A Class Apart

by Susan Lewis

  Later, lying together in the darkness, Kate rested her head on his shoulder and listened to his breathing. She tried to stop the tears spilling over onto his chest. He would be cross if he knew she was crying.

  She had no explanation to offer, not even to herself. He had asked her if he could beat her, and she had agreed. But when he had asked he had seemed timid, embarrassed almost, at even suggesting it. And she had put her arms round him and told him that she would do simply anything he wanted her to. Anything to please him.

  She had had no idea then that he would use such violence. Sometimes, when he had finished with her, she found it difficult to walk the following day. She wished that she had the courage to tell him to stop, that she couldn’t take any more. But she was afraid she would lose him if she did.

  Finally, she fell asleep, the crescents of angry weals dealt by the cane he had used on her burning into her flesh.

  The telephone woke them the following morning and before she could stop him Joel had reached out to answer it. To Kate’s relief it was Margaret Stanley from Gracious Living. She shuddered to think what he might have said had it been her father.

  As she listened to Margaret’s voice at the other end of the phone she felt Joel reach out round her body to fondle her breasts. Her nipples were sore, and she twisted away from him.

  “Are you listening to me, Kate?” Margaret said.

  “Yes, yes,” Kate answered. “What angle were you looking for exactly?”

  “Come into the office first, we’ll talk it over. You don’t have to be there until three thirty. I’ve made all the arrangements. And Kate, I’m sure there’s no need to remind you, but this is royalty you’re going to be speaking to. Best behaviour and all that, eh?”

  “Royalty?” said Kate.

  “Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said?” Margaret bleated. “Have you got someone there with you? No, don’t answer that, it’s none of my business. But get him out of your bed and get your ass over here. This is a biggy,” and she slammed the phone down.

  Kate stared at the receiver. Who exactly had Margaret been talking about? She had mentioned royalty. But who? Suddenly she sat bolt upright.

  “Holy shit! The Queen!”

  Joel reached out and pulled her back. She shrugged him off and ran out of the bedroom.

  “What the hell’s going on?” he grumbled, following her into the kitchen.

  “The Queen. I’m going to interview the Queen.”

  “In China?”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “The Queen is in China.”

  “Then the Prince of Wales. Princess Diana. I don’t know. This afternoon. I must ring my father and tell him. He just won’t believe it.” She rushed for the phone.

  Joel strolled into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” Kate shouted after him. “I’m actually doing an interview with someone from the royal family.”

  “I’m impressed,” he called back, then closed the shower door behind him.

  Linda McElfrey got up early that morning, as she did every morning. She took Moonlight down to the gallops at six thirty, then pointed him towards the open countryside where she gave him his head and allowed the drizzle to wash across her face, and the wind to tear at her hair. It was her favourite time of day. The stable lads would just be taking the other horses down to the gallops now. She wanted some time alone. Time to think.

  Bob had been distracted lately, not quite himself. If she asked him what was on his mind, he would only laugh, and say that she was imagining things, and that nothing was on his mind. But she knew him too well. She knew when things weren’t right. And she also knew when it was a production that was getting him down. He didn’t always talk about it, he was a private person really, didn’t like people trying to delve too closely into his thoughts. But it was that inner person, the drive that was powered by solving things for himself, that had made him what he was today. Linda knew that, and she never interfered.

  This time it was different. All over Christmas he hadn’t been irritable exactly, but neither had he been relaxed. By the time he left to return to London, Linda felt that somehow they had grown apart. He returned, as promised, for New Year’s Eve and they had a quiet evening at home with his mother, just the three of them. They talked and laughed, and toasted one another at midnight. But whatever had been on Bob’s mind over Christmas obviously hadn’t gone away. And it was still there, all these weeks into the New Year.

  Linda was a strong woman, in both mind and body. She prided herself on her well-run stables, and her equally well-run marriage. They had been together for eleven years now, eight of those years married. They had shared a closeness from the very beginning, their different interests keeping them together, rather than pulling them apart.

