by J M Gregson
‘Thank you. I like it, and most people seem to find it an intriguing old place. Please come inside. I have tea and biscuits waiting.’ Vanda spoke as robustly as she could, thrusting aside the thought that she in turn was responding as if her visitor were a well brought-up youngster. Two minutes later, she carried a large tray into the sitting room where she had taken this unexpected guest. ‘Old places have their disadvantages too, of course. I had to have the thatch on the roof renewed when I moved in here twelve years ago. Set me back a pretty penny at the time, that did. And buildings insurance can be prohibitive.’
Jane Beaumont gave her a wan smile. ‘I want to talk to you about Martin.’
‘I see. I doubt whether I can be of any help to you, but I’m prepared to listen to whatever you have to say.’ Despite the embarrassment she felt was coming, Vanda was glad that the woman had dispensed with small talk. She had been wondering how to move beyond the meaningless preliminaries.
‘You were Martin’s mistress. I know that.’
‘Yes. It sounds trite to say this now, and it’s probably meaningless, but I regret any pain I caused you. Passion makes you selfish, makes you disregard the effects of your actions upon others. I know that’s no excuse for-’
‘Passion, yes. I suppose it was that. Perhaps I felt that myself at one time. I doubt if it was strong enough to merit the term passion, but it’s too long ago for me to be certain of anything now.’ She looked past Vanda, staring at a picture on the wall but seeing in her mind’s eye something else entirely. She picked up a biscuit, took a small bite from it, then stared at it in her hand as if wondering how it had got there. ‘It may be that now I have to hurt you. But I want you to help me.’
‘I’ll do that if I can. At this moment, I can’t see anything I could do which might be useful to you.’
‘I’m going to sue Martin for divorce.’ Jane was quiet for a long time, sipping her tea and staring at the painting again. Vanda wondered whether she was going to offer any development of a statement she seemed to regard as self-explanatory.
At last, Jane looked at her host and smiled mirthlessly. ‘He’s going to resist. As you know him well, that won’t surprise you. Martin fights hard against any rearrangement of the world he has set up for himself.’
Vanda was relieved to see signs of animation in the thin white face which had until now resembled a mask. ‘That sounds like a very good summary of your husband. You may know that I am a junior partner in Abbey Vineyards. I have been trying to divest myself of that investment and take my money out of his firm. But I find that his lawyers hedged it about with so many clauses that it is proving almost impossible for me to do so.’
Again that thin smile. ‘That does not surprise me, Ms North.’
‘Vanda, please.’
‘Vanda then. Probably he took care to act in his own interests, whereas you were trusting and heedless. That would be in the early part of your relationship with him — when passion ruled, perhaps.’ There was just the faintest stress on her recall of Vanda’s own word. But if she enjoyed turning the mistress’s earlier excuse against her, it was not apparent in the taut face.
‘That is exactly what happened.’ It was quite bizarre, but in the intimate, low-ceilinged setting of this familiar room, Vanda felt a bond of sympathy extending itself between the two of them. ‘I was totally trusting of Martin. I felt I could safely put my interests in his hands. It wasn’t until later that I found everything in his life was totally subsumed in Abbey Vineyards. He had been quite ruthless in pouring my money into that and in making sure that I could never extract it.’
It was a relief to say it, to state openly what she had long since decided was the truth of the matter, but had been unable to confess to anyone else. Jane Beaumont was nodding almost eagerly, showing for the first time a little pleasure, as she recognized this account of a husband she had grown to detest. ‘That would be a fair summary of my marriage, Vanda. I was a rich woman at the outset of it. Martin used the fortune I had inherited to set up Abbey Vineyards. He also used his lawyers to make it virtually impossible for me either to extract my money or to exercise any degree of control over the enterprise which had been founded on my capital. Everything in his life revolves around the firm. Even his sex life, apparently.’
