The Merciless Ladies

by Winston Graham

‘So I’m going to be a creative artist in a way I hadn’t bargained for. Perhaps Daddy’s mathematics may yet come in useful for adding up the grocer’s bill.’

  III

  A few days later, moth to flame, I telephoned Olive.

  ‘This is Bill. I thought I’d ring.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Sorry about our last meeting. Afraid I was rude.’

  ‘Should I expect anything else?’

  ‘Well, you were a little provoking.’

  ‘Flint to tinder, eh?’

  ‘Yes … But I’ve come to the conclusion that squabbling like that is a fairly sterile occupation. It gets us nowhere.’

  ‘D’you think we ought to get somewhere?’

  ‘Not in those insinuating terms. But I miss you when I don’t see you … and it seems a pity.’

  ‘For whom?’

  ‘Well, doesn’t it? We’re closer in a way than many people who don’t fight. And if we agreed to cut that out.’

  ‘Could we?’

  ‘Once in a while, I think. How about trying?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Have dinner with me sometime.’

  A slight metallic laugh. ‘Where?’

  ‘The Savoy.’

  ‘Can you afford it?’ ‘How abont Monday?’ ‘Sorry. Can’t.’ ‘Tuesday?.’ ‘All right … On one condition … that you don’t mention Paul.’ I made a face at the receiver. ‘Agreed.’ ‘What time?’ ‘I’ll call for you at seven-thirty.’ ‘All right. Thanks.’ She rang off.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The older one gets, the further one moves from the events to be told, the more reluctant one becomes, when the memories are painful, to disturb them, to give them the benefit of an extra life by setting them down for others to see. It’s like showing some stranger round your house and into a room not opened for years. You draw back the curtains, dust drifts in the pale sunlight and shows up long-remembered yet half-forgotten furniture. The eye of the memory catches sight of so much better left unseen.

  I should like to make it clear that I went to meet Olive that evening with no plan of any sort in mind. None at all. I did not at the time closely analyse my motives for going, and in retrospect it’s impossible to define them without confusing the intention with the outcome.

  The evening was bright and fine with the first thin freckle of autumn frost on the pavements. Tyres left faint marks on the delicately powdered roads. My car was having its first service, so I took a cab. She was wearing an azure velvet dinner frock with sleeves to the elbow and a low square neck. Over it was a mink bolero. She congratulated me on finding her with a night free this week: if it had not been tonight it could not have been for twelve days. I accepted this remark in a fittingly humble spirit and took her to dinner.

  I set out to please her, and under the effects of the food and the wine she began to thaw. She frequently smiled at my remarks as well as expecting me to defer to her own. I watched the small bright teeth, the small pointed eye-teeth, disappearing behind precise firm lips, the vivid painted little face changing its contours. Except when smiling she looked so much older, so much more like her mother. Some of the bloom had gone already – she was only thirty-one – but the more I watched her the more sure I was that it was not physical ill-health. Much more probably what in those days used to be called neurasthenia. The old corrosive element of self-absorption.

  We had a cockrail first, a half-bottle of Puligny Montrachet, a bottle of Volnay ’25, and Cointreau with the coffee. As we sipped the last I said: ‘ Where now?’

  ‘Now? Home, I suppose. D’you want to go on?’

  ‘It’s early yet. You must know more night clubs than I do.’

  ‘There’s ‘‘The 77”. And ‘‘The Blue Peter’’ which isn’t far from where I live. There’s ‘‘The Hungaria’’.’

  ‘Let’s try ‘‘The Blue Peter”. I’ve heard of it but haven’t been. Are you a member?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked at her watch. ‘But it’s early yet. The place doesn’t get going till midnight. I suppose we could dance here … Or have a drink at my flat?’

  I nodded. ‘Let’s do that.’

  As we got into a taxi I said: ‘What did you decide to do about Maud?’

  Olive laughed. ‘She’s leaving next week.’

  ‘So she was stealing things?’

  ‘I never caught her out. But I’m tired of her. She knows me too well. Anyhow I can’t afford her now.’

  ‘Poor Maud.’

  ‘Poor Olive. I can’t even keep the flat, so that’s going too.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Ah. That’s a surprise. I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘Is Maud in tonight?’

  ‘She’s out till midnight. She’s really taking it hard. You never liked her, did you?’

  ‘I don’t fancy women with acne.’

  She laughed again. She was not drunk but she was more easy and friendly in her manner than I had ever known her – except perhaps in the very early days before she married Paul.

  ‘She hates my guts, really. I believe she had a thing for me – wanted to keep me all for herself. One of those women. Now she feels she’s being turned off without a thought and all her love has changed to jealousy.’

  It was about ten-thirty when we reached the flat. By then ideas were moving in my head – or perhaps they were responding to physical impulses. At this distance I can’t be sure. When we got in she threw off her bolero and went over to put on a record.

  ‘Get you a drink?’ I said.

  ‘Please. Brandy. D’you know, stupid Bill, I feel better than I’ve done for ages. Perhaps, if you can only keep off the forbidden subject, you are good for me.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  We drank and danced. I knew then, if I wanted her …

  We sat for a bit, sipping brandy. I leaned over and kissed her gently, experimentally. She didn’t resist.

  She said: ‘I’ll tell you sometime. I’m sure it’ll amuse you – if it doesn’t infuriate you. Will it infuriate you? I expect so. So I’ll say nothing now.’

  ‘You can’t’, I said. ‘Not after that!’

  ‘I’ll do what I damn well please!’

  I kissed her again. ‘Give.’

  She licked her lips. ‘ Perhaps ‘‘The Blue Peter’’ isn’t such a good idea after all.’

  ‘Carried without a vote. What were you going to say?’

  ‘Nothing. Not now.’

  ‘Is Maud ever back early?’

  She laughed. ‘Never.’

  I looked at the clock. ‘So we’ve rather more than an hour.’

  ‘All of that. Can you keep me interested?’

  I kept her interested.

  An odd thing about love-making is that it unlocks the tongue. Or perhaps it isn’t odd. And perhaps love-making is an old-fashioned expression – anyhow for what happened between Olive and me. In spite of her obvious sexuality, there was something spinsterish about her which resisted self-surrender until almost too late. But when it came, there were no restraints then.

  And when it was all over, although her cool wits and sharp tongue were soon in evidence, they were not for a while in such control. And of course we had drunk quite a bit.

  ‘Did I spit at you?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Well, you smacked my face.’

  ‘A love tap.’

  ‘The old male assertion, you bastard. But I must say it’s better that way – fighting.’

  ‘Do you behave so with your other lovers?’

  ‘I haven’t any – as you know damned well.’

  ‘Oh, come. With all your social life, there must be occasions which lead invitingly up the stairs.’

  ‘My social life! … What sort of social life d’you think I really have? Did you really fall for that hokum of tonight being my only free night in two weeks?’

  ‘Then why say so?’

  ‘To impress you, I suppose.’

  ‘To impress me?
You don’t need to do that. Anyway, you must be in great demand.’

  ‘Demand!’ she said vehemently. ‘D’you know any single divorced woman who’s greatly in demand? Do you? Not in this society, not with half the men killed in the war! It’s all right for a man – there’s always room for him – the odd one at the dinner table, someone to make up numbers for a weekend. How often does a woman get an invitation like that?’

  ‘You have friends—’

  ‘Of course we had friends! But those who didn’t take Paul’s side, well, they asked me out a few times and then conveniently forgot about it. There’s no room for a single woman in this society! You’re just an odd one out, a left-over, a has-been …’

  ‘At your age, with your looks?’

  ‘Of course I could have a life of a sort, if I were prepared to be a tart. There are always men looking out for that. But as for marriage … Oh, I know I’m pretty and still fairly young … but d’you think I get worthwhile offers every week? Or every quarter? Or every year? Even if I were willing to consider any of them.’

  ‘You did with Peter Sharble.’

