Last Act of All

by Aline Templeton

  She had to shield her eyes before she could make out the details of the figure on the doorstep, and when she did, made no effort to disguise her distaste.

  ‘You!’ she said. ‘How did you find my address?’

  Chris Dyer, resplendent in a vivid pink shirt open almost to the waist, a gold medallion lurking in the mat of hair on his chest, regarded her with mocking assurance. ‘And to think I thought you might be pleased to see me! Jennifer Morley was sure you would be delighted to catch up with an old friend.’

  Damn Jennifer, she thought, but said only, ‘Old friend?’ as she stood squarely in the doorway, determined to make no gesture, physical or verbal, which could be construed as an invitation to enter.

  ‘Still the same lovely Nella, prickly as a handful of barbed wire. It does lend a certain spice to the chase, and you always secretly liked it, didn’t you, my darling? Go on, admit to yourself that you enjoyed our little spats.’ He leaned against the doorpost, oppressing her as much by his aggressive masculinity as his bulk.

  She drew a deep breath. ‘Chris, may I be perfectly frank with you?’ This was one occasion when she felt, like Gwendolen Fairfax, that speaking one’s mind ceased to be a moral duty and became a pleasure.

  ‘While I was Neville’s wife I had no option but to tolerate you, for business reasons. I disliked having to do that, very much. I hated the coarseness of your attitude to me, and I hated what you did to Neville through your unspeakable Harry. You encouraged Neville to glory in decadence and sadism and depravity and — and sheer nastiness, and though I can blame you for the break-up of our rather shaky marriage, I do blame you for the manner of it.

  ‘But now, thank god, I’m a free agent, and one of the joys of my freedom is that I only have to suit myself. So no, I’m not pleased to see you. I never have been, and I would like you to go away and leave me alone.’

  Surely a few sips of Chablis couldn’t have quite such an uninhibiting effect! The old Helena Fielding had never in her life been so blatantly rude to anyone; to discover that she could do it was an experience as invigorating as a cold shower.

  She had given no thought to his reaction, but she no longer cared. Bluster, anger, even violence: she felt ready for anything he might choose to do.

  He surprised her. The bull-like head dropped, like that animal overpowered, and when he raised his eyes to meet hers, they were free from any glint of sexual challenge.

  ‘You don’t pull your punches,’ he said ruefully. ‘OK, I had you figured wrong, and I’m sorry. You’re difficult to read, you know that? I thought it was a touch of the old odi et amo, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘Well – no.’ His response deflated her; feeling, now, that she had been needlessly cruel, she added more temperately, ‘I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been so rude. Let’s just say that we simply have nothing in common.’

  ‘Neville.’ He said it flatly, and though she shook her head in vehement denial, she fell back a pace, weakening her intransigent posture.

  ‘Look, can I come in? You’ve got a bottle of wine on the table out there that looks inviting, and you’ll have a headache if you drink it all by yourself.’

  His rallying tone had returned, and she was quick to reply tartly, ‘I was planning to cork the bottle and keep the rest for another day,’ but she was standing aside as she spoke.

  His male presence was almost overpowering in the little courtyard as he took the second chair, looking awkwardly large for its delicate wrought-iron frame. She poured him a glass of the cool wine, and he emptied half of it in a long swallow before he spoke.

  ‘Cards on the table, Nella – Helena, sorry.’ He changed it hastily, seeing her expression. ‘I had two reasons for coming tonight. First of all, I thought the dust might have settled, and I wanted to get to you before someone else did. That stand-off-don’t-touch-me act drives strong men mad, you know.’

  Helena, suddenly very aware of his proximity, felt the warmth creeping up her cheeks and lowered her eyes, hastily taking a sip of wine.

  He smiled sardonically, but to her relief added, ‘Still, we’ll let that pass. Neville is the other reason.’

  Here she was on firmer ground. ‘Neville Fielding, I am thankful to say, has nothing whatsoever to do with me—’

  ‘Don’t be facile. You were married to him for – what? Sixteen, seventeen years? Just because you’re getting a nice, quick, uncontested divorce doesn’t mean you can shrug it off. Helena, I mean this. I am really, seriously worried about him.’

