She laughed.
“How much longer?”
“Two, three weeks. I’m not sure. I have to get the all clear from Boyd.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just to hold you in my arms will do. When does Ernest leave?”
“Three days.”
“I’ll think of something, somewhere.”
“The maternity nurse goes off on Wednesdays. She has a sister in Welwyn Garden City.”
“If you think I can survive on Wednesdays…”
She had a new negligée, cream with coffee lace.
“You’ve never looked more beautiful; like a madonna. Motherhood suits you.”
“Doesn’t it suit all women?”
He took her in his arms. “I’m not interested in all women. God, how I love you. It gets worse every day.” He kissed her.
“We’d better get back,” she said shakily. “I have to feed my son.”
“Our son.”
She shook her head. “I love you, Oscar.”
In the car on the way home the girls sang ‘Rock-a-bye-Baby’.
“Why don’t we have another baby, Mummy?” Daisy asked.
“Ask Daddy.”
“Daddy?”
“Ask Mummy.”
They all laughed.
“That was a lovely afternoon,” Karen said. “I did enjoy it.”
“I think we all did,” Oscar said. He felt aglow with happiness. “‘Rock-a-bye-Baby!’” he sang, “‘On the tree top’.”
“‘When the bough breaks the cradle will rock’.” The girls and Karen joined in.
They sang all the way home. When they arrived they were on ‘Ten Green Bottles’.
As they spilled out of the car, Rosy treading accidentally on Daisy’s hat and bringing forth screams, they could hear the telephone ringing.
“I’ll get it!” Oscar said, and ran ahead up the steps.
He took the stairs two at a time into his study and shut the door behind him.
“Oscar?”
It was Marie-Céleste. Her voice was shaking.
“What is it?” He felt his stomach contract.
There was a pause.
“Ernest knows.”
He stared straight ahead at the plane trees in full leaf.
“He was in the bathroom while we were in the bedroom just now. The door was open. Are you there, Oscar?”
“Yes, I’m here.” The bottom had dropped out of his world. “I’ll be straight over.”
“No!” She sounded alarmed. “Please; not now.”
He heard the click as she hung up and then the dialling tone.
He sat with the receiver in his hand.
Eighteen
“Oscar! Oscar! Is everything all right? Who was it?”
He stared at the receiver.
“Oscar!”
“Fine! Nobody much.”
“Coming down?”
“Yes. Sure. Sure.” He replaced the receiver, putting an end to the dialling tone. It had been so quick, he wondered if it had really happened. Other people got caught, found out; not Oscar John. He tried to recall the converation. ‘You look funny without the bump.’ That he remembered. Her breasts! ‘One hot, one cold.’ He put a hand over his eyes. ‘How much longer?’ ‘I have to get the all clear from Boyd.’ If ever anyone was condemned out of their own mouth. But who was to know? The connecting door from the bedroom to the bathroom was open; he remembered now, but who was to think… Couldn’t he have declared himself, made a noise or something? Typical rattish, Ernestish thing to do, like listening at keyholes. His own fault really. Eavesdroppers never heard any good of themselves. Of course it was unequivocal. ‘When is Ernest going away?’ No wriggling out of it. The maternity nurse going off on Wednesdays. What would he do; to Marie-Céleste? He wanted to go to her but Marie-Céleste had said no. He felt ill.
“Oscar! I’m making some omelettes, the girls are starving.”
Karen. He would have to tell Karen before Ernest did. He couldn’t let her find out from Ernest.
“Oscar!”
“I’m coming.”
He sat limp, lifeless. Could not believe that from one moment to the next life could change so radically. How could they have been so foolish? He hadn’t even troubled to think where Ernest might have got to. Presumed he was seeing the last of the guests off. He wanted to put back the clock, expunge the little interview from the record. He was back in the flat, he, Karen, and the children, just leaving. Goodbye, Marie-Céleste, he said, thank you for a lovely afternoon. Goodbye Oscar, goodbye Karen, ’bye girls; you must come and see the baby again. We will, Rosy and Daisy said. Of course… Karen. See you around. Himself. Then all into the lift, merrily. Rock-a-bye-baby. That was how it happened. Not that other horrible nightmare. He wanted to tell Karen. She would know what to do. Had helped him when he was depressed. Solved all his problems. Practical girl Karen.
“Oscar!”
The last thing he wanted was an omelette.
The door opened. “It goes flat if you don’t…what’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“You look…sort of funny. What is it?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” He put a hand on his head. “Bit of a headache. The champagne probably.”
“Are you sure?”
“What else?”
“I don’t know.” She held out her hand. “Come and eat. It’ll get cold.”
He allowed her to pull him up.
In the kitchen the girls were falling around with laughter.
“Have you heard the one about the Irishman, Daddy?” Rosy said… There were more shrieks. “There was this Irishman…” Daisy said.
“I’m telling it!”
“You always get it wrong and spoil it.”
“It’s my joke. Araminta told me.”
“Well I’m telling it…”
“Shut up!” Oscar screamed.