  Now, for the first time, Linda wondered whether she was doing the right thing. Perhaps she should take more of an interest in his work, and in him. Perhaps they had led separate lives for too long. She knew that Bob wanted a family, but she had always resisted. She was thirty-eight now, and maybe she should stop resisting.

  It was past eight thirty when she returned to the stables, and she was famished. Her mother-in-law, who was staying until the end of the month, was waiting for her at the kitchen door, peering out through the misty rain.

  Moonlight trotted into the stable yard, steaming and wet through. He flicked his back hooves, his way of saying he had enjoyed the morning’s exercise. Linda stroked his neck.

  “Time for breakfast now, eh?”

  Her mother-in-law waved to her. “I’ve got the kettle boiling,” she called.

  “Be right there.”

  Barry, the stable lad, ran over to take Moonlight, and after asking about the other horses, Linda went inside to have her breakfast. The kitchen was warm and cosy, and the smell of sizzling bacon and eggs was mouthwateringly welcoming.

  “There’s a towel warming by the fire,” said her mother-in-law, “go and dry yourself off, and I’ll dish up.”

  Linda picked up the towel and began to rub her hair.

  “There’s a piece in the local paper about Bob,” said Violet McElfrey. “I’ve left it there on the table for you to read.”

  “Thanks.” Linda brushed her tangled hair. “What does it say?”

  “Oh, the usual,” said her mother-in-law. “Local celebrity, rave reviews, another masterpiece; you know, the same as they always write.”

  Linda laughed. “So much for the proud mother. Still, you’re right. Sometimes I wonder if they just have a format piece on him, and whenever he does something they just change the name of the play, and the name of the actors.”

  “Precisely,” said Violet. “But I’ll put it in the scrapbook anyway. Two rashers or three?”

  “Make it three, I’m starving. Is Barry coming in?”

  “No. He had his an hour ago.”

  “You were up early this morning.”

  “How can anyone be expected to sleep with all that clattering of hooves going on outside,” Violet complained.

  “I’ve told you, take the room at the front of the house, you won’t be disturbed then.”

  “No. I don’t mind really. Besides, it gives me something to do, cooking breakfast for you lot.”

  “And don’t think we aren’t grateful,” said Linda, sitting down at the table. “Especially me. I hate cooking breakfast. I keep meaning to draw up a roster, so that we can take it in turns to cook. But I daresay most of those half-wits don’t know one end of a frying pan from the other, so I don’t suppose there’s much point.”

  Violet put a plate in front of her daughter-in-law, and turned back to the stove. “Think I’ll have three slices too,” she said, raking the bacon out of the pan. “Tea?”

  “Mmm,” Linda nodded, her mouth full.

  Violet poured two cups, and put them on the table. The phone began to ring. “Oh no. Who on earth can that be?” She went to answer it. “Shall I tell them to r
ing back after breakfast?”

  “Yes,” said Linda. “Unless it’s Bob.”

  Violet picked up the phone. “Hello. Yes. Yes, it is. She’s having her breakfast, can you call her back in about half an hour? Oh, I see, well, I’ll see what she says. Hang on a minute.” She turned to Linda. “It’s urgent they speak to you, apparently.”

  Linda’s stomach tightened. Some sixth sense was telling her that this wasn’t going to be good news. “Who is it?”

  “She didn’t say. Will you take it?”

  Linda nodded, and slowly got up from the chair. Her hair was still damp, and her boots felt heavy on her feet as she walked across the flagstoned floor to the telephone. At the last minute she stopped. “I’ll take it in the drawing room,” she said.

  Her mother-in-law looked surprised, but she waited until she heard Linda pick up the phone in the other room, and then she put the receiver down in the kitchen. She had sensed Linda’s unease, and wasn’t one to pry.

  “Hello,” said Linda. “Linda McElfrey here. Can I help you?”