  Her eyes went hard. ‘Men are such suckers for flattery, for appeals to their protective nature. Although they’d deny it, most of them don’t really want an equal – they want a little woman they can keep at home and patronize … Peter was bright enough – we could have made something of life together – but he chose to fall for that little creep he met on the cruise … I often wonder if Paul poisoned his mind against me.’

  ‘Paul? Whatever d’you mean?’

  ‘Peter was a member of the Hanover. No doubt they met and talked.’

  ‘You can set your mind at rest on that! Paul was only anxious to get a divorce. Sharble was his one chance. He wouldn’t have been such a fool.’

  She glanced at the clock. ‘ Maybe. But after the divorce …’

  ‘It’s not like you to think so unclearly. If you’d married Sharble Paul would have been free of alimony. That’s the thing he wanted most – wants most now in all the world.’

  She sighed. ‘So we’re back on the forbidden topic, aren’t we? My fault this time, was it? Bill …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t feel like ‘‘The Blue Peter’’ now. It’s time you went.’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘God, you’re good for me! Pity we couldn’t marry … But it would be hell in a week.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But once in a while like this.’

  I moved to get up. ‘ Olive, what were you going to tell me before this happened?’

  ‘Oh … that.’ Her eyes grew amused. ‘Guess.’

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘It’ll bring up the verboten subject.’

  ‘Does it matter now?’

  ‘It matters that it’s twenty to twelve. Buck up.’

  She gave me a push.

  ‘When you’ve told me.’

  ‘Well … you know I’m leaving this flat – can’t afford it. The expense is crippling. I’m going to be able to afford precious little. My mother hasn’t much to spare … So I’ve taken a house – a small house – guess where.’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Cumberland. I’m going to paint there. Seeking freedom for my artistic soul.’

  I peered at her. ‘Rubbish. I don’t believe you … Where in Cumberland?’

  ‘Place called Crichton Beck.’

  I licked my lips. ‘ Near Paul?’

  ‘Why not? Two can play at the same game. I’ve taken a little four-roomed house that’s been empty for some time. The owner is having it repainted and decorated. The rent is peanuts – unbelievable.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘You’d die of boredom, Olive.’

  ‘D’you think I don’t sometimes nearly die of boredom here? There’s nowhere lonelier than London. Can you imagine me in a bed-sitter? Not damned likely. Anyway, I’ve only taken it for a year. Apparently it’s very close to Paul and his little lame duck, so I shall be able to keep an eye on them. Call round to borrow milk or a pinch of tea. Drop in and see his latest painting. Sure he’ll be glad of my advice. If I get on his nerves he can always decide to pay up and get me something better in London.’

  I still stared at her. You don’t really mean this, Olive.’

  She moistened her lips and gave a little smile. You see if I don’t.’

  I lay back, thinking of it all. I thought a lot. This was the last straw. I began to think of Mr Rosse. I thought of a dum casta clause. Wise Mr Rosse. An hour ago I had speculated as to what would come of the evening. I hadn’t supposed this.

  ‘Go on’, she said. ‘We don’t want Maud to catch us.’

  ‘Is she usually prompt?’ I asked cautiously, thinking all round it.

  ‘I’m often asleep. But more often than not it’s about twelve-thirty when I hear her key.’

  ‘Oh, there’s plenty of time, then.’

  ‘We can’t be certain. Her stupid sister may have toothache or something.’

  I moistened my own lips. ‘But she doesn’t come in here when she comes home surely?’

  ‘Oh, yes, she does! Puts her head round the door to see if I’m asleep or want anything. Wouldn’t be Maud if she didn’t. Me, the ewe lamb.’

  I sighed. ‘You’ll miss her.’

  ‘Oh, God, yes in a way. But now I want to miss you.’

  I listened to the ticking of the clock.

  I said: ‘ I’d like to stay the night.’

  She stared. ‘Well, you can’t! Don’t be utterly ridiculous.’

  ‘D’you think she’d notice if the light was out?’

  ‘Of course she’d notice! Bill, don’t be damned silly. It’s ten to twelve. Get dressed!’

  ‘All right’, I said. ‘On one condition.’

  ‘What are you talking about? I don’t make conditions! What condition?’

  ‘That you don’t go and live in Cumberland.’

  There was quite along silence. She sat up very slowly and I watched her naked back disappear into a white knitted jumper.

  ‘Get out!’ she said.

  ‘Olive, I don’t want tonight to end in a free-for-all. Believe me. It’s been – good. But I’m making a condition about leaving, and I mean to stick to it.’

  She pulled on a skirt and stood up.

  ‘Get out!’

  I said: ‘ Control yourself. You won’t get me out by force. I’m stronger than you – as you know … If you go up and live as Paul’s neighbour you’ll drive him out of his mind! Or certainly you’ll ruin his work. You can only be doing this out of pure malice. Forget it! Let me pay you something. I can let you have two hundred and fifty a year. That, with what you’re getting now, will maybe enable you to keep this flat. At least you can live a decent life in London. We can – perhaps – have other evenings like this.’

  She said: ‘ Has the whole thing been a trick? Just to get me in this situation so that Maud will come home and find us, and then …’ She glared. ‘There’s some clause, isn’t there, about the wife? By prying on the wife the husband can prove she’s immoral and save his maintenance. That’s it, isn’t it? Did Paul put you up to it?’

  ‘D’you think if it had been a put-up job from the start it would have happened between us as it’s happened tonight? Don’t be a fool!’

  ‘You’re the fool’, she said, ‘supposing Maud will tell on me.’

  ‘We’ll have to see, won’t we.’

  She glared at me again, her puckish face looking like the Devil.

  ‘Get out!’

  ‘No …’ I shook my head at her.

  Her hands clutched and unclutched. She stared again, and then swung on her heel, padded like a fury to her dressing-table, wrenched open a drawer, fumbled, took something out, came back. She pointed a revolver at me.

  ‘Now go!’

  I put my hand slowly on the side of the bed, needing stability.

  ‘Where the hell did you get that?’

  ‘I bought it after the divorce. To
defend myself against unwelcome intruders. London is becoming lawless. Well, you’re an unwelcome intruder. Now go.’

  I looked into a little round hole, no bigger than a sixpence, from which, presumably, death or injury in the form of a small lead bullet could emerge. Her hand was trembling. Suddenly everything was out of hand. Life, ordinary life, goes on, and then the skin breaks. Clearly she didn’t mean it. Clearly the thing was not loaded. And yet …

  ‘Olive’, I said. ‘Don’t be quite such an idiot.’

  ‘I give you two minutes to get dressed.’

  I couldn’t tell whether the safety catch was down. I saw her thumb moving on the little revolver and thought she was cocking it.

  ‘Really’, I said, ‘ does one have to be so melodramatic? Don’t we have any common ground between loving and killing? Listen—’

  ‘Get dressed’, she said.

  ‘What time is it? It’s scarcely twelve yet.’

  She glanced at the clock, and as she turned her head I jumped her. It was an insane thing to do, of course; but hers had been the first hysterical move. Neither of us perhaps was sober. My own move was a compound of lust (still) and hate. Perhaps it was not only hatred of her. Knowing her body and its soft firmness inside the knitted jumper and the disarrayed skirt; seeing the bitter rancour in her eyes; it was suddenly necessary to subdue them both. Also for the over-all intent. If her malice was going to those lengths I would stop it now. And enjoy stopping it. Calling her bluff.

  So I called her bluff.

  III

  There might have been a moment when she could have pulled the trigger, but in the two seconds of hesitation my hands were on her right hand, clutching it so tight that her fingers were jammed. She hit me in the face with her left hand, jarring my teeth; we fell together across the bed; I wrenched at the revolver but she would not let go. She raked my right forearm with her long nails; blood began to start; I released my left hand in time to catch hers as it went for my eyes. We rolled again and the gun went off.

  I had no pain, no sense of injury or loss. She was obviously aware that something terrible had happened because she relaxed her grip and was watching me. I could feel the warm blood on my leg. Still there was no pain. She sighed and said: ‘Damn you.’