by Nancy Carson
‘Surely girls prefer someone more masculine?’
‘On the contrary, girls today prefer a more feminine-looking man…Not that he’s feminine…Not by any stretch of imagination.’
‘And some girls try to look like boys with their flat chests and short haircuts. It’s a strange world we live in.’
Eunice continued peering at her moistened face in the mirror of her dressing table. ‘The point I’m trying to make, my darling Neville, is that if you altered your style I might find you more attractive. What is it that compels you to want to look so…so eccentric?’
‘It’s how I want to look, no more, no less. It pleases me. I dislike shaving. I dislike having my hair cut more than is necessary. And anyway, people remember me all the easier for it. And that’s good for business.’
‘But you look like somebody from the last century. It makes you look so old. Whom are trying to emulate, for God’s sake? Leon Trotsky? It’s not as if you have a poor physique. You have an excellent physique.’
He pulled back the covers of his single bed and slid between the sheets. ‘I’d like to invite Billy and Henzey over to dinner one evening. Can we fix a convenient date?’
‘I…I think not. I have no wish to entertain them here.’
‘You said a minute ago Billy was very appealing. Do make up your mind, Eunice.’
‘What I said was, I could understand why that young girl found him appealing, unlike that other man, that Harvey. He’s an old-fashioned, bigoted, high Tory. Please don’t embarrass me by inviting them here. If you wish to meet them alone at a restaurant that’s up to you. But please don’t involve me.’
Neville lay back and closed his eyes, urgently seeking a mental image of Henzey. ‘As for Harvey and his anonymous wife,’ he said, ‘I hadn’t intended asking them.’
Neither spoke more. Neville sighed unhappily and snuggled down in his bed. He ventured no further conversation, remaining silent, trying to sleep. But sleep eluded him for a long time after Eunice had slid into her own bed and turned out the light. He tried to imagine this young Henzey Kite lying naked in bed with him; the feel of her warm soft skin against his; her silken mouth; his thigh gripped lovingly between hers; her arching back as his tongue drove her wild, probing her secret places; her appreciative vocal sighs as he thrust hungrily into her. His throat went dry just thinking about it.
But eventually the erotic fantasies were eclipsed by more mundane thoughts. Meeting Henzey Kite also focused his mind on the shortcomings of his marriage; shortcomings he regretted, but was unable to change in the short term. His marriage used to be very satisfactory, but now it was a compromise; an arrangement; a result of the marital foolishness he had spoken about to Henzey. He wondered how long it might survive in this hideous state. Eunice was a beautiful woman, and desirable. They lived together without sleeping together, and though there was seldom any open hostility between them, mainly for the sake of their son, neither was there any visible affection. Yet there was a glimmer of hope. Eunice had said that if he chose to shave off his beard and have his hair cut decently she might find him more attractive. She had said that before, but why should his beard and his hair make any difference? She married him with his beard and his hair, why should she despise it now? He would divest himself of it as a last resort; only if absolutely necessary.
For Neville took refuge behind his beard. It was a form of protection; a disguise to prevent recognition. He wore it just in case one particular person were to recognise him first. He knew it was spurious, a notion conceived in his youth that had developed and intensified over the years. He had never confided his thoughts to Eunice about it, hence she saw him merely as somebody completely out of step with fashion, and was unaware of his concern.
It was generated by the knowledge that he once had a twin brother. He could not remember him and did not even know his name, but the odds were that he was still alive, possibly round the next corner, and might even come seeking him. That being so, Neville wanted to be able to recognise his twin first, without being recognised himself. It was irrational on the face of it, he knew, but important to him. In the event, it would offer him the choice of either turning away or making himself known, depending on what he perceived in the man.