The last phrase should have been full of acid, but she said it almost sympathetically. They were sisters united by the man’s inhumanity rather than women bitterly divided by being his bedfellows. Vanda said, ‘We seem to be agreed on that. The scales have fallen from both our eyes when it is rather too late for us. But you said I could help you.’
Jane Beaumont paused to drain her cup. She was aware of her movements and her audience now, no longer the chilling automaton she had been when she first accepted a seat in this room. ‘I came to warn you that I might have to hurt you. That you might be called upon to give evidence in a messy divorce. He’s sure to contest it.’
‘You are going to cite me as a co-respondent. As evidence of his adultery.’
‘Yes. If those old-fashioned terms are still the correct ones.’
‘You can do that, if it should be necessary. I don’t think I would have to appear in court. Our affair went on for several years, so he could scarcely deny it. He was supposed to be moving in with me, finishing with you and remarrying. It all seems quite unreal now, knowing him as I do.’
Vanda glanced at the wife Martin had said he was going to leave, then refilled her cup and offered her another biscuit, as if they were friends meeting happily after a long interval. ‘I’m sorry to say that; I realize it must be hurtful. At the time, I was taking care to know nothing of you, to have no picture of you in my mind. I suppose I hoped such ignorance might mean that I was hurting you less. I realize now how cowardly that was. I was merely protecting myself.’
‘It might have been hurtful, once. A long time ago. But not now. You were in a long-term relationship, as I was supposed to be. I feel we’ve suffered similar fates. You didn’t have a piece of legal paper, as I had, but each of us was promised what she was never going to get.’ Jane took another bite of biscuit, realized for the first time that she was enjoying the taste. She could not remember whether she had eaten today before coming here. ‘It might not be necessary to involve you at all. No doubt there are other and more passing fancies of Martin’s we could cite.’
‘There certainly are. I could provide you with chapter and verse on some of them, if you would like it. It mattered to me at the time, though I don’t give a damn whom he beds now.’ Vanda could scarcely believe it, but the mistress and the wife he had cheated were working now as partners against a common enemy. ‘He won’t make divorce easy, if he doesn’t want it.’
Jane smiled ruefully, but this time with a small, companionable humour. ‘I’m well aware of that. He wouldn’t mind losing me, but he can’t afford a divorce. As things stand, it’s very difficult for me to take anything out of Abbey Vineyards because of the way I passed everything over to him to invest, but any divorce settlement would surely give me rights I don’t have at the moment. He might even be forced to sell the firm to pay me out.’
‘I’m sure he would. And that might also mean that I could retrieve my investment and end the partnership. Look, let me have your telephone number and give me three or four days. I’m pretty sure I can get you quite recent evidence on some of his women. Martin’s always been a goat — more fool us for not seeing that when we got involved with him, I suppose. That’s not going to change. It’s almost his only weakness.’ Vanda thought for a moment, then spoke almost to herself. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s had a go at Sarah Vaughan — I doubt whether he’d be able to resist it. Sorry, you don’t know Sarah. She’s a pretty woman in her early thirties who’s one of the bright sparks at the vineyard. I’d be surprised if Martin hasn’t tried to seduce her. I’m sorry, this must be distressing for you.’
‘It isn’t. Our marriage was over a long time ago. Getting Martin to acknowledge that is the only thing that c
oncerns me now.’ Jane sipped her second cup of tea, set it carefully down in the saucer and stared at it for a long time. ‘There’s something you ought to know. I didn’t expect to be telling you this, but if we’re going to work together, you’ve a right to know it.’
Vanda wanted to reach across the low table and take the other woman’s hand, to establish some sort of physical contact which would assure Jane of her support. But she knew that it was much too early for that, that this most unexpected liaison must be allowed time to develop. She said very quietly, ‘Are you sure you want to tell me this now? I’m sure we shall be seeing each other again. Maybe the time-’
‘No, I must tell you now. You have a right to know, if you’re going to help me. I have a bipolar disorder. It’s relatively mild, the doctors tell me. Most of the time I control it with drugs; occasionally I need treatment in a specialist unit for a few days. At present it isn’t a problem, but you need to know that I have the condition, because Martin will use it. He fights dirty when he’s under pressure; I suspect you already know that. If his back is against the wall, he’ll make out in court that I’m a raving lunatic, or at best a highly disordered personality, whose evidence is totally unreliable.’
