Dance While You Can

by Susan Lewis

  After the exhibition the six of us – Henry, Caroline, Rosalind, Jessica, my father and I – went to Langan’s. Jessica and Rosalind paid scant attention to the conversation going on round the table, they were too engrossed in one another.

  Rosalind became a frequent visitor to Belgrave Square after that. She and Jessica hit it off so well that they sometimes made me feel like an outsider. Occasionally Rosalind and I would lunch together but she rarely talked about Jessica, except to say that she thought she was regaining her confidence. I had to agree. To start with, Rosalind had rekindled Jessica’s interest in the Women’s Movement. I was never sure which rally they were attending when, but each time Jessica returned from a march or a meeting, she was a different person. There was no bitterness in her fight for equality now; there was a new gentleness about her, which found its way into her paintings too.

  Jessica’s part-independence, and part-dependence on someone else, had a strange effect on me. On the one hand I felt free and able to breathe again, on the other hand I missed her. I missed the arguments and the acrimony. I missed her being there when I got home at the end of a day. I missed the way she coped with my father. Most of all, perhaps, I missed the shock of her sudden, sadistic gestures – the cruel tricks, the drunken malice, the bizarre practical jokes. So often when I arrived home now, I would find a scribbled note saying, ‘Back in a few days,’ or she’d ring from Rosalind’s and say she was staying over. As she began to stand on her own feet, so I began to feel unimportant, unnecessary; in fact I must have been feeling something of what Jessica had felt during the year of our marriage. Of course, she had not left me. We still slept in the same bed, dined together occasionally, even went away for weekends together. But it was as if she had somehow outgrown our marriage, was learning to stand free of it.

  ‘I think things between us are better than they’ve ever been, don’t you?’ she said one day. ‘I mean, we don’t fight any more. I don’t hate you any more, and I don’t mind so much that you don’t love me.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘OK, I’m lying. I mind a lot, but I can handle it better these days. Rosalind’s been a marvellous influence on me, don’t you think? She’s helped me to come to terms with things. To think of myself as an individual; you know, as Jessica, rather than as Jessica-and-Alexander.’

  ‘Do I figure anywhere in the picture?’

  ‘Oh, don’t start getting sentimental on me, not now. I’ve fallen for that too often in the past. You’ll only end up hurting me again.’

  ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Do you love me, Jess?’

  ‘You know I do. And what about you? Do you think you might be able to start loving me now?’

  ‘I always did love you. Just not in the way . . .’

  ‘No. Don’t say any more.’

  ‘I miss you. When you’re not here, I miss you, you know.’

  ‘I miss you too. But it’s best this way.’

  It was after that conversation, when she had flown off to Rome for the weekend with Rosalind that I realised I had been kidding myself. I didn’t miss her at all. It was Elizabeth I missed. I had deluded myself into thinking it was Jessica because for the past three years I had rarely allowed myself to think of Elizabeth – the memory and the longing were too painful. Now there was nothing to fill the hours of loneliness, no one demanding my attention, no one constantly reminding me how I had ruined her life. At last I was free to think, and all I could think about was Elizabeth.

  My father picked up Jessica and Rosalind from the airport when they got back from Rome, and took them to Henry’s where we were all dining that night. But by the time I arrived Rosalind had left; she’d had a phone message to say that her son had been rushed into hospital with appendicitis. Jessica had offered to go with her, Henry told me, ‘but then she changed her mind. Wait ’til you see her, she looks gorgeous. If you ask me she’s fancying a bit of jig-a-jig later.’

  ‘You’ve got sex on the brain,’ I told him.

  ‘Me!’

  ‘Three children in three years, I rest my case.’

  ‘Two,’ Caroline corrected, as she waddled in through the door. ‘The third can’t make up its mind when to arrive. I wish it bloody well would, it’s no fun being this shape. Have you been up to say goodnight to your godson, Alexander?’

  Two Rupert Bear stories later, I came down to find the table laid for dinner. After Sarah, Henry’s second child was born, Caroline and Henry had moved out of Eaton Square to a house in Chelsea, and my father, Jessica and I spent a lot of time there.