  “Mrs McElfrey,” said the voice at the other end. “It’s Maureen Woodley here. I don’t know if you remember me, we met at Badminton last year.”

  “I don’t think I do remember,” said Linda, “but I know who you are. Is there something I can do for you?”

  There was a short silence.

  “Hello? Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” said Maureen. “I’m still here.”

  “Has something happened to Bob?” Linda’s voice was perfectly controlled.

  “No,” said Maureen. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

  “Then what can I do for you?”

  “Well, it is about Bob. It’s just that I thought you ought to know.”

  Linda already knew what she was going to say. “Know what?”

  “That your husband is having an affair with one of the cast from Twelfth Night, and has been for some time. I’m only telling you because I thought you should know. It’s awful when a man is cheating on his wife, and everyone knows but her. So I thought I should tell you.”

  “I see,” said Linda, trying to keep her voice steady.

  “And . . .” Maureen paused, sounding uncertain. “I just thought you would like to know. But I’m sure that it’s nothing too serious. It’s you that Bob loves, everyone knows that.”

  Linda felt a flash of anger. “I take it Bob has confided all this to you,” she said.

  “Uh, well, no.” Linda waited for her to go on. “They are together most nights, when he’s in London.”

  “Who is she?”

  “As I said, one of the cast.”

  “Is it you, Maureen?”

  “No, no, it’s not me.” Maureen sounded surprised.

  “No,” said Linda, “of course, it wouldn’t be. Bob would never be so stupid as to pick someone who is capable of doing what you’re doing now.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I think you heard me.”

  “Really, I’m only trying to help. I’m telling you this for your own good.”

  “And tell me, Maureen, what possible good do you think it will do, telling me?”

  “So that you can fight to keep him.”

  “So that I can fight to keep him?”

  “Yes.”

  Linda hesitated before she spoke. “Let me tell you this, Maureen Woodley. Even if what you are saying is true, and I doubt it, I don’t need any interfering little busybodies who get pleasure from sticking their noses in other people’s business ringing me up to tell me. Now, I suggest you put the phone down, and go and tell Bob what you have done. I will let him deal with you. As far as I am concerned I never want you to ring this number again, or to attempt to make contact with me in any way. You must be a particularly sick person to do what you have just done. Goodbye.” And Linda slammed the phone down.

  She hadn’t raised her voice but she was shaking, and she kept her hand pressed on the phone. She gazed towards the window, trying to steady her nerves, but she was overcome by fear and the growing knowledge that the very roots of her life were giving way beneath her. She should have known, of course. All the signs had been there. Maybe she had known, but hadn’t wanted to admit it. But now that bitch of an actress had faced her with it.

  Her first instinct was to ring Bob. But if Maureen Woodley had been telling the truth, he wouldn’t be at the mews house. Nevertheless, she dialled the number. There was no reply.

  She could go up to London. Go to the theatre, and find him. But his mistress, whoever she was, would be there. Linda didn’t like scenes any more than Bob did.

  But she must do something. She loved her husband, and she didn’t want to lose him. And in her heart she knew that he still loved her. At the moment he might think that he didn’t, but she knew that he did. They could work this out.

  She walked back into the kitchen, still reeling from the telephone call.

  “Come on,” said Violet, “your breakfast is getting cold.”

  Linda looked at it. “I’m not hungry.”

  Violet put down her tea and stared at her daughter-in-law. Linda was gazing into the fire, her hands in the pockets of her jacket, her hair falling across her face.

  “Who was that on the phone?”

  “No one important.”

  Violet started to clear the table. Linda would talk when she was ready. The telephone call had been something to do with Bob, Violet was sure of that. But it was something about Bob that didn’t concern his mother. Not yet, at any rate. She wasn’t blind. She had noticed that things had been strained lately. If Linda and Bob were having problems, well, it was for them to sort them out. They both knew that they could rely on her, but it must be for them to come to her, she wasn’t going to interfere.

