ‘Stop it!’ she pleaded. ‘Stephanie, don’t!’

  ‘I can’t help it!’ Stephanie gasped. ‘It’s you, you’re making me laugh!’

  ‘What on earth’s going on in here?’ Matthew asked, looking from one to the other as they tried to pull themselves together.

  One look at his bemused face was enough to send Marian into another paroxysm, and the more she laughed, the more Stephanie laughed.

  ‘Go away before I hit you,’ Marian managed to squeal, and Stephanie collapsed against the desk, pointing at his shocked face.

  ‘You’re both insane,’ he grinned, and shaking his head, he went to sit on Marian’s chair and watch while they rolled hysterically about the office.

  That was how Kathleen found them when she walked in five minutes later.

  She stood planted in the doorway, hands on hips, glaring at Stephanie. Marian was the first to see her, and found the frown on her face so hilarious that the stitch in her side gave an agonising leap and she howled with pain.

  ‘There’s someone at the door,’ she wailed.

  Stephanie lifted her head and turned towards the door, wiping the tears from her eyes. The instant she saw Kathleen, the blood drained from her face. Matthew rotated in his chair – and he too looked suddenly pale.

  Keeping her lips pressed firmly together in an effort to stifle her hiccoughs, Marian looked again at the large, intimidating woman in the doorway – then flinched as she sneered at Stephanie.

  ‘Yes, I thought I’d wipe the smile from your face,’ she spat.

  Marian’s mouth dropped open, and she turned to look at Stephanie. Then a great, heaving hiccough bolted through the silence, and Stephanie exploded into laughter.

  ‘Don’t you fucking laugh at me, you bitch!’ and to Marian’s utter amazement, the woman launched herself towards Stephanie and would have hit her had Matthew not stepped between them and grabbed the woman’s striking arm.

  ‘For God’s sake, Kathleen!’ he hissed, twisting the arm behind her back and pulling her away from Stephanie.

  ‘Don’t you for-God’s-sake me, you bastard!’ she bellowed in a strident cockney voice. ‘I’ve had just about . . .’

  ‘Shut up!’ he snapped. He jerked his head back as she tried to slap his face, then winced as she trod heavily on his foot and wrenched her arm free.

  ‘Don’t you tell me to shut up,’ she seethed. ‘It’s about time I had my say. All the years I was married to you and now you treat me like this. What kind of man are you? You’re a bastard! A fucking bastard! Can’t even . . .’

  ‘Kathleen!’ Stephanie shouted.

  Kathleen spun round, her eyes blazing with hatred – and Marian giggled.

  ‘If you don’t mind, you’re in my office and you’re trespassing.’ Stephanie bit out the words angrily, but Kathleen was undaunted.

  ‘Trespassing!’ she sneered. ‘And just what the fuck do you think you’re doing, you little whore! You’re screwing my husband, that’s what you’re doing. And I don’t suppose you thought for one minute what it would do to my family!’

  ‘Whatever’s happened to your family is of your own doing,’ Stephanie answered. ‘If you didn’t go round making such a damned ridiculous spectacle of yourself . . .’

  ‘Spectacle of myself!’ Kathleen screeched. ‘Is it making a spectacle of myself to want my children’s father to at least speak to them? Is it . . .’

  ‘He does speak to them. He . . .’

  ‘To Bobby, yes! He’s turned him against me, hasn’t he?’ She rounded on Matthew. ‘What have you been saying to him? Why won’t he come home to visit me? You’ve seen him, haven’t you? Oh don’t deny it, I know you have . . .’

  ‘I’m not denying it,’ Matthew said through gritted teeth. ‘I . . .’
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br />   ‘See! See! He’s admitting it. He’s turning my own son against me. What do you want next, Matthew? Samantha? Do you want to take her away from me as well? Leave me with nothing? Is that what you’re trying to do?’

  ‘It’s you who are poisoning Samantha’s mind against her father,’ Stephanie shouted. ‘And if you ask me, your son can probably see for himself what a harridan of a mother you are!’

  ‘Stephanie! Leave it!’ Matthew barked.

  ‘You fucking bitch!’ Kathleen shrieked. ‘How dare you speak to me like that. Well, go on, do it some more! Show him what you’re really like. I’ll bet it’s you putting him up to all this. Stopping my money, turning him against his own daughter.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Kathleen! Nobody’s turned me against Samantha. Now, can we go somewhere a little more private to discuss this, please. Just you and I.’

  ‘Oh no! It’s her I came to see and it’s her I’m going to have,’ and she hurled herself across the room and grabbed Stephanie by the hair. Matthew was after her like a shot, and as the three of them struggled, Kathleen yelling obscenities, Stephanie screaming with pain and Matthew shouting for them to break it up, Marian finally managed to get a grip on herself and ran to the phone.

  ‘Stop it!’ she yelled, as she put the receiver to her ear. ‘I said stop it!’ To her utter amazement, they all turned to look at her.

  Pulling herself together quickly, she snapped, ‘Stephanie, Frank Hastings is on the line for you, I’ll put it through to your office.’ She pushed another button on the switchboard, then when she saw Stephanie was still gawking at her, she said, ‘Can you go and take the call, please? He says it’s urgent and he’s on the line from America. Hello? Yes, Ryder and Evans here. Oh hello, Woody. Yes, OK I’ll tell him. Thank you.’ She put the phone down and turned to Matthew. ‘Is your car parked in Brewer Street?’