Neville only knew what Magdalen Worthington, his adopted mother, had told him: that he was the son of his father, Oswald Worthington, by one of the housemaids of the time, whose name was Bessie Hipkiss. Neville believed that Bessie had died in abject poverty when he and his brother were but two years old and that his twin had been taken into the care of a Christian family of very moderate means in the Black Country, while he was subsequently delivered, as a last resort, to the large, elegant house of his father. The intention, apparently, was that his father should rightfully be made to face all responsibility for him. The trouble was, by that time his father was dead. It was fortunate indeed that Oswald’s young widow, Magdalen, was still grieving, and was more than happy to accept the return of anything that was her husband’s, especially a son, albeit by another woman. She took Neville in as her own and doted on him, ensuring that he had the very best of everything, including the best education money could buy.
As he turned restlessly in his bed, dissatisfied with the state of his marriage, Neville’s thoughts turned to his real mother and he wondered what she was like. He would dearly love to know more about her, to see a photograph of her. But how to go about finding out? Who, twenty-seven years after her death, would remember somebody as insignificant as Bessie Hipkiss? Who would possibly remember a particular housemaid put in the family way by a male member of the family that employed her, out of the hundreds of such beguiled and unfortunate young women who littered society? If only she could have lived a year or two longer so that he might have some memory of her, however vague.
And this brother, the existence of whom Neville was so ambiguous about…He actually hoped he would like him, because he longed to talk to him about their mother, about how he felt now at their being parted. Sometimes he felt as if he was only half a person, that there was another half somewhere, waiting to make the whole. It was a strange feeling. He would love to know whether his brother felt it, too. Someday he might meet him. He would know him immediately; they were identical twins after all, or so he’d been led to believe. If and when that day came, he hoped any differences in their circumstances and upbringing would not render them entirely incompatible.
Chapter 7
By the end of July, the government had announced plans to increase unemployment benefit, and forty-eight countries had signed the Geneva Convention on the treatment of prisoners of war. Lizzie was even bigger, but at no time did she suffer the things normally associated with pregnancy, such as morning sickness.
From the point of view of business, Billy Witts began to worry; he was finding it ever more difficult to achieve lucrative deals, due to the general economic climate. But he and Henzey had been making love regularly for two months, which helped take his mind off his finances. Love-making concentrated Henzey’s mind on their relationship. It was the ultimate expression of her feelings for Billy and, often, she pondered Neville Worthington’s words about energetic love that made you breathless and exhausted. It did not apply to Billy and her, but she reckoned things must be approaching something akin. At least she thought so.
She had finished half-a-dozen watercolours and three pencil sketches of Billy besides, her favourites of which she’d had framed and were now hanging on her bedroom walls. He warranted being a subject of her paintings. He was the one who had appeared in her life like a whirlwind and swept her off her feet. The reason he fascinated her so much was because he kept her guessing. She was intrigued that he had resisted her for so long in the first place, and that intrigue turned to fixation, and then to love.
If Billy had never come along she could have comfortably existed with no male companion. Hitherto she’d been perfectly content to open doors herself, pull on her own coat, without any masculine courtesies. In any case, on a practical leve
l, doing things for herself was by far the fastest way. But Billy was now a part of her life and she was content.
In love, she was profoundly sentimental. The glow of romance fired her imagination with thoughts of just the two of them in their own house; of cosy evenings, snuggled romantically together before a homely fire. At no time did she ever consider the raking out of that fire; nor the blackleading, the ironing, the cleaning or any of the unromantic chores of daily living. She was dying to tell Billy her dreams. But she dare not. At least not yet.
As far as she was concerned, Billy was faultless. He was hard working, generous and passionate. Never did she tire of looking at his handsome face, of enjoying the tingles when he touched her. He had money to indulge her, not that she expected much, but what she got she appreciated. He loved to see the joy on her face whenever he took her shopping and bought her expensive new clothes. He wined her and dined her, showed her off to his well-to-do friends and business associates at dinner and garden parties. Mentally, she put Billy on a pedestal, expecting him to live up to her image of perfection. What she never thought about, indeed, typically, what she overlooked, were his flaws.
Billy’s whims and fancies changed with the wind. He could be charming – his compliments always sounded so sincere, especially to women – but he was inclined to sarcasm, moods and irritability if things did not go all his way. He was as changeable as the weather. One day he was warmly romantic, openly weaving dreams; the next, aloof, impatient and critical. Always, he had an unwitting urge to disguise his true intentions, to conceal his motives. Money was his god; he worshipped it and he kept his financial position entirely to himself. He forever sought companionship, male and female, and would have resented any move to curb his inclinations. He was full of good intentions but because he was also impulsive, many of his promises ended up broken. Henzey thus found he was frequently late calling for her, or having to make last minute changes to their plans; even abandoning them. These things were part of his nature and, at no time, did he knowingly make Henzey suffer because of it, since he was in love with her in his own mercurial way. Simply, he was easily diverted.
Billy saw Henzey as capable, with an independent streak. Her conversation was bright and never boring but, when she spoke, she expected him to listen. His circle of friends found her disarming and, on such occasions as she was in their company, her manner was always impeccable. In the matter of attention and recognising her artistic abilities, she demanded a lot from Billy and wallowed in his appreciation of her creativity. But usually she gave double attention in return.
In the exalted company they often kept, she was becoming more aware of her accent and was determined to lose it. Each day she listened to herself speaking and, each day, she heard herself utter some word or phrase that she realised she could improve upon. So, gradually, a general smoothing off of those rougher sounding edges began to creep into her everyday speech.
Billy often detected jealousy in Henzey if another woman smiled at him fancifully, though he knew she would never admit to it. Thus, he learned quickly never to pay another woman a compliment within her hearing. It was not in his own nature to be jealous, but she would have resented it as a slur on her integrity if he ever showed the merest hint of jealousy; she could be trusted implicitly and he should know that. Indeed, he never had any reason to feel jealous. Henzey was generous to a fault, with what money she had, with her time, but particularly with her love. And though she appeared capable and confident to the world, Billy soon understood that if the world was unkind to her, that composure would evaporate and she would be as defenceless and vulnerable as a kitten.
This was demonstrated in early August after he called for her one warm evening when he’d been away at the Morris works at Cowley for a couple of days. She jumped in the car and they drove off with the hood down to find some secluded spot. They ended up near the Staffordshire-Shropshire border, at a deserted, but beautiful area, called Enville Common. Even though she had not seen Billy for a few days, she barely spoke a word during the half-hour journey.
‘What’s the matter then, Henzey?’ he asked. ‘You’re quiet. Who’s upset you?’
He went to put his arm around her, but sensed her recoil. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there, and it was distinctly unusual. At first she didn’t answer, so he asked her again. She shook her head slightly and he saw her eyes fill with tears. She needed to cry, he could see that, but she was fighting it, trying, as ever, to be strong.
‘If I tell you, you’ll go mad,’ she said at last, and turned her head away to look unseeing at the thicket of young silver birches glistening in the oblique, yellowing sunlight.
‘Then you’d best let me go mad, and get it over with, eh?’
‘Do you promise not to be angry, Billy?’ Her expression was intense.
Two flies, one chasing the other, settled on the dashboard of the car and he flicked them away absently.
‘How can I promise anything if I don’t know what you’re about to tell me?’
It suddenly dawned on him that maybe she was trying to tell him she was pregnant. A lump came to his throat and he felt suddenly hot. Oh, Jesus. Yes, he had put her at risk, but surely he had been careful enough. Surely…
‘Because something’s happened…and it isn’t my fault.’
‘All right. Whatever it is, it ain’t your fault, I’ll accept that. Now will you tell me what it’s all about?’
She looked directly in front of her, her back erect, her hands primly on her knees. She began to weep. ‘I’ll have to leave George Mason’s. I’ve said nothing to nobody. I wanted to tell you first, Billy. When I tell my mother, she’ll go mad.’
Billy felt himself sweating. This was the last thing he needed. He could do without more problems at this time. ‘Come on, what is it, for God’s sake? Why have you got to give up your job?’