  After her outburst she was silent, only pursing her lips, and he went on, ‘OK, I’ll accept that I was a bad influence, or at least Harry was. I agree with it all, decadence, sadism – what was the other word you used? Oh yes, depravity. That too. But I swear by every successful series I ever hope to have, Helena, that what I created was a character, not a person. When I found Neville, he seemed great for the part. How was I to know he would try to be Harry?’

  ‘Oh, Dr Frankenstein, how awful for you.’ She was still unsympathetic.

  ‘So if the guy acting Faustus sells his soul to the devil it’s Marlowe’s fault, is that it?’ He controlled his rising temper with difficulty. ‘Helena, I’m in deadly earnest. What I’m trying to say is that something is going to blow up with Neville. It’s as if each new thing he does has to be more outrageous than the last – as if he’s trying to see how far he can go before the sulphurous flames actually spring up and engulf him. And there’s nothing to stop him now.’

  ‘Lilian—’

  ‘Lilian!’ he jeered. ‘As long as Lilian has the limelight and every glamorous luxury she can think of, she won’t rock any boats. They’re quite a good match, actually; both totally insensitive, totally self-absorbed, and quite indifferent to anyone’s interests but their own.’

  His concern for Neville seemed genuine, and against her will she found herself relenting. ‘Chris, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. But I wasn’t having any effect on Neville anyway. Oh, I used to, but that was before Radnesfield and all it stood for came into our lives. After that, I was only another victim, and playing fly to his wanton boy wasn’t one of the roles I fancied. So—’

  He looked awkward. ‘I know, I know. After that night—’

  ‘No.’ She rose, decisively. ‘I’m not going to discuss that. Finished, OK? I think you’d better go, Chris. I’m sorry if things are going badly.’

  ‘Badly? Christ!’ Chris struck his forehead with a clenched fist. ‘He’s baiting George Wagstaff about the Home Farm. He’s carrying on an affair with Sandra Daley under Lilian’s nose, and driving Daley off his head with jealousy. He’s leering at every passing village maiden — and that’s only the things I know about.’

  She sighed helplessly. ‘All right, it’s disastrous, but he’s got his head now, and I shouldn’t think anyone can stop him. If there are consequences, so be it. Maybe he’ll learn something. I’m sorry if that sounds callous, but I don’t know why you think it’s the end of the world if Neville has to face the music.’

  He had followed her, without demur, to the door. ‘I think he’ll kill someone, eventually, because that’s all that’s left that he hasn’t done,’ he said sombrely. ‘Or someone will kill him.

  ‘Still, I daresay you’re right. There’s assuredly nothing I can do to stop him. Good-night, Helena. A kiss for old times’ sake?’

  For once, she did not mind turning her face up to him, and he did not take advantage. Kissing her lightly on both cheeks, he said, ‘Another time, perhaps?’ But Helena said only ‘Perhaps,’ and shut the door.

  *

  ‘I’m beginning to feel exactly like the Salvation Army,’ Jennifer began her phone call.

  ‘What, all of it, Jennifer?’ Helena, recognizing the voice at the other end, found herself amused despite her current exasperation with her caller.

  ‘Well, the Missing Persons Bureau, anyway. Did the rather luscious Chris Dyer catch up with you?’

  ‘I would quibble with the description, but yes, he
did. And I would appreciate it if you could be a little more circumspect with your information service.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be stuffy, darling. I thought he would be good for you. You’re far too young to be living like a nun anyway.’

  ‘Who else, Jennifer?’

  ‘Who else? Oh, I see what you mean. Well, only Edward, actually. He’s popping up to London for a few days and said he’d like to pay a neighbourly call. So I thought I’d better warn you – I don’t suppose he’s everybody’s cup of Earl Grey, and you might want to be out, or something.’

  She found herself surprisingly cross at Jennifer’s patronizing tone. ‘He was extraordinarily kind when we first went to Radnesfield, and I’ll be delighted to see him. He’s a very interesting man. If you’d run a check before you left me a prey to Chris Dyer, it might have been more to the point.’

