by Diana Hunt
‘You mean he broke in?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Who do you people think you are! Don’t you respect the law?’
‘You will understand, Diana, my concern, especially in our profession. My man did not do any damage.’
‘I don’t know anything about your so-called profession. My only concern is my property.’ I took a breath. ‘However, what did your man find?’
‘Exactly as you and DS Foyle found it. No damage; only a missing person. It doesn’t seem as if Miss Hope has ever lived here.’
‘Except for the empty contraceptive packet which I found and your man missed. So either Dawn Hope was entertaining her boy friend, or one of the fitters was screwing a tart when he should have been finishing my kitchen.’
Maddox smiled briefly. ‘Quite. Perhaps I could offer you a position as a searcher - part time, perhaps?’
‘No thanks - I would never get on with the boss. Now: can I have my property? And never hope to see you again?’ I was really quite angry.
Maddox picked up his hat from a chair. ‘Of course, Diana. I am very sorry that you have had this upset. You won’t see me again.’ I walked with him to the door. He said, ‘What will you do now?’
‘Sell it.’
‘I see. You are an unusual young woman, a linguist, you have earned your first black belt at judo, and you are to marry one of England’s most distinguished artists...’
‘How the hell did you know that - or need I ask?’
He smiled apologetically. ‘When the owner’s name came up I thought it must be a coincidence. Then I did a simple check: NI numbers. I saw your employment record at the Ship Hotel, King’s Lynn; it could not be anyone else. Then I thought, did my Russian contact die accidentally, or did Diana have a hand? The rest was just slow detective work through the past couple of years.’
‘And what eventually happen to my attempted rapist?’
‘He was cremated after a Russian Orthodox service in North London. There were no mourners.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? Now please go, Commander, and do not bother me again.’
He nodded, replaced his hat, and left me. I was furious, still, and all the way home, not even indulging in the expense of a taxi, but striding out, pushing past pedestrians, taking my life in my hands, dodging the traffic, men drivers calling me a stupid bitch. I slammed the front door behind me. I must have been heard, for Max came down the stairs looking worried.
‘Diana - are you all right?’
I put my arms around him and hugged. ‘ Oh darling Max!’ He unwound himself. ‘What on earth is wrong, Diana. Was it that bad?’ l looked at him. His head came to just above my shoulder. I always thought he looked like one of his birds - a blackbird, perhaps: the sharp eyes, the beaky nose. I shook my head. ‘No, no: it’s all right, Max. Nothing’s missing. I just found it very upsetting, and I’m so glad to be home.’ Max took my coat and hat. ‘Come now, sweetest girl: let Max fix you a drink; that’ll put the world to rights.’ I think Max liked fussing over me occasionally; it must be this male-protective thing. I certainly appreciated the hot toddy. Taking a gulp, I said:
‘Max: I’m going to sell the flat.’
He was silent for a moment, then replied, ‘It’s up to you,darling; and I don’t want to influence you. But I must admit I would be relieved. It sounds terribly selfish of me.’
‘You be as selfish as you like. But I’ve had enough of my folie-de-grandeur.’
[The remainder of this account (my memoir - at least the first volume) is, of course, not all sweetness and light; even so, Max and I have a good life. Our ‘business arrangement’, to my mind, made a more successful marriage possible because there were no illusions. It was simple: I would look after him (and I meant it when I said to myself, ‘In sickness and health’) and he would give me security. The odds were that I would survive Max by many years; and if that meant my husband would demand most of my time while we were married, so be it. Anyway, could one wish for a more stimulating companion? Another unspoken, but important, rule was that we respected each other’s privacy. We each retained our own bedrooms; but if he needed me and I needed him, we knew, and he would stay with me until morning; and I would wake him with hot tea; or I would slip into his bed.The same rule applied to our leisure activities; Max would go off to Royal Academy meetings or the Garrick club, and I would be at the Budokwai on a Wednesday evening, or at meetings of the Alliance Francaise
[The other unspoken rule was that I would never enter his studio while he was working, or without his permission; by the same token, if I was working at the desk in the library on translation scripts he would not disturb me. What of our respective families? As far as mine were concerned, I had cut myself off years previously; we had nothing in common, so I did not see the point of trying to continue a link which simply did not exist with aunts and uncles. Peter and Penny did not come into that category. I saw them about two or three times a year. That was sufficient.
[Max’s family were a different matter. I didn’t think his daughter Patricia ever fully accepted me, but I said to myself, That is her problem, not mine. At least she saw that I kept my promise about looking after her father. What if I had a child? But I didn’t want children; I didn’t believe I had any maternal instincts; and Max certainly didn’t want the baby merry-go-round at his time of life. While mulling over this, I thought that arranged marriages had some validity. After all, in other cultures practicalities are uppermost; economics is the deciding factor in many cases: what can he or she bring to the arrangement?
[I suppose you could say that I had ‘gone up in the world’, about to marry into a professional family. But now those ‘class’ barriers had been diluted to a large extent - but they are still there! I had moved away from my lower middle-class roots with a combination of my talents: brains and beauty. I had been unscrupulous; but at least I was aware of it. I knew also that I had seduced Max; and I don’t mean just taking him to bed. But I liked to think that I had used my feminine wiles in a purer way. (Oh come on now, Diana: you wanted Max and you went all out to capture him.) But I had better revert to the weeks before Max and I signed on the dotted line.]
