by Diana Hunt
‘Why not?’
He just did not understand. For an intelligent man, he seemed to be blind. Perhaps that was the answer: he was a man.
‘Richard! We’ve only just met!’ He just stared blankly at me. What happened to the aloof, sophisticated, elegant man of a few days ago.
‘Because it feels like payment for services rendered, that’s why.’
He looked as if I had struck him. ‘I didn’t think that, Diana! That would be awful!’
‘But why didn’t you realize that I might think that?’
His face fell, looking helpless. ‘I don’t know, Diana. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.’
Here was a man in his early thirties who had devoted all his energies to his chosen career; well educated, who -I am sure - considered himself sophisticated enough to move among the ‘great and good’, as well as dealing with the lowliest kitchen staff. But when it came to personal relationships (especially women!) he floundered: he certainly demonstrated that last evening. Oh, dear, Richard! What shall I do? Just walk away from the situation? If I were truthful, I liked being the ‘lady on his arm’, I liked his little empire - the luxury and comfort were tempting. And I knew that I could twist him round my finger: at the moment he was vulnerable to whatever I wanted or said. I am not a very nice person; but I couldn’t do that, not at this moment.
I wanted what he could give me: but thought it wiser to cool things. So I calmed him down, and hugged him and kissed his cheek, and told him what we were going to do. He agreed to leave things for a couple of weeks, then I would phone him - and he promised not to phone me. (I intended to stay in control.)
(What do I really like and love?
(I love words - I love writing them, reading them, learning them.)
(I love judo - the elegant violence, the discipline, its Eastern attitude.)
(I love clothes - beautiful dresses, and blouses, and skirts; fine underwear that you can hardly feel you are wearing. I adore gorgeous I talian shoes.)
(And I like sex - if it’s the right person. Remember Melanie and Mike?)
(But near the top of that list I love living with Max - oh, dear!)
(All that of course is self-centred, but what else would you expect of me? You may ask, What about brother Peter. Well, yes, I like him, but we have never been very close. All I can say is that we now rub along quite well - I like his wife, and I am pleased for them both. Anyway, enough of that.)
It was just after 1.30 when I reached home after speaking to Richard. I parked the scooter at the rear of the house, threw a pebble at next door’s cat, then let myself in by the kitchen door. Max was nowhere to be seen, for which I was grateful - but I would need to speak to him later, to help me come to another decision. I sat at the PC in the library with a sandwich and a cup of coffee and set to work. Truth was, I was getting nervous; there had been hints in all the media about the fall in property values, and I needed real information,
I spent two hours downloading; all I had to do now was sift through the paper I had printed off. I sprawled on the sofa in the sitting room and set to work. I must have fallen asleep, for a voice came to me seemingly from the distance.
‘Diana, Diana?’ I shook myself awake, yawned and stretched. It was Max.
‘Crikey: I fell asleep. What time is it, Max?’
‘Six o’clock.’
I sat up quickly. ‘Max: I haven’t done anything about dinner...’
‘Relax: never mind dinner. Look what I’ve done - go on, look. I need your opinion.’ He put a large sketch-book on my lap. As usual, Max had used coloured pencils for this preliminary sketch. It was me - asleep.
‘Max! You are naughty - what are you, a Peeping Tom?’
He laughed. ‘But what do you think?’
(I was surprised: Max was seeking my approval. As I looked up, it was as though I was seeing him for the first time: the long face, wide thin lips, the bright clever eyes. I wanted to hug him, but somehow I daren’t.)
He had caught me lying on the sofa, my right arm crooked over my head; my left arm in my lap, and papers scattered over my legs. My face was just outlined, because my hair had fallen over my cheek. I said: ‘Lovely, Max; but you have missed something.’
‘What?’
‘There are 15 sheets of paper here. In your sketch there are only ten.’
‘Tush! Such pedantry!’ Then he caught me grinning. I thought, The reason Max was so successful was because he considered that being an artist was a job like everything else. Not only was he a ‘fine’ artist - but an illustrator, a ‘commercial’ artist. One of his paintings of a seagull was used as an image on a packet of washing powder. Some of his other drawings and watercolours were reproduced on Christmas cards and calendars found in every stationers and supermarket.
I explained to Max what the sheets of paper were for so he sat down with a gin and tonic while I busied myself in the kitchen. He didn’t comment until we had finished dinner (my research was still scattered in thr sitting room). I started to clear the remains of the meal into the kitchen, when Max said, ‘ Leave them, Diana, but bring the last of the wine.’ Max was my boss, so I did as he said, as usual (surprised?).
I sat opposite him in a wing chair and waited. He peered through his half-moon spectacles for the next ten minutes. I said nothing. Eventually he looked at me. I found it disconcerting, for still he didn’t speak. I got exasperated.
‘Max!’
He smiled. ‘Ah, yes, sorry, Diana. First question - Have you signed any agreement? Paid any sort of deposit? Tried to work through what the money chaps call cost- benefit? Is it worth your while?’
‘No to the first two questions, Max. As regards the third, that’s what I’ve been trying to work through - why I wanted your opinion.’