  ‘Nonsense, Helena. You really are developing a distressing tendency to be prissy and middle-aged. You can’t spend your whole life copping out. Edward’s very sweet, of course, but he’s one of the bloodless kind, whereas that caveman type is every woman’s secret fantasy.’

  ‘I’ll give Charles a hint next time I see him,’ Helena retorted snappishly, stung by her remarks. She felt quite out of charity with Jennifer as she put the phone down.

  *

  She had been expecting Edward’s telephone call. It would have been unlike him to take her by surprise.

  ‘I’d hate to impose on you, if you’d rather be left alone, but I wondered if there might be a chance of meeting up while I’m in London? Of course, I know you must be busy – lots of other friends…’

  Perversely, Helena felt irritated by this excess of diffidence. ‘It would be lovely to see you, Edward,’ she said robustly. ‘When can we meet?’

  His voice changed. ‘Oh, that’s – that’s marvellous. What do you like to do – opera, theatre—?’

  Not knowing his tastes, she suggested a play she knew to be lighthearted and competently performed; they could eat, after the show, in an unassuming bistro unlikely to be patronized by Neville or his friends.

  The evening proved surprisingly successful, and in the three days that followed, she rediscovered a sort of undemanding pleasure that she had almost forgotten. She had not felt so much at ease in male company for a very long time; with Neville there had always been an uncomfortable tinge of danger, of unpredictability.

  She had seen herself supplanted by a younger woman, and felt the cold winds of indifference that blight any middle-aged woman’s aspirations to a new career. Basking now in Edward’s uncritical admiration, she felt like a cat, bedraggled from living rough, who had been taken in, put on a silk cushion in front of a roaring fire, and given a saucer of cream.

  The last evening, after another glorious September day, they ate in the courtyard, Edward looking at ease in the chair Chris had so awkwardly overflowed. Helena had produced a simple cold meal, with strawberries and cream, and they lingered over the coffee and the last of the wine, reluctant to leave the fading sunshine and go inside. At last, a chill wind began to ripple a few leaves off the plane tree, and Helena shivered.

  As they cleared the plates away in the narrow galley kitchen, he said, ‘Well, back to Radnesfield tomorrow.’

  Perhaps it was simply the cold; Helena shivered again. By now, Radnesfield had begun to seem a strange aberration, her memories of it faint and fading like yellowing snapshots curling in a drawer.

  ‘Do you want to go back?’ she said.

  He turned to face her, hesitated for a moment, then, seeming to make up his mind, took her unresisting hands.

  ‘You’ve got an unfortunate impression of it, you know. It’s just an old-fashioned village, set in its ways by isolation, perhaps.

  ‘But no, I don’t want to go back, because I’m leaving you here.’

  She made an involuntary movement of withdrawal, but he imprisoned her hands.

  ‘Of course, of course. I know it’s far too early for me to say this, Helena. But I daren’t let the moment pass; I’ve been patient for such a long time. I’ve wanted you, you know, since the minute you stepped into my house, bringing colour and warmth and beauty, making me realize how narrow and cold my own life had been. I recognized you at once, knew you were for me — that sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it, in the circumstances? — but I knew. If you want something enough, you can always make it happen.’

  ‘Edward, please don’t…’

  He put a finger gently across her lips to silence her. ‘I’m not trying to hurry you — time isn’t important, you can take all the time in the world — but in the end, I’ll persuade you to agree. Oh, you’re far, far too good for me, I know that, and don’t think I’m expecting you to fall madly in love with me. I don’t suppose I’m what anyone would call a romantic figure.

  ‘But I can look after you, offer you — and Stephanie, of course — a secure home with a husband who adores you. I can see it all so clearly, Helena. When I’m in the Red House, I see you there, in the chair by the fireside with your hair shining gold against the panelling. It’s a timeless picture, so I don’t know when you’ll feel ready, but it’s not a dream. It’s a promise, and it’s going to happen.’

  She could not move or speak, only gazing at him, wide-eyed, and he laughed tenderly. ‘I didn’t mean to make a speech. I’m sorry. But at least I’ve declared myself, and you can start getting used to the idea.

  ‘No, don’t say anything. I’ll see myself out, and I’ll be back in London soon.’

