She nods once and he closes the door, legs it across the yard and back inside.
34
SHE OPENED THE door and, blinking in the brightness, walked round to the front of the Wild Man. A long pretty pub, Suffolk pink, with window boxes of white geraniums and pansies. Rather a pleasant place. With the brandy and the lingering effects of last night’s Veronal, she felt daring, detached, almost peaceful, as she adjusted her hat and stepped inside. The place was certainly a cut about the Crown, clean and cheerful with bright yellow paint and gleaming brass.
From behind the bar, Vincent nodded expressionlessly towards a portly man in a garish striped blazer, puffing away at his pipe. ‘Act the damsel in distress,’ he’d told her earlier. ‘He’ll be eating out of your hand in no time, you watch.’
And so she approached the man. One or two people looked up. Unusual for a woman of her class to enter a public bar alone, that’s all it was. No one knew her – she glanced around to make sure. Just a couple of old men yarning away and a corner full of wounded veterans playing cards and dominos. The landlady was chatting with them, laughing about something. She was a gaudy, big-beamed common type, rouged and powdered. Vincent’s landlady? Really?
Clem stood close beside the man, who turned at once, eyes flicking down her body. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘I’m in rather a predicament. I wonder if perhaps you might help?’
‘Well, well,’ he said, puffing at his pipe, regarding her through baggy eyes as he let out the smoke. ‘Never let it be said that Teddy Chamberlain failed a damsel in distress. What’s the problem?’
She pressed her lips together to stop the laugh that tried to bubble up. How oddly easy this was! ‘Well, you see,’ she said, ‘someone dropped me off and we had a disagreement and now he’s driven away.’
He guffawed. ‘Driven away! Left you high and dry, has he?’
She looked ruefully at him through her lashes.
‘Allow me to buy you a drink?’ he said.
‘Oh, that would be so kind of you. Mr Chamberlain, is it? I’ve had to walk for simply miles.’
‘Teddy to my friends.’
‘Anna Chance,’ said Clem. She’d chosen the name as she sat waiting in the outhouse.
‘Delighted, Miss Chance. Anna, if I may?’ He took her hand in his plump, moist one and squeezed as he gestured to the landlady, but it was Vincent who came to serve them, almost barging the landlady out of the way.
‘What can I get you?’
‘The usual for moi, and for the lady?’
‘A lemonade would be simply divine.’ She was beginning to enjoy herself.
‘This cad who left you stranded . . .’ began Mr Chamberlain.
‘Not really a cad – my brother.’ This she had not planned to say, should not have said, bringing poor dear Ralph to her mind as it did. But no: concentrate. Stay here. Get through this.
‘Some brother!’ said Mr Chamberlain.
Clem blinked. ‘He hasn’t been the same since . . . well, he came back from France in one piece, thank heavens,’ she improvised, ‘but his mind . . . He forgets things, you see. He stopped the car for me to jump out and open a farm gate and then simply drove off. So I’m quite stranded.’
‘Thought you said you’d quarrelled?’ He scratched his chin.
‘Well, naturally, we’re always quarrelling! Cat and dog.’
He let his eyes rest on her lips, slid them once more down her body. ‘Don’t you worry, dearie,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a nice little drink together and then we’ll see if I can’t drive you home.’
‘Oh, would you really? How simply saintly,’ she said, wondering if she might be going too far.
But he didn’t seem to think so. ‘Take a pew.’ He patted the high stool beside him and she obeyed. ‘So where am I taking you, Anna? Pretty name. Palindrome.’
‘Oh yes!’ She was surprised one of his ilk should have the wit to think such a thing – and immediately ashamed of her snobbishness. Feeling Vincent’s scrutiny, she kept her smile going unnaturally long. ‘Felixstowe.’
‘Nice town, first-class resort,’ he said ruminatively. ‘Used to go to the shows at the Pavilion before the war. Marvellous spectacle. And to bathe when I was a nipper. In a rush, are you?’
‘Well, I shouldn’t like to be too late. My brother will be home by now, you see, and they’ll all be wondering what’s become of me.’
The landlady was giving her an abrasive look, and from behind her smirked Vincent, evidently pleased with her performance.
‘What do you do for a living, Mr Chamberlain?’ Clem asked.
‘Teddy, I insist. We’re all friends here.’
‘Teddy.’ She made herself look at his brassy moustache, his salami-mottled cheeks, his watery blue eyes.
‘I’m in motors,’ he began, and as he talked exhaustively about the trade, she kept gazing at him, wondering how long she must continue. Was it going to be enough, this devoted gazing?
The landlady had come to stand nearby, polishing glasses, quite clearly eavesdropping. Clem risked a glance at Vincent, who gave a single encouraging nod and got on with mixing a drink.
‘Mrs Pepper, Miss Chance.’ Mr Chamberlain broke off quite suddenly to do his introduction.
‘Delighted,’ said Clem, smiling at the older woman who returned the smile, but tightly.
‘Good evening.’
‘Isn’t it a heavenly evening?’ Clem said, and watched dents darken between Mrs Pepper’s eyes. She’d applied too much colour to her brows and cheeks, but her face was kindly, actually rather lovely. ‘Mr Chamberlain . . . sorry, Ted’ – Clem smiled at him coquettishly – ‘has come to my rescue. Isn’t he a brick? He’s going to drive me home.’
‘Is he indeed?’
‘Don’t you worry, my dear. I’ll be back,’ he said as Mrs Pepper turned away, plucking empty glasses from a table.
Mr Chamberlain was relighting his pipe. ‘You don’t mind?’ he said, lifting it in her direction.
‘Oh no, I adore the smell of pipe smoke,’ she said, and that set him off on a diatribe about types of tobacco, and the superiority, in his consideration, of Granger Rough Cut, which really was, he guffawed throatily, ‘a cut above’.
‘I don’t suppose you might have a cigarette?’ she asked.
‘Funnily enough, I do,’ he said. ‘I like a gasper for a change.’
She took her holder from her bag and leaned close as he lit the cigarette, steadying herself with a hand lightly on his arm, which seemed to quiver at her touch. But at the first inhalation she felt dizzy, reminded of her condition, and she held it away from her.
Mr Fortune had been right. This wasn’t difficult. All she had to do was look at him, simper a bit, say, yes, yes, oh, really? Mr Chamberlain was playing along almost as if conscious of the charade, which seemed to be working in so far as it was making the landlady cross, but which might, she reflected, actually work in his favour and backfire entirely on Vincent.
‘Well, let’s get you home then,’ said Mr Chamberlain at last, hauling himself off the stool and straightening his jacket.
‘Too kind of you,’ she said.
‘Just one moment,’ said Mr Chamberlain as they reached the door. He went back to speak to Mrs Pepper but she pointedly struck up a conversation with someone else and ignored him. Clem caught Vincent’s eye and a corner of his mouth quirked upwards. Soon be over, soon be over. She felt in her pocket for her rings . . . there was her wedding band but she couldn’t feel the engagement ring. Her gloved fingers scrabbled; she tried her other pocket, and then began to delve in her bag.
‘Come along then,’ said Mr Chamberlain. Still rummaging in her bag, she followed him outside.
‘Here she is,’ he said, sweeping a hand in the direction of his motor, a shiny red and black vehicle with its soft top rolled down. