Silver Wedding

by Maeve Binchy

  ‘Yes, you’re right, and I’m glad you reminded me because my father-in-law will be down on us all like a ton of bricks if we don’t get the presents going soon. Renata, should we get the children to line up now … or does somebody make an announcement. Or what?’

  In other years Joy East had arranged everything like clockwork. Renata had a look of relief all over her face. She had thought that there had been an insult, a jibe, but obviously since Frank didn’t see one, she had been wrong.

  ‘I think we should tell Papa that the time has come,’ she said and moved away towards her father.

  ‘I think we should all tell Papa that the time has come,’ Joy said to nobody in particular.

  Desmond Doyle and Nico Palazzo exchanged puzzled looks.

  ‘Joy, you must be tired after all that busy time at the packaging conference,’ Frank Quigley said loudly. ‘If you like I can run you home now before it all gets too exhausting here.’

  He saw the relief on a few faces around him, Mr Quigley was always the one to cope with the situation, any situation.

  His smile was hard and distant as he looked at Joy. It said in very definite terms that this was her one chance to get out of what she had walked them into. There wouldn’t be any other chances. His smile said that he was not afraid.

  Joy looked at him for a few seconds.

  ‘All right,’ she said, ‘let’s say I’m tired after the packaging conference, tired and very very emotional, and that I need to be taken home.’

  ‘Let’s say that then,’ Frank said easily. ‘Tell Renata to save me a nice boy present from Santa Claus,’ he called out. ‘I’ll be right back to collect it.’

  They looked at him in admiration as he led Miss East who was behaving most oddly out of the big hall and towards the car park.

  There was complete silence in the car, not one word spoken between them. At her door she handed him her small handbag and he took out the key. On the low glass table was a bottle of vodka with one third of it gone and some orange juice. A heap of unopened Christmas cards, and a small smart suitcase as if she was going on or had come back from a journey. With a shock he realized that she must not have unpacked her case after her trip to that conference.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked. It was the first word spoken.

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Mineral water?’

  ‘If you insist.’

  ‘I don’t insist, I couldn’t care less what you drink, but I wouldn’t give a dog any more alcohol than you’ve had already.’

  His voice was icy cold.

  Joy looked up at him from the chair where she had sat down immediately.

  ‘You hate drink because your father was such a drunk,’ she said.

  ‘You’re telling me what I told you. Have you any further insights or shall I go back to the party?’

  ‘You’d like to hit me but you can’t, because you saw your father beating your mother,’ she said, a crooked smile on her face.

  ‘Very good, Joy, well done.’ His hand was clenched, and he would like to have struck something, a chair, a wall even to get rid of the tension he felt.

  ‘I said nothing that wasn’t true. Nothing at all.’

  ‘No indeed, and you said it beautifully. I’m going now.’

  ‘You are not going, Frank, you are going to sit down and listen to me.’

  ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong. Since I did have a drunk for a father I am only too used to listening to drunks, it’s a useless exercise. They don’t remember anything next day. Try telephoning the speaking clock, tell it all to them, they love a good sob story from people with enough drink in them to float a navy.’

  ‘You have to listen, Frank, you have to know.’

  ‘Another time, a time when you can pronounce my name without stumbling over it.’

  ‘About the conference. I wasn’t there.’

  ‘So you said, you told me. A Scotsman, well well. Don’t tell me it’s preying on your mind?’

  ‘I wasn’t anywhere near it, I didn’t leave London.’

  Her voice was odd, she seemed to have sobered up a bit.

  ‘So?’ He was still poised to go.

  ‘I went to a nursing home.’ She paused. ‘To have an abortion.’

  He put his car keys in his pocket, and came back into the room.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Very sorry.’

  ‘You needn’t be.’ She didn’t look at him.

  ‘But why, how …?’

  ‘The pill didn’t suit me. I changed the type several times … but still …’

  ‘You should have told me …’ He was gentle now. Forgiving.

  ‘No, it was my decision.’

  ‘I know, I know. But still …’

  ‘And so I went to this place … very nice place actually, it’s a real nursing home for other things too, not just terminations as they call them …’ Her voice shook a little.

  He laid his hand over hers, the coldness was forgotten. ‘And was it very bad, was it awful?’ His eyes were full of concern.

  ‘No.’ Her face was bright and she smiled at him, a smile only a little lopsided. ‘No it wasn’t awful at all. Because when I went in there and went to my room, I sat and thought for a while, and I thought … Why am I doing this? Why am I getting rid of a human being? I would like another human being around me. I would like a son or a daughter. So I changed my mind. I told them I had decided not to go through with the termination. And I went to a hotel instead, for a couple of days, then I came back here.’

  He looked at her, stricken.

  ‘This can’t be true.’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s true. So now you see why you couldn’t just toddle off back to the party. You had to know. It was only fair that you should know. And know everything.’

  If he lived to be an old man, something that his doctor said was highly unlikely, Frank Quigley would never forget that moment. The day he learned he was going to be a father, but not the father of Renata’s child, not the father who would be congratulated and embraced by the Palazzo tribe. A father who would be ostracized and cut off from the life he had built for himself for a quarter of a century. He would never forget her face as she told him, knowing that for the first time in their very equal relationship she held all the cards. Knowing that drunken and upset and having broken all their rules she was still the one in charge. Because of biology which said that the women bore the children she was winning, and that was the only reason. Frank Quigley would not have been beaten by anything except the human reproductive system.

  He had played it just right, of course, at the time. He had telephoned back to base and said that Joy needed a bit of attention. He had sat down and talked to her, but his mind was in overdrive. His words were soothing and supportive, his real thoughts were taking a journey into the future.

  He allowed his real reactions only a moment’s indulgence while he relished the thought that he had fathered a child. If Carlo knew there would be a lot less of the chat about eating more red meat. If Carlo knew. Carlo must never know. And Renata would be hurt beyond repair. Not only at the infidelity, the knowledge that an affair had been going on under her very nose for years, but at the fact that this woman had produced a child, the one thing that Renata had failed to do.

  As he stroked Joy’s fevered forehead and assured her of loyalty and his great pleasure at the news and the way that things had turned out, Frank was working out logically and coldly what he must do next, what avenues were open to him.

  As he urged cups of weak tea and thinly sliced bread and butter on the weeping Joy, he listed the possibilities that lay ahead and the disadvantages of each one. When he found the one that had the least dangerous minefield attached to it that was where he would head.

  Joy could have the child and he would acknowledge that it was his. He would say that he did not intend to leave his marriage, but felt in fairness that the son or daughter should grow up knowing the care of a father. He considered this for seconds, only to dismiss it. />
  In a more liberated society this would work. But not with the Palazzos. Not for one minute.

  Suppose Joy were to say that she was having the child and that the identity of the father was to remain unknown, undiscussed? Again not something beyond the imaginings in the 1980s for a liberated woman. But again this was the world of Palazzo. It would be frowned upon, it would be speculated about, and worst of all if Joy were ever to hit the bottle again it would all be revealed.

  Suppose he were to deny paternity? Literally say that Joy was lying? He wondered why he had even considered this route. Joy was a woman he had intended to spend a great amount of time with, he didn’t only love her for the good sex they had, he loved her mind and her reactions to things. Frank asked himself why had this possibility crossed his mind. He had never thought of stabbing Carlo in the back and taking over the company. He had not decided to woo and win Renata only for her money and position. He was not that kind of bastard. So why even entertain the idea of turning his back on the woman who had been his lover for three years, the woman who was going to bear his child? He looked at her, slack-jawed and awkward in the chair. He realized with a shudder how much he feared drink and the effects of it. He knew that whatever happened now, he would never be able to trust Joy, or trust himself to her again.

  Suppose he were to persuade her to have the termination, for everyone’s sake? There were still two weeks in which it would be safe. Perhaps he could persuade her.

  But if he couldn’t then he risked a hysterical response. And if she were to go ahead and have the child knowing that he wanted it aborted, then things would be about as bad as they could ever be.

  Suppose he were to ask her to go away, to start a new life with a set of glowing references? Joy move away from London? Joy start life afresh with a small baby just to please Frank? It was unthinkable.

  Suppose he were to ask her to give the child to him. Suppose that he and Renata were to adopt this baby? The child would inherit the Palazzo millions. Everyone would be pleased. Frank and Renata had done the rounds of the adoption societies, at forty-six he was too old to be an adoptive father. Not a real father as it turned out, but then Nature was never known to be a great supporter of bureaucracy.

  But Joy had deliberately decided to have the child because she wanted another human being around her. She would not consider it. Or not now at any rate. Don’t dismiss it utterly. She might, later on in the pregnancy. It was unlikely yet not impossible.

  And then it would be adopting his own child. That would be very satisfying. In honesty he would have to tell Renata but they need not tell her family …

  Frank stroked the forehead, administered the cups of tea and thought his own thoughts as he consoled Joy East with murmurs and sounds that would never constitute any kind of promise or contract in the unlikely event of their being recalled.

  The weeks had passed somehow. The bad behaviour at the Christmas party was hardly commented upon, Frank was as usual congratulated for having as usual averted any little silliness. Joy was back at work head high in the new year, plans and ideas tripping out of her. There were no recurrences of drinking. Also there were no lazy afternoons by her fireside.

  They met for a lunch early in the new year, Frank had said in front of several of the managers that the place was lacking in anything new. What it needed in these days after Christmas was some pizzazz. He would take Joy East out to lunch and have a brainstorming session, he said. Women always loved a business lunch, and he wouldn’t mind one himself. They went to the best restaurant where they were bound to be seen.

  She sipped her Slimline Tonic and he drained his tomato juice.

  ‘An expense-account lunch is wasted on us.’ Joy smiled at him.

  ‘As you told me that time, I’m a drunk’s son, I’m afraid of drink,’ he said.

  ‘Did I say that? I don’t really remember all the things I said that day. Is that why you don’t come to me in the afternoons?’

  ‘No it’s not that,’ he said.

  ‘Well why not? I mean there’s no need for any precautions now, it would be like bolting the stable after the horse had fled … we should get value …’ Her smile was warm and welcoming. Like the old Joy.

  ‘It might be bad for you, they say it’s not good at this stage of the pregnancy,’ he said.

  She smiled, pleased that he was caring. ‘But you could come and talk to me anyway, couldn’t you? I’ve waited a lot of afternoons.’

  That was true, she had kept her word about not contacting him. Ever.

  ‘We do have to talk,’ he said.

  ‘So, why are we trying to talk in a restaurant where everyone sees us? Those women over there, they’re in-laws of Nico Palazzo. They haven’t had their eyes off us since we came in.’

  ‘We will be seen in public for the rest of our lives, this is exactly where we must discuss how our lives will continue. If we go to your house we slip into the old ways, we’re back in the days when we only had ourselves to consider.’ His voice was calm. But she seemed to sense his anxiety.

  ‘You mean you wanted a get-away car and witnesses if I’m going to tell you anything unpalatable. Is that it?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Joy.’

  ‘No I’m not being silly, you’re trying to get out of it, aren’t you? You’re actually scared to death.’

  ‘That’s not so, and stop smiling that smile that isn’t a real smile. It’s a paper-thin smile you put on for customers and contacts. It’s not genuine.’

  ‘And what was ever genuine about your smile, Frank? Did you not know, your smile never reached your eyes, never. It stopped always around the mouth.’

  ‘Why are we talking like this?’ he asked.

  ‘Because you are full of fear, I can smell it,’ she said.

  ‘What’s turned you against me, did I say anything?’ He spread his hand out in wonder.

  ‘You don’t need to make those Italian gestures at me, I’m not a Palazzo. What did you say? I’ll tell you what you said, you said we should sit down in a public place and make decisions about the rest of our lives. You forget that I know you, Frank, you forget that you and I know when you meet an adversary the first rule is to meet him on common ground, not your territory or his. You’re doing that. We both know that if there’s a danger of a row the rule is: make sure the meeting is held in a public place. It stops people making scenes.’

  ‘Are you feeling all right, Joy? Seriously?’

  ‘It won’t necessarily work, you know, drunk or sober, at home or out I could make a scene if I wanted to.’ She looked mulish.

  ‘Of course you could, what is this? We’re friends you and I, where’s the hostility?’

  ‘We are not friends, we are fencing with each other, we are playing games, looking for the advantage …’

  ‘Well then, if that’s all we are, what on earth are we having a child together for?’

  ‘We’re not having a child together,’ Joy East said, ‘I am having a child.’

  There was a look of triumph on her face like he had only seen when she had beaten a rival, won an award or somehow got her way against all the odds.

  It was then he knew that she intended him to dangle there, forever watching his step, forever in her power. It was her child, and her decision, but only for as long as it suited her. She was never going to promise him either secrecy or involvement. Her plan was that he should never know. That he would be for ever tied to her.

  Frank Quigley had come across schemes like this before, the supplier who had bought up the market but hadn’t told you. He would want you to advertise the produce and then suddenly could raise the price because you were committed. Frank had dealt with that one in his time. Someone had tried it on him, but only once. Frank had smiled and said there was no way he was going to pay more than the agreed price for the product. But wouldn’t they look foolish, the man had said, having spent all that money advertising it and then having to admit they didn’t have it? No, not at all. Frank had smiled back with e
asy charm. They would just take another advertisement apologizing that the suppliers had proved unreliable. Everyone would think well of Palazzo for their honesty, the suppliers would be ruined. It had been so simple. But then it had only involved fruit, it hadn’t involved a child.

  He had brought into play every available ounce of charm that he possessed, and limp as a wet rag at the end of the lunch he congratulated himself that they were at least speaking normally on the surface.

  They talked about the company. Twice he made her laugh, real laughter, head thrown back and pealing with mirth. The two women that she had said were Nico’s in-laws looked over with interest. But there was nothing for them to take home with them as gossip, this was the most innocent lunch in the history of the world. Otherwise it would not have been here and in full view of everyone.

  He had told her about his Christmas and then she told him about hers. She had gone to stay with friends in Sussex. In a big family home where she had been before, full of children, she said.

  ‘Did you tell them?’ he asked. He felt the conversation must not be allowed to wander too far from what they were both thinking about lest he be labelled callous.

  ‘Tell them what?’ she asked.

  ‘About the baby?’

  ‘Whose baby?’

  ‘Your baby. Our baby if you like but basically, as you said, your baby.’

  Joy gave a little purr of satisfaction. It was almost as if she were saying: That’s better. That’s more like it.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not telling anyone until I’ve decided what to do.’

  And then there was no more. They spoke as they always had about plans and schemes, and the inadvisability of letting Nico know anything at all that was taking place. The wisdom of Palazzo’s buying the new site in that area which was meant to be coming up – Joy was afraid it was coming up too fast. The big houses were changing hands for a lot of money and then even more money needed to be spent on them to make them smart. That kind of people would shop in fancy delicatessens or even go in to Harrod’s, she felt, Palazzo’s would be wiser to aim for somewhere less ambitious, somewhere where you could get a huge car park. That’s the way things were going now.