  She turned on the tap and began to fill the washing-up bowl with dishes. Linda was still standing in front of the fire, deep in thought.

  “I’ll make some fresh tea,” said Violet, “your other one’s turned cold.”

  Linda looked up, then glanced at the table. “No need. I’ll drink that one.”

  Violet pulled a face and shrugged.

  Linda picked up the cup, and drank the cold tea. Then she walked over to her mother-in-law and slipped an arm round her shoulders.

  “Violet,” she said. “How would you feel about becoming a grandmother?”

  “. . . yes, and I’ve actually got a letter here from Kensington Palace saying thank you very much. Can you believe it?” Kate grinned across the room to Ashley, then turned back to the phone.

  “Oh, absolutely,” she said. “Of course I’ll get it framed . . . Oh honestly, Daddy, surely one’s enough? . . . OK . . . Yes, see you at the weekend . . . No, no, I promise I will come this weekend . . . OK, see you then.” She put the phone down, and immediately Ashley saw her face fall.

  “Something the matter?”

  “Yes, everything, if you must know. Ellamarie’s not speaking to me because I stood up Nicholas Gough the other night. Jenneen keeps shouting at me for moping around, and now my father is complaining because I haven’t been to see him. And as for my book, forget it, I can’t do it. Is that enough to be going on with?”

  “Sounds plenty to me,” said Ashley. “Why did you stand up Nick?”

  “Because Joel was coming round.”

  “Joel rang after Nick, I presume.”

  “You presume correct.”

  “Ellamarie fixed that date up to try and help you out, you know.”

  “I know.” Kate pushed at her hair irritably. “Everyone’s trying to do everything to help me out. Well, I just wish everyone would leave me alone. I can run my own life, thank you very much. And don’t you start having a go at me as well. We can’t all manage our lives as well as you, we’re not all that fortunate.”

  “Steady on now,” said Ashley.

  “No, just you steady on. You’re about to start pontificating to me about what I should and shouldn’t do, just like everyone else. Well don’t! T
ake a look at your life, Ashley, and then take a look at mine. You reek of good luck and privilege. You’ve got that wonderful old man you’re always going to visit, so you can talk about Julian any time you like.” Ashley’s eyes flashed, but Kate went on. “You’ve got your ex-husband sniffing around, who just can’t wait to have you back. You’re doing so bloody well at that damned agency I suppose you’re going to be promoted any day now – another something to alleviate Julian’s conscience, to add to the gleaming white Mercedes sports car that you drive your perfect son around in at the weekend. You make me sick, Ashley. All of you make me sick,” and with that she burst into tears.

  Ashley went to sit beside her and put her arms round her. She let her cry, then when Kate was calm again she said: “I take it you still haven’t heard from him?”

  Kate shook her head.

  “When did he say he would call?”

  “Last week some time.”

  “Have you tried calling him?”

  “Oh, just a few thousand times,” Kate answered, bitterly. “He’s not there. Either that, or he won’t speak to me. The trouble is it’s been like this for weeks. I don’t hear from him for days on end, then suddenly he just turns up out of the blue, or drops a note through my front door to tell me what time to be ready. He always assumes that I will be waiting, and available, and – damn and bloody blast it! – I always am.”

  She turned to look at Ashley. “I haven’t told anyone else this,” she whispered, her face red and swollen from crying, “I’ve been too ashamed to tell anyone. But sometimes, some nights, I walk to his flat and stand outside. I’m too afraid to go in, so I just stand there, in the hope that he might come out. Can you believe it? God, how can I humiliate myself like this?”

  Ashley smiled and reached out to touch Kate’s hair. “I’ve done it too,” she said. “So many nights I’ve driven round to Julian’s, parked and just sat there in the car. I’ve never known why. After all, I see him every day. I suppose it’s some bizarre need to torture ourselves.”