  Henry was right, Jessica did look gorgeous. She’d had her hair cut in Rome, and it looked blonder, too. It was the first time I’d seen her with short hair; it made her eyes look bigger and her mouth fuller. She was wearing her normal jeans and sweater, but somehow tonight even they looked different.

  When I kissed her she put her arms around me. ‘You look tired,’ she said. ‘Not been having too many late nights while I’ve been in Rome, I hope?’

  I pushed her away. ‘Let’s eat.’

  Her face darkened, but my father was already asking her to go on with what she’d been saying before I arrived. It seemed she and Rosalind were going to join a march the next day to Aldermaston, the headquarters of the Atomic Weapons Research Establishment. ‘A lot of women from our group are going, and we’ve arranged a meeting for Thursday to report back. In fact, Rosalind and I are thinking of joining CND on a permanent basis. Well, a girl’s got to protect the next generation and all that.’ She looked at me, but I didn’t react.

  When dinner was over Henry asked me to go to his study with him, there was a brief he wanted my thoughts on. I saw him exchange looks with Caroline before we left the room.

  Once in his study he took a bottle of brandy from his filing cabinet. He seemed in no hurry, and chatted for some time about Nicholas and what he was doing at kindergarten. ‘Well,’ I said eventually, ‘where’s this brief?’

  ‘There isn’t one,’ he answered shortly. ‘It’s something else, Alexander. I don’t know whether I should tell you this or not, but I’m going to. It’s about Elizabeth.’

  I froze. ‘What about her?’

  ‘I’ve got her address. It’s written there, inside that envelope.’ When I made no move to pick it up, he handed it to me.

  The skin felt so tight over my face it was difficult to speak. ‘How did you find it? Did she telephone you?’

  ‘No. I was picking Nicholas up from kindergarten a couple of days ago, I saw her then. She didn’t see me. She got into the car in front of mine and drove off. Nicholas and I followed.’

  I stared down at the envelope.

  ‘There’s something else you should know, Alexander. The child she collected from kindergarten. It was a little boy, same age as Nicholas. His name’s Jonathan. I’ve seen him, Alexander . . . .’

  ‘Go on.’ My voice was hoarse.

  ‘There’s no doubt in my mind, and well, with his age as well . . .’

  There was no need for him to elaborate. We looked at each other for a long time without speaking. In the end it was Henry who broke the silence.

  ‘It’s up to you now, Alexander.’

  ‘Why up to me? She’s always known where she could find me.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Alexander, you were the one who broke it off. You were the one who told her you couldn’t leave Jessica after the accident . . . .’

  ‘She could have told me. If he’s my son . . .’

  ‘And since then you’ve done nothing, have you? You could have gone to her once everything had calmed down, but you didn’t. You’ve done nothing . . .’

  ‘But things never did calm down, did they? Jessica’s still a mess. Am I supposed to walk out on her now, on top of everything else I’ve done to her?’

  ‘You’ve got two children out there. Don’t you think you owe them something too? Your marriage is a bigger farce now than it ever was. You make me laugh, you two
, the way you go about pretending you’re over your difficulties . . . . If you ask me, it’s about time you stopped wallowing in guilt and got on with your life.’

  I was out of my chair like a shot – but the door burst open before I could speak. It was Jessica. ‘Henry! It’s Caroline. The pains have started.’

  Henry glared at me. ‘Just think about it, Alexander,’ he growled, then raced out of the door.

  ‘Don’t tell me you two were having a lovers’ tiff?’ Jessica scoffed. She stepped back as my eyes blazed into her.

  ‘I’m sick of you, Jessica! I’m sick of the damned sight of you. I thought you’d changed, but even tonight you couldn’t resist twisting a knife in my guilt, could you? Well, you’ve done it long enough, so do us both a favour and get out of my life before I do something we might both regret!’

  ‘Oh it’s too late for that, Alexander. You did it three years ago.’