Max nodded. He said: ‘This is all about your independence - self-sufficiency. Do I understand correctly?’
‘Yes.’
‘You dislike feeling under an obligation to anyone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does that include me?’
Now that really put me on the spot. I felt my face go red. Damn you, Max. Up to now I had never felt any hesitation in speaking my mind with anyone. I said:
‘Dearest Max! I am very grateful to you - you know that. I just don’t....’
‘Want to be a burden? Or feel you are taking advantage of an old man?’
‘You’re not old! And you are correct. But as I said at the time, I have to think about the future.’
He sighed. ‘Then stop feeling guilty about me.’
‘I’m not!’
‘Yes you are - so stop it. A final thought from me on the flat: I can’t help you.’
‘What!’
‘What I am trying to say is that I am not qualified to advise you. Also, I cannot be entirely objective, can I?’
‘Can’t you, Max - why not?’
He sighed again. ‘You know, Diana, for a very bright girl you can be obtuse at times.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ (recall: obtuse: dull-witted, insensitive. Latin, obtusus)
He smiled. ‘Come and sit beside me.’
With reluctance, I did. He said: ‘How long have you lived here, Diana?’
‘Months and months.’
‘During that time, have you been happy here?’
‘You know I have, Max. I’m most...’
He stopped me. ‘Enough of that! We’ve got along all right, haven’t we?’
‘Yes, we have. You know I love being here.’
‘I love having you - you don’t know what a difference it has made to me.’ He sat up straight and poured the rest of the wine into our glasses.
‘Max! We’ve just got through a whole bottle of your best vintage claret!’
He picked up the bottl
e and peered at it. ‘So we have. St Emilion grande cru. What a beautiful wine...’ He replaced the bottle on the coffee table, then said:
‘So, Diana: we are in agreement that we rub along quite well.’
‘Yes, Max.’ (Where was all this going?)
‘Good. So now I have a proposition for you, which will please me and which will ensure your future - and may even please you.’
‘Oh?’
‘Why don’t we get married?’
‘What!’
‘Let’s get married. We have just agreed that we live together peaceably. If we did, I wouldn’t lose you and your future would be assured.’
I didn’t know what to say. ( Marry Max! What a crazy idea! He must be in his dotage.)
‘Max: I can’t take this in. Us married? You’re old enough....’
‘To be your grandfather? Oh, I am aware of that, of course. By the way, how do you feel about this old gent?’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
I replied hastily, ‘But that doesn’t mean that I’m in love. There’s no...’
‘Passion? Sexual desire? No, no. You know there is not that on either side. But do we need it?’
‘No, we don’t. But wait a minute! What will Patricia and her brother think? Now they will be sure that I’m after your money and the house, and...’
‘Leave Patricia and Paul to me. Now, Miss Diana Hunt: will you accept my proposal of marriage?’
‘Yes, Max, I will and thank you!’ And I put my arms around him and kissed the daft old devil. Crikey, Diana! What have you done?
And later - when I was all tucked up in my chaste bed with the pillows propped up behind me - trying to read some silly woman’s weekly, the same thought kept running through my mind. Diana, this is crazy. You have accepted a proposal of marriage from a man old enough to be your grandfather. But - and but. I don’t care! I realized this is what I really wanted: to be with Max; to be here in this house, for as long as....Then I giggled. I could just imagine what sort of conversation his friends in his stuffy club would have.
Bradwell was stood at the bar, with a gin and tonic. A fellow member came up.
‘Ah, Saunders, old chap. What’ll you have?’
‘Same as you, Basil, thank you By the way, did you hear the news about Max Gilbert?’
‘Max? He hasn’t ....’
‘No, no. He’s gone and married his housekeeper.’
‘Old Mrs Bliss? Well I can...’
‘Not her! The new girl. Tall brunette, quite a looker. And she’s under thirty!’
‘As he, by God. The old devil. Who would have thought it.?’
‘Lucky old dog, eh, Freddie. Mind you, don’t think we could manage it at our age.’
His friend grinned. ‘This calls for another drink.’
Max and I agreed that we would keep quiet about our plans for the present. The decision gave it a certain piquancy. When I protested to Max about his children’s reactions it did not occur to consider my own family’s opinions (not that I ever did care what they thought). My God! This would shake them.
Interrupting these ramblings, Max knocked on my door. ‘Come on in, Max. I suppose now we are engaged you can visit me in my boudoir.’ I patted the duvet. ‘You can sit here as long as you don’t look down my jama jacket.’
‘Very amusing: what a droll character you are, Miss Hunt.’ But he sat on the edge of the bed and I held his hand. He continued:
‘I’ve been having some serious thoughts, Diana.’
‘You haven’t changed your mind, have you?’ I was really alarmed.
‘No, no.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s rather delicate, Diana.’
Delicate? What can he mean? ‘Come on, Max: we’ve never been backward with each other.’
‘What if you wanted a child - children?’
So that was it. ‘Max, I don’t want children; I don’t particularly like them - except in very small doses.’
Max smiled. ‘You mean like Laura?’
‘Hmmm.’
‘There is something else I wanted to say to you.’ Max could be a bit scary at times; and I was a bit scared now.
‘Yes?’
‘You are a lovely young, healthy woman. You will have your needs. All I ask is that you be discreet, don’t embarrass me - and certainly not bring any young man here. Agreed?’
Blimey. ‘Yes, Max. You know that I would not do anything to hurt you.’
He leaned over and squeezed my hand. ‘Good girl.’
‘You smell nice, Max.’
‘I’ve just got out of my bath.’
‘I thought so: I’m the one who clears up the towels from the bathroom floor.’
He laughed and left. As I was dropping off to sleep I thought, I could be hard-headed, but Max shook me at times.
Chapter 15
LONDON: PIMLICO
SUNDAY AFTERNOON: AN EMPTY STREET, and I was standing in front of the study window looking at the wet pavement and waiting for Max - and presumably his daughter, Patricia. What had he said to her? Had he announced that he was intending to marry me? I was fearful: I am not afraid of confrontation, even tho’ I was a woman: three men had found that out the hard way. But this situation concerned my future in this household. If Max’s son and daughter put up a fight, protecting their father from what they see as a young woman on the make, I could be out on my ear. It would be easy to pressure an elderly father. Would Max give in for the sake of the family?
You had planned your life up to now as you wanted, I thought, always making the first move - and look at the choices! A husband and a rich lover - how clever. Now it looked as though it all might blow up in my face. If I left Max, would Richard take me on? Would I want that?
I had waited all morning and half-way through the afternoon, and now the waiting was getting to me. Then I saw a car draw up and Max get out, preceded by his stick; the crown of his hat caught on the edge of the door. Patricia (following) caught Max’s arm as he rescued the hat. I decided to take the initiative. I opened the front door. Max looked up the steps at me and winked.
‘Diana! There you are!’
He was smiling. Grinning, all the way into the house. I took his coat; Patricia hung his hat and stick in the hall-stand. Max strode into the sitting room, rubbing his hands. Patricia gave me a brief smile and ‘Hello, Diana.’ Over his shoulder, Max said:
‘A pot of tea would be nice, girls.’ God, I thought, he sounded almost triumphant. I looked at Patricia and she shrugged. So we both went into the kitchen. There was a sponge cake in a tin in the larder, which I sliced (was it a bit stale?). Patricia brewed the tea. We looked at each other. She said: ‘Is this where I say ‘‘Who goes first?’’ ‘
‘You first, please.’
‘I’ll come straight to the point, Diana. Dad told me almost as soon we got home. I didn’t know what to reply. But I was shocked and cross. I thought, What has that girl been doing to my father behind my back? How dare she take advantage of him? Then he explained that you were both going to make a ‘‘practical’’ arrangement: by being his wife’ - she winced at the word - ’you would look after him for the rest of his life. And you would have security. Have I got that right?’
‘Not entirely.’
‘What do you mean?’ She blushed.
‘It was Max who asked me to marry - not the other way around. And I said yes because I love him, and he loves me.’
‘What! Do you mean...’
‘Oh, no, Patricia: there is no grand passion here; I don’t sleep with your father’ (which wasn’t strictly true). ‘Now look: I am not after you and your brother’s inheritance - this house, his money, his paintings. I need security. Both my parents are dead; I don’t have a home. Max has given me one. If you don’t lik
e it - tough, doctor. But I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. Actually this is Max’s and my business, and none of yours. And we don’t need you to tell us how to live our lives. OK?’
Patricia took a deep breath. I pressed on:
‘Do we understand each other?’
‘I truthfully don’t know what to think. I’ll just have to try to get used to the situation.’
I said: ‘ I promise you I will do nothing to harm or hurt your father. So, are we going to be friends?’
‘I’ll try.’
Max strode into the kitchen. ‘Where’s that tea, ladies? Ah, I see we have cake. And how nice to see you girls getting along so well.’ Max, I thought - you are a crafty old devil.
For the remainder of the day, we sat comfortably, playing happy families. The subject wasn’t mentioned until just before Patricia left, when we all agreed that there would be no announcement until after Christmas. Again, I thought it was none of Patricia’s business; then it came home to me that I wasn’t only marrying Max - I had the rest of the family to contend with.
When we returned to the sitting room, I said to him: ‘I haven’t done anything for dinner yet - I had a lot on my mind’.
‘I don’t need anything. I had an excellent lunch with Patricia.’
‘Bully for you, Max. Well, I’ve had hardly anything. So I’ll have to dig something out of the freezer. And I’m also going to open a bottle of Aussie shiraz.’ I returned from the kitchen with two glasses.. ‘See what you think of that, Max.’ He took a sip.
‘Oh, that is really rather nice.’
‘I don’t know whether you deserve it. You old devil.’
‘Pardon?’
‘You left me alone with your daughter. She tried to give me a hard time about us.’
Max nodded. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. To be truthful, I didn’t I think I could handle you both at the same time. But how did you get on?’
‘More to the point, Max: how did you handle the situation?’
‘I got a lecture about silly old men falling for sexy young women. Then I put her straight about our arrangement.’
‘So did I. Then told Patricia that if she didn’t like it, she could lump it.’