Vanda didn’t want to admit that when her own judgement had been undermined by the excitement of sex, Martin had hinted something of the sort to her. She had accepted these vague hints of a wife like Mr Rochester’s in Jane Eyre, probably because at the time it was what she wanted to hear. She said, ‘He’ll have two of us to contend with, if it comes to anything like that. We’ll get our own medical evidence in, if we should need it.’
Jane Beaumont had been planning ahead, even to the extent of deciding upon the medical specialist she would call. But it gave her immense confidence to hear this sturdy woman of the world declaring her allegiance. Almost thirty years of marriage to Martin as well as her bipolar problems had ensured that she rarely felt confident. To have not only her resistance but her tactics endorsed by such a robust ally was more heartening for Jane than she could begin to express.
In their different ways, both of these women led lonely lives. Vanda’s isolation was nothing like as desperate as Jane’s, but she realized now how empty life had felt over the last year or two. How empty she had let it become, perhaps. Once they had what they wanted out of this situation, she would make the rest of her life altogether richer.
The two exchanged details of their lives outside Martin Beaumont, of their very different childhoods, of their preferences in books and art. And in television, that perpetual resort of the lonely. As she drove away from the thatched cottage on the edge of the village, Jane Beaumont was much more animated than she had been when she arrived.
Vanda North stood in the doorway of her ancient home until the car was quite out of sight. She went thoughtfully back into the house and sat down to revolve her thoughts on this new commitment. It was only when the clock chimed in the hall that she realized the visit she had so feared in prospect had lasted for three hours.
TEN
Martin Beaumont was no fool. Even those who hated him knew that. It was what made opposition difficult. And those women who had more personal reasons to resent him, such as Jane Beaumont and Vanda North and Sarah Vaughan, realized when they thought coolly about it that he was a man who would not easily be defeated.
Beaumont was a shrewd and highly experienced operator. He sensed that there was going to be a challenge to his domination of the empire he had created at Abbey Vineyards. Not perhaps to his leadership, but to his position as the autocrat who determined every aspect of policy. He knew all about Vanda North’s desire to end her powerless partnership and withdraw her funds, of course, but he was confident that his lawyers had tied that up for him years ago. Nevertheless, if she became more than a lone voice of opposition, things might get difficult.
Beaumont sensed rather than knew that Jason Knight was considering how to strengthen his position. Knight was an ambitious and well-informed man as well as a highly proficient chef. Martin was keeping an eye upon him as the restaurant prospered and the chef’s position within the firm strengthened. Knight had taken care that his sounding of Gerry Davies was unobserved by the owner, but Beaumont was well used to divining what was going on around him from the minimum of information.
Fiona Cooper was just the sort of personal assistant he needed. She was both discreet and intelligent: she gave away nothing, but vacuumed up the gossip around the place and passed it to her employer. And Beaumont himself noted the odd phrase which signified a change of attitude in Gerry Davies, a man too honest for his own good, too unused to the ways of dissimulation to adopt them when he needed them. Davies took care to say nothing about either his meetings with Jason Knight or his knowledge of what had passed between Beaumont and Sarah Vaughan. Nevertheless, Beaumont noted subtle changes in his speech and his bearing which suggested that his unthinking loyalty and admiration for the owner had been affected.
It was always Martin Beaumont’s inclination to tackle opposition head on. If he was in a position of strength, he believed in exploiting it as quickly as possible, lest the situation changed. And he felt himself to be very much in a position of strength with Tom Ogden, that obstinate strawberry-grower whose land obtruded so inappropriately into his. When he sensed that he held all the cards, Martin liked to bully the opposition.