  – Elizabeth –

  – 24 –

  I watched Edward stalk off through the crowds. ‘It will be a most wonderful book Mr Walters is writing.’ Kamel was standing at my elbow – he seemed to have been standing beside me all the time we’d been in Egypt. Next to him was one of the museum’s curators, his round brown eyes dilated with something akin to worship as they followed Edward.

  The Cairo Museum was seething with tourists. I’d known nothing about a book until we returned from Aswan to Cairo – Kamel had told me. Kamel was with us to protect us, though Edward had never told me from what. His presence unsettled me, as did the crowded streets and anonymous, staring eyes that seemed to follow me everywhere. From the moment we’d arrived the city had appalled me with its frightening pandemonium of noise and disorder; Cairo was a jungle of pungent, decaying streets and crowded alleys where modern hotels and ancient crumbling houses stood cheek by jowl. It was a bizarre, amorphous place that vibrated with an almost sinister extremism. As I got to know it better, the poverty and ignorance horrified me. I talked to Edward about it but he just patted my hand and told me there was nothing to be done. I know he didn’t mean to but he made me feel as if Cairo were his particular territory, and he was sorry he’d brought me.

  Every day he went to the Museum to study the people and their reaction to the Tutankhamun collection. His fascination with it bordered on obsession. We’d come here for a holiday for Charlotte to recuperate, but ever since we’d arrived Edward had spent his time here. As well as doing his research, he was advising the museum authorities on the installation of an intricate alarm system. He was treated like a royal visitor, and behaved like one too. He wore his galibaya as if he had been born to it, ate nothing but Egyptian food, read Egyptian newspapers, and unless speaking to the children or me, always spoke Egyptian. He even had the heavy, musky smell of an Egyptian.

  The curator fiddled with his collar. His brown, Western suit didn’t fit him well. His bad teeth were exposed in a grin, and turning, I found Kamel had hoisted Jonathan up on to his shoulder. The curator looked at Jonathan just as he looked at Edward – with admiration verging on reverence. It was a look I was getting used to, but I didn’t like it. Almost everyone we’d met, especially on our cruise down the Nile when we had stopped in remote villages, looked at Edward and Jonathan like that. I wondered if it had anything to do with the vast amounts of money Edward dished out to the poverty-stricken villagers, who rushed out of their mountainside homes to greet him, their galibayas billowing behind them. What Edward talked about with these men, closeted away in dark, sunbaked houses while they sucked on hookahs and drew diagrams in the sand, I didn’t know. Whatever it was, though, it seemed to have a profound effect on him.

  Wherever we went, Kamel went too. Sometimes he entered the huts with Edward, but usually he stayed outside with the children and me. I knew he carried a gun even though Edward denied it. And the way Kamel watched the slow movements of the villagers while listening to the distant, guttural sounds of Nubian drums, I knew he was waiting for something. Always in the distance was the Nile, a shimmery blue ribbon parting the desert. The conferences continued through the heat of the day while, forgotten by Edward, Charlotte, Jonathan and I sought refuge from the sun. The only break in the proceedings came when the cry of the Muezzin beckoned the Egyptians to prayer. Then Edward would emerge, his galibaya and turban coated in dust, and wait while a woman, her face shrouded in a tarha, wiped the sand from his face. He seemed then like a man I didn’t know. Until we went to Egypt I’d all but forgotten the sinister premonition I’d had that night at Westmoor when I’d heard Christine and Edward arguing. But while I was in Egypt my fears increased like a swelling black cloud. A sixth sense told me the storm was almost ready to break – and all I wanted was to go home.

  Jeffrey was at Heathrow to meet us when we flew in from Cairo. Edward was returning with Christine the next day. We drove straight to the London house in Priory Walk, where Canary was so overjoyed to see the children that I thought she was going to break down and cry. In the Scots lilt we had all missed she clucked her delight at the gifts Charlotte and Jonathan had brought for her, and listened with wide eyes while they talked of pyramids and camels and the trips they had made in a felucca.

  The following day I was in the kitchen with Mary when Canary came in. ‘Would you mind coming to the nursery, Mrs Walters? There’s a wee matter I’d like to discuss with you.’ And without waiting for an answer she left.

  She was sitting in her wicker chair when I walked into the nursery, her hands folded in her lap, her papery eyelids blinking rapidly.

  She got up and closed the door behind me. As she passed I could smell jasmine. ‘I think it would be better if no one overheard this conversation,’ she said. I perched on the edge of the wicker sofa beneath the window and waited. I could see she was uncomfortable so I smiled to try and help her relax.

  ‘Somebody came to call while you were in Egypt,’ she began. Her face remained sombre, and though she had told me nothing yet, I felt my smile begin to freeze. ‘He asked to see you but I told him you had gone on holiday.’

  Her words hung in the air while I tried to control the thoughts that were suddenly careering about inside my head. ‘Did he leave his name?’ I asked finally.

  ‘No.’ Her face softened. ‘He didn’t have to.’

  I knew instinctively that there would be no point in trying to deceive Canary. Alexander wouldn’t have told her anything, but I could tell from those few short words that she had read the situation perfectly. ‘Did he say anything at all?’ I asked.

  ‘Not then, no. But he came back again the next day.’ She pulled a letter out of her pocket and handed it to me. ‘He asked me to give you this.’

  I stared down at the envelope, recognising his untidy scrawl. All the time Charlotte had been recovering in hospital, I’d thought about him. When I was in Egypt, watching the sun set over the Nile, I’d wished he could be there. All the times I’d felt afraid and alone – and had almost cried out for him. And now he had come. My heart was beating so hard I thought Canary must be able to hear it.

  I got up. My body felt stiff and it was an effort to put one foot in front of the other. When I got to the door, I stopped. ‘Canary . . .?’ She was still watching me. ‘Thank you for not telling anyone about this.’

  In the privacy of my own room I peeled back the flap of the envelope. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly pull the letter free.

  After I’d read it I lay back on my bed. He’d given me a phone number where I could reach him. He wanted to see me, he wanted to see his children. His children. Oh God, what was I going to do?

  He said if he didn’t hear from me by the tenth he would call again. Today was the eighth.

  I lived through the next twenty-four hours in a daze. I had to stop him from coming here – but I knew that as soon as I heard his voice on the phone my courage would fail me. In the end I felt I had no choice. Edward was back from Cairo so I asked Canary if I could use the telephone in the nursery. She folded her sewing away and left the room.


  A man answered, and when I asked if I could speak to Alexander Belmayne, he said, ‘I’m afraid he’s in court at the moment. If you call again about five he should be here then.’

  At five o’clock the children were in the nursery and Edward had gone out, so I used the phone in my bedroom. This time I was put through. As I heard Alexander’s voice come over the line, my fingers gripped the phone and my mouth was suddenly so dry I couldn’t speak.

  ‘Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?’

  ‘Alexander.’

  There was a brief silence at the end of the line. ‘Elizabeth.’ His voice was soft and I felt tears rush to my eyes. ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t ring.’

  I didn’t answer. ‘Are you still there?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You read my letter.’ He stopped, and I could feel his presence so strongly it was as if he were in the room with me. ‘Can I see you?’

  The tears spilled from my eyes and my whole body began to shake.

  ‘Elizabeth! Are you all right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this to you. But I have to see you, I’ll go out of my mind if I don’t. Please, for God’s sake, say you’ll meet me.’

  ‘No, Alexander,’ I sobbed. ‘No, I can’t. Please don’t ask me to explain.’

  ‘Elizabeth! Don’t hang up! Elizab . . .’

  I pressed the phone back on the hook and sank to my knees, whispering under my breath for him to forgive me.

  At that moment the door swung open and Charlotte came skipping in. ‘Look at this, Mum, what do you . . .?’ She stopped as she saw me kneeling on the floor, then ran into my arms, frightened tears starting from her eyes. ‘Why are you crying, Mummy? What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘Hush, hush, darling. It’s nothing. Nothing for you to worry about.’ I smoothed my hand over her hair and felt myself being crushed from within. ‘Oh Charlotte, Charlotte, what have I done? What am I going to do?’