‘Because of Wally Bibb.’
He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘What about Wally Bibb?’ He leaned against the car door, his arm resting on the back of his seat, bent, so his hand could support his chin as he watched her.
‘He’s had another go at me – made another pass at me I mean. I was in the stock-room and he came up behind me and put his hands down the front of my blouse and in my brassiere. I struggled, but he got his arm round my waist as well and started kissing my neck.’ A tear rolled down her right cheek. ‘It was horrible, Billy. It made me feel horrible and dirty. It’s not the first time he’s tried and I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand him messing with me and having to look over my shoulder every minute I’m there, just to keep out of his way.’ Her sense of loyalty was such that she was feeling guilty that Wally had touched her; as if she were the one who should be blamed.
‘Oh, ain’t he a flippin’ pest!’ Billy said sympathetically. ‘He wants locking up.’
A pause.
‘Is that all you can say?’
‘What d’you expect me to say? I’m certainly not very pleased, I can tell you.’
‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’
‘What am I going to do about it? I’m not going to do anything, am I? You’re the one who’s doing something about it by leaving…and finding another job, presumably.’
She shook her head and took a small handkerchief out of her handbag to wipe her tears. ‘I’m speechless, Billy. If you were me and I were you, I’d go and punch him on the nose for messing with my girl.’
‘Oh? And what would that solve? The man’s just perverted. He’s more to be pitied than blamed. Just tell him you’re leaving on Friday after you’ve been paid, and be sure to tell him why. That’ll have much more effect.’
Henzey sighed, a great shuddering sigh. How could he not want to protect her from the depraved groping of Wally Bibb? She expected him to be nettled, at the very least, that Wally had succeeded in sliding his hands around the hallowed flesh of her breasts, where only he, Billy, was allowed. She could not understand why it did not incite him to absolute outrage. It would h
er if she were a man. She needed the reassurance of his love and of his protection, and felt that only some sort of retaliation would convince her of it. Perhaps he didn’t love her as much as he said he did?
‘Then that says to me as you don’t care.’
‘That’s nonsense, Henzey, and you know it. You know I care, but me going to see Wally would serve no useful purpose at all. Even less being violent. Why, it’d bring me down to his level, don’t you see that? The best way is what you suggest – leave, and find yourself another job. Let him see as you won’t be messed with – that you’re capable of makin’ your own decisions – that you’re strong enough to get out of there on a matter of principle. That’s far better than having me or anybody else fight your battles. And it’ll give you more self-respect and satisfaction. Anyway, you’d soon get another job, somebod7y as conscientious as you.’
She sighed again, half in exasperation, half in resignation. For a while she was quiet but, as she pondered his words, they made more sense. Perhaps she had been hasty and unfair in expecting him to jump at Wally Bibb. She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder and his arm went about her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll have to stop being such a cissy, won’t I?’
They sat in a silent embrace for a long time while she dried her tears and watched the shadows of the trees grow longer, the warm, evening sunlight turn to a deep orange then to the shifting greyness of dusk. Billy lit another cigarette. Wood pigeons cooed as they settled for the night and magpies still squawked rowdily, as if to deny the others rest. While he smoked, Henzey relived a thousand times the abhorrent groping of Wally Bibb and compared them to the welcome caresses of Billy. What was it that made her relish the touch of one man and detest the touch of another? Was it because the one was uninvited, speculating that a stolen caress might turn her head? Or was it simply that she loved the one and loathed the other?
The unsettling of her emotions had driven out thoughts of romance that night, but as Billy began to hug her now and nuzzle her hair, she felt a warm stirring within her. He perceived it at once and kissed her softly on the lips. Eagerly, she responded, and her tension evaporated with every second of that embrace. Then he broke off to reach for the blanket lying on the back seat. The action was a signal for love-making. Billy stepped out of the car and placed the blanket on the dry grass in the murky dusk. Henzey followed. He sat, stretched out his hand to her, and she took it then sat beside him, smiling.