  He kissed her fingers, then touched a light kiss to her lips, and left her in the kitchen.

  She stood, almost transfixed, for a long moment, then moved slowly outside to the darkening courtyard and sat down again, oblivious to the cold.

  Reason told her she was in no state, as yet, even to consider the future. She needed time to adjust to the death of her marriage; she had only just regained that freedom which was a modern woman’s most treasured right. And yet, and yet...

  It was a wonderful feeling, being cherished, and there was such a promise of security in Edward’s undemanding adoration. They didn’t seem to be handing out prizes for uncomfortable self-sufficiency this year. And he seemed so sure.

  Oh, she wasn’t deluding herself that she was ‘in love’. The remembered headiness of high romance, the stomach-lurching ecstasy that was pain as well as pleasure, formed no part of her feelings for Edward.

  But somehow, the ancient words kept floating back into her mind: ‘Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples.’ Love, for her, was a sickness she had outgrown.

  *

  They were married in December, with Stephanie’s blessing, just before the much-publicized media marriage of Neville and Lilian.

  Bradman’s marriage took place on screen, before record audiences, a week later.

  Just before Christmas, Helena, trying to dismiss her misgivings, returned to Radnesfield once more.

  *

  Martha Bateman did not look full of the Christmas spirit when Jane Thomas caught up with her on the way to their places of work on the morning of Christmas Eve.

  ‘Well, Martha,’ she said cheerfully, malice spicing her speech like the cinnamon in the biscuits she was taking in to Mr Tilson, ‘you’ll be enjoying having a family in the house for Christmas, I dare say.’

  Martha’s sniff was eloquent. ‘I never did think to see Mr Edward fix to marry. His mother, God rest her soul, wouldn’t be resting easy, like she’s every right to, if she knew.’

  The look Jane gave her held understanding, but she said only, ‘Not much harm in it, surely? He’s not a lad, and she’s not a young woman. Stands to reason he’d be lonely, with his mother gone and all. And not having other friends, neither.’

  ‘Weren’t no call for other friends, you know that, Jane Thomas.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘Kept themselves to themselves, they did, as were right and fitting. She never reckoned to go so soon, poor lady — shouldn’t have, not by rights. And nothing been right here since.’


  They were nearing their destinations now, the two houses next door to one another. At the gate of Tyler’s Barn they both stopped, and Jane said slowly, ‘Other days, other ways, Martha. I reckon old things got to turn over to new sometime.’

  The other woman’s eyes were hard as pebbles. ‘Never knew a plough turn over a furrow without all the nasty crawling things come up to the surface. You mark my words, Jane, best leave things just the way they are.’

  ‘I never held anything different, Martha.’ Jane sighed, closing the gate behind her. ‘Not a great old lot we can do about it, though.’

  With a tightening of her lips, ‘Them as lives longest sees most,’ Martha said, in a favourite phrase, and stalked on to let herself in to the Red House.

  *

  ‘Martha hates me,’ Helena said. ‘She really hates me.’

  ‘Give her time.’ Edward bent to kiss her cheek reassuringly.

  ‘Perhaps she’ll come round once she sees I’m making you happy,’ she said hopefully. She was feeling optimistic; they had spent a domestic fortnight in a quiet Devon hotel and were already, almost against her expectation, contented, like a long-married couple. There had been no surprises; Edward, if not exciting as a lover, was tender and thoughtful, and if Helena ever thought of the almost sick excitement of her relationship with Neville, she did not admit it, even to herself.

  Edward laughed, patting her hand. ‘She sometimes gets a bit carried away with the old retainer part. But you’ll be accepted eventually. They’ll even accept Neville, you know, given time, once they understand he isn’t going to turn everything upside down. Though quite honestly, I think he’s almost an irrelevance. He’s only there at weekends, after all.’

  Helena looked at him sharply, but he seemed genuinely unconcerned. Well, she wouldn’t trouble him by putting the idea into his head, but she could not see Neville, who was becoming less and less amused by his plaything, considering Radnesfield House as a home for generations of Fieldings as yet unborn. When he eventually grew terminally bored with the entertainment it had to offer, he would sell up.