He acknowledged that openly to himself. He knew that he enjoyed a little bullying when he felt he could not lose — it was a release from the more subtle and patient manoeuvres which were so often necessary in the rest of his dealings.
On the morning of Tuesday, May the eleventh, Beaumont chose to bully Tom Ogden.
PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES.
Ensure that you have the freshest fruit of all. Bring the family and enjoy a day out.
Tom Ogden was inspecting the signs which had been newly prepared for this season’s picking. There was a road junction near to the entrance to his fields which meant that traffic often had to stop. That gave drivers and passengers a chance to read more than if they had been passing at thirty or forty miles an hour. Last year’s signs had been perfectly serviceable, but Tom had decided upon complete refurbishment.
The psychological effect of pristine paint was to assure the public that a new and exciting opportunity was now available; Tom’s son assured him of this. And Tom, like many people of his age and background, affected to despise such nonsense, but felt secretly that there might just be something in it. No one ever went bankrupt by underestimating the intelligence of the public. Some rich American showman had said that, and Tom’s experience bore it out.
Take all those idiots who poured into Abbey Vineyards next door, for instance. The supermarkets and the specialist wine stores were full of decent wines at decent prices. Yet people who should know better not only flocked in to eat in the expensive restaurant. They also bought the dubious English wines grown on the long lines of vines which had surrounded Tom’s defiant fields over the last twenty years.
Tom Ogden did not pretend to be objective: he saw no need to sample the product before delivering his trenchant verdict.
When he turned from the new signs to find Martin Beaumont also inspecting them, Ogden’s day took an immediate turn for the worse. He said harshly, ‘You’re not welcome here. You should know that by now.’
Beaumont gave him a leisured, mocking smile. ‘Going to horsewhip me out of town, are you, Thomas?’
‘Don’t think I wouldn’t, if I thought I could get away with it!’
‘Ever the friendly neighbour, aren’t you?’
‘There’s nothing for you here. How many times do you need telling?’
‘I’m a persistent soul, Tom. Anyone who has had dealings with me will tell you that. I get my own way in the end. Always, and usually on my own terms. At the moment you’re lucky, Tom. Very lucky, because I’m being patient. But don’t rely on your luck lasting forever. Those same people who would tell you how persistent I am could also tell you that I am n
ot noted for my patience.’
It was like a confrontation in the western films Tom Ogden had so relished as a young man. The small landowner was being threatened by the wealth and power of the land baron who wanted to consolidate his holding. At least there were no guns here, as yet. ‘We’ve nothing to say to each other, Beaumont.’
‘Not quite correct, that, Thomas. You don’t have much to say to me, but in spite of your churlish attitude I am still prepared to talk to you. To say things which would be sweet music in your ears, if you weren’t such a stubborn old mule.’
‘My family’s farmed this land for years, Beaumont. I don’t intend to change that now to suit some johnny-come-lately like you.’ It was an old argument that he had delivered before, but Ogden enjoyed repeating it, enjoyed the contempt he could put into his epithet for this unwelcome presence.
‘Times change, Thomas, times change. Bigger people than you have ended up in the bankruptcy courts through failing to recognize that.’
‘Get lost, Beaumont! Look at the evidence before your eyes!’ He waved a wide arm towards the fields behind the man and his Jaguar, to where Spot Wheeler and his workers were assiduously tending the rows of his crop. ‘We’re going to have a bumper crop and a bumper year. We’ll still be here when your bloody vines have been and gone!’
Beaumont’s face darkened, as it always did when anyone directly insulted his enterprise. ‘I hope you’re right about your crop, Thomas. It would be a shame if anything happened to affect this bumper year.’
This was more than ever like a western. Tom Ogden felt he should have his gun belt slung low on his hips, with his hand hovering above the holster. ‘If you’re threatening me, Beaumont, you’d better watch out. That’s a game two people can play.’
Martin knew he held all the cards here: God was always on the side of the big battalions. ‘You shouldn’t be hinting at violence, Thomas. Most inadvisable, for a man with your record.’