There was sudden silence.
“Daddy’s got a headache,” Karen said quickly.
“Not surprised,” Rosy said. “He must have drunk a hundred glasses of champagne; each time the man came round with the bottle Daddy pretended he didn’t notice…”
“I said shuttup!” Oscar said.
“Eat your supper,” Karen said.
They ate in silence, the sound of forks upon plates noticeable.
Oscar pushed his plate away. “I’m going upstairs for a bit.”
“Shall I come?” Karen said.
“No.”
“Araminta says you have to have a raw oyster for a hangover…” he heard Daisy say as he left the kitchen. He sat in his study. He didn’t know for how long. He was shattered, devastated, unable to think.
He didn’t hear Karen come in. She cleared a place among the books and papers on the day-bed and sat down opposite him.
“Please tell me.”
“Nothing. I’m all right. I’ll be all right.”
“There is something then.”
“Look Karen, leave me alone.”
“I can’t bear to see you look like that.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Your face…”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You frightened the girls.”
“I’m sorry.”
“They were only over-excited and a little drunk.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“You sounded quite vicious.”
“What do you want me to do?”
She held out her hand. “Tell me what it is? Perhaps I can help.”
He ignored the hand. “Look, for the last time, leave me alone!”
“I don’t want to. If you think I can’t take it…”
“You can’t.”
“There is something then.”
“Something I have to sort out for myself.”
“We’ve always helped each other.”
“Not this time.”
“Why is this time different?”
“Because it is.
”
“We’re going round in circles.”
“I told you to leave it. You’ll press me and press me and then you’ll be sorry.”
“I’m your wife.”
Oscar stared at the carpet.
“Please. Two heads are supposed to be better than one.”
“Not in this case.”
He suddenly wanted to be rid of his burden. “I don’t want you to hate me.”
“How could I?”
“If I’d done something…terrible…could you forgive me?”
“Anything. What is it?”
“Guess. What are the worst things…?”
“Murder?”
“No.”
“Robbed a bank?”
“No.”
“Adultery?”
There was silence in the room for a moment.
“Yes.”
“Who is it? No, don’t tell me; Marie-Céleste! Oscar, how long?”
“Long.”
She was crying. “Why are you telling me now?”
“I didn’t want to tell you.”
“You did.”
“You kept on and on.”
“You wanted me to go on and on.”
“I told you you couldn’t take it.”
“Why now?”
“Ernest has found out. I didn’t want you to hear…any other way.”
She found her handkerchief. “I’d rather you’d robbed a bank…”
“It happens all the time…”
“To other people. We had something special…and you kept on…all this time…would have kept on…if Ernest…the christening! How could you make me go to the christening! And the girls? Dragging the girls into your sordid little affair…”
“It is not a sordid little affair,” he said angrily. “I love her!”
“How could you do it? To think that I held her rotten, stinking baby, talked to her rotten stinking friends, her in my house to look after our children…unprincipled bitch!”
“Stop it!”
“Well, she is.”
“She’s an extremely nice person. You don’t know her.”
“And I don’t want to. If I met her in the street I’d kick her teeth in.”
He’d never heard her talk like that.
“I said stop it. I warn you, Karen…”
“Well I would. If I don’t have a knife to slit her throat, that is.”
He stood up.
“Where are you going?” Her face was red and swollen.
“I don’t know.”
“To that rotten, stinking, two-faced whore, with her lady-like clothes as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth and all the time she’s…”
He slammed the door and ran down the stairs.
“Daddy!”
He wrenched open the front door and hurled it shut behind him. He got into the car and crashing the gears drove off.
He didn’t know where he was going. Didn’t care; did care. Wanted to talk to someone. Marie-Céleste; impossible. Dr Adler; never on Sundays. He drove round the park. Laura! Laura Beaumont. He wondered if they’d gone straight home after the christening; take a chance.
He parked the car in Cumberland Terrace. His heart was thumping as he rang the bell.
“Who is it?”
“Oscar,” he said into the entryphone. He heard the buzzer and the door clicked open. Laura’s voice called: “Upstairs.”
She was on the landing, both hands outstretched. “Oscar! What a lovely surprise. Where’s Karen? We’re just demolishing a smoked salmon quiche…is there something the matter, Oscar? You look…”
“Can I talk to you, Laura?”
“Of course.”
He followed her into the drawing-room. Ashley was eating from a tray. “Dear boy! Worrying about your mines again…?”
“I’m just taking Oscar into the study for a moment, Ashley,” Laura said. “There’s something I want to talk to him about.”
He admired her presence of mind; but then he always had.
“Quiche’ll get cold!”
“It’s equally good. Some prefer it. Shan’t be a moment.”
Sitting in the leather chair, Oscar said: “I don’t know, Laura, after all…”
“It’s always better if you talk to someone. What is it, a woman?”
He nodded. “How did you know?”
“It usually is.”
“Her husband’s found out.”
“Marie-Céleste?”
He nodded.
“Well you have nothing to fear from Ernest. He wouldn’t say boo to a goose.”
It suddenly sunk in. “How did you know it was Marie-Céleste?”
“Darling boy, I watched it all. It was my fault. I should never have introduced you in the first place but then I wasn’t to know… Over the soup I think it was…”
“The cheese.”
“The cheese then. Of course I wasn’t sure, not until the charity ball, when it was plain as a pikestaff…only to me. I have an eye for these things, or is it a nose?”
“Ashley?”
“Ashley is aware of nothing except what is taking place in the City, as I’m sure you know. I suppose I should have thought. Marie-Céleste must have an exceedingly dull time with Ernest. He’s a charming fellow, I’ve known the family for years, but you wouldn’t exactly call him…”
“I’m not worried about Ernest.”
“What are you worried about then?”
“Karen.”
“Don’t tell her.”
“I’ve told her.”
“What on earth for?”
“I don’t know. I thought I had to.”
“Pity. She’ll get over it though.”
“I don’t think you understand, Laura, how it is with Karen and I. It’s not the sort of marriage where…”
“It never is. Until temptation comes along. We all get over these things in time. Sometimes, oddly enough, they can be therapeutic…”
“How would you feel if Ashley…?”
“Oscar darling, you spend too much time with your nose in your books. I daresay there’s not one couple of your acquaintance to whom…”
“Then Ashley has…?”
“Why do you presume it was Ashley?”
His mind jibbed at the thought that Laura might…
“Marriages, good marriages, survive these bêtises…”
“I don’t think you understand, Laura. I love Marie-Céleste.”
“I shouldn’t think it very nice if you didn’t.”
“I want to marry her.”
Laura looked at him. “I am going to give you a vodka; a double vodka. Most people say brandy for shock but it leaves one with such a nasty head. Sit there and don’t move.”
He did as he was told, weak suddenly and incapable of doing anything else.
She came back with the vodka and a cashmere rug which she wrapped round his knees.
“Laura, I am not ill!”
“I’m not so sure, Oscar. Drink this!”
She put the glass with the twisted stem into his hand and sat opposite him.
“You know I sometimes believe that falling in love is an illness, a disease if you like…”
“What’s the cure?”
“There is no cure. The only grain of hope one has is that it generally turns out to be self-limiting.”
“It has been going on for a long time.”
“Since the soup.”
“The cheese.”
“The cheese, of course.”
He suddenly found himself telling her about how it had been since January. About Marie-Céleste’s first visit to the house, about their meetings at the flat, about Villefranche, about the baby. When he had come to the end it was almost ten o’clock.
He was amazed the time had passed so quickly. Poor Laura hadn’t even had her supper.
“I’m sorry to have bored you.”
She shook her head. “Do you feel any better?”
“A little.”
“It usually helps.”
He took the rug from his knees and stood up. He was glad she was not going to offer any advice.
“Karen doesn’t know I’ve come here,” he said anxiously.
“She won’t.”
Outside she looked into the drawing-room. “Ashley! Ashley! He’s probably taken Thomas for a walk. I’ll say goodbye for you.”
“I’m sorry for butting in.”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” She kissed him. “Go home to Karen.”
He felt frightened suddenly. “I shouldn’t have left her. I stalked out of the house in anger. You don’t think…?”
“Not Karen. Good luck, Oscar.”
“Thanks for listening.”
“That’s the easy part. Goodnight.”
He drove home too fast, suddenly frightened. The house was in darkness. He let himself in and ran upstairs. “Karen! Karen!” he called. The bedroom was empty. His heart sank like a stone. “Karen!” He went down again. Kitchen, drawing-room, all tidy and empty. “Karen!” He took the stairs three at a time to the top floor. He opened the door softly. The girls were asleep. She would never have gone out and left them. He heard a bump. It came from the attic. He noticed that the ladder was down, light shone from the square in the ceiling.
He put a foot on the bottom rung. “Karen?”
He climbed up until he could see into the loft. Barefoot and in her nightie she was pulling with all her strength at a box full of old books.
“Karen! What on earth are you doing?”
She turned a dirty, tear-streaked face towards him.
“Sorting out,” she said. “This place is in a disgusting mess!”
It took him half an hour to get her to bed. She had already sorted Rosy’s old schoolbooks from Daisy’s and transferred them from dusty cardboard boxes to equally dusty plastic bags. Their paintings, crude, on grey grainy paper, she had rolled neatly, each into an elastic band. She had found an old electric fire that needed a plug, a drunken, cork-tipped linen bin she said would do for Mrs Hubble, an old set of ladies’ golf clubs which had led her to believe she might take up golf. Her nightdress was torn from a nail on one of the beams near the cold water tank, her fingernails were broken from pulling at the tea-chests and boxes.
He got her down, assuring her that he would undertake to clean the loft next weekend, switched off the light and swung the ladder back into place. He found her a clean nightie and sent her into the bathroom.
In bed they lay in silence, a no-man’s-land carefully preserved between them.
Oscar put out his hand and felt her face. It was wet.
The Life Situation Page 30