I can’t think of a better description than a ‘Folly’. It had really shook me to find Maddox there. I - and Max - wanted to sell as quickly as possible. So I invited Monique to lunch and asked her to bring all the details with her. Max, of course, was his usual charming, effusive self, kissing her hand, and offering her a glass of wine, which Monique refused: ‘No, thank you, Mr Gilbert, not during a working day.’
‘Quite so, Miss Barre; I understand perfectly.’ Anyhow we fed her with hot vegetable soup, fresh rolls and coffee.
‘This is delicious, Diana.’
‘Did you realize that Diana made it? She is really rather a good cook.’
I said: ‘Max, shush. Make some coffee. This is a business lunch.’
‘You see how my finacee bullies a poor old man?’ But he did as he was bid, then left us to it; presumably to have a post-prandial snooze in his room for half an hour. Monique had been efficient, as always. We wrapped all that up, then moved into the sitting-room and finished our coffee. Monique looked around her. ‘Are all these drawings by Mr Gilbert?’ (The drawings were framed lithographs of most of the birds Max had drawn in his career.)
‘Yes. I love them.’
‘Diana: he is so talented!’
I saw Monique to the door and thanked her, then for no reason put my arms round her and kissed her cheek. She was startled, but didn’t stand back. Then she kissed me on my cheek. I reached up and ran my thumbs gently over her eyebrows. I said, ‘Monique, you are a charming girl.’ Her hands grasped my arms, she kissed me on the corner of my mouth, then pulled away from me. ‘Diana...’. ‘It’s all right, cherie. It really is. May I phone you?’
‘Yes...I
don’t know. I must go now.’ And I watched her walk quickly down the street. Oh, sod it: why did you have to do that, Diana? Where is your self control? You just can’t help it sometimes, can you? Oh shut up.
Since the announcement of our engagement, we had mail flooding through the door, and constant telephone calls. Max had created a stir within his artistic circle; not that artists are known for their conventional behaviour. But Max was an Academician, supposedly part of an ‘art establishment’. Well, they didn’t know Max Gilbert like I did. At least he avoided the temptation to insist on an engagement party: I would not feel like being on show for everyone to gawp at. The wedding arrangements went ahead as I had planned; but I thought it wise to reschedule, for the simple reason that the weather in May would be better, even in Italy. At the reception in our house, I had the sliding doors pulled right back into the sitting room (and had that and library repainted, much to Max’s grumblings). Fortnum’s did the catering and I had bowls of fresh flowers placed everywhere Max got tetchy about all the upset; but then, he was a man. When that happened, I sent him in a taxi to his club.
For the wedding, I chose a cream silk suit; the jacket was fitted at the waist, and had low cross-over lapels, and underneath, a white silk, scoop-necked blouse; round my throat a triple string of natural pearls: a wedding present from Max.
Of course, I met Patricia’s husband (the immuniologist just back from Africa). The surprise was finding how much older he was than his wife; the gap must have been at least ten years. Well, well. I got an ironic satisfaction from that. A couple of weeks before my marriage, Patricia came over with Laura; I was going to leave them to it with Max and do some food shopping, but Laura heard this, so said to her mother:
‘Mummy, can I go with Diana, please?’
‘Diana’s busy, so stay with me and grandpa.’
‘I won’t, mummy; I shall be really helpful! Mummy, please.’ Patricia looked at me. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Where’s your coat.’ So I fastened the buttons, Laura looking at me very seriously. I said: ‘Now, let’s fasten your hood.’ ‘But my hood itches, Diana!’ ‘Unless you want your ears to freeze and fall off, do as I ask.’
As we walked hand-in-hand to the farmers’ market, Laura said, ‘Do you think my ears would really fall off?’ She squeezed my hand harder. ‘Definitely,’ I said. Laura held the bag open as I chose vegetables. I could see that she had something on her mind; I thought perhaps that I had gone too far about her ears freezing. I said:
‘There; now we’re done. Thank you. You’re a good girl. What about a hot drink and a bun in the cafe?’
‘Yes, please!’
We sat in the corner of the market cafe with the stall-holders; the windows were blocked with condensation. I could tell that Laura thought all this was terribly adventurous. I ate a croissant and Laura ploughed her way through a large doughnut squelching with jam and cream; her mother would have been horrified. Then she swallowed a large glass of milk while I drank tea. She was still looking thoughtful, so I said, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Mmm. Diana?’
‘What, sweetie?’
‘When you marry grandpa will you be my auntie?’
I laughed. ‘Er, no, Laura. But I will be your friend always.’
That was a relief. I began to learn that children need to know exactly where they stand with other people. She said:
‘Does that mean I’ll always go shopping with you?’ So that was it: shopping = food and drink for Laura
‘It means that you can as long as your mother allows.’
‘Oh.’
‘Come on, time we got back.’
So: that is it, I suppose. The wedding went well, people threw confetti as we left Westminster Register Office, the sun was shining, Max looking very dapper in his pale grey suit and red bow tie. I played the part of the conscientious hostess to perfection. We left for Italy the following day by Eurostar. We were away for three weeks, and that trip was the memorable time in my young life. But the recordof our journey will have to wait until Volume II. Oh yes: there is more to come.
Watch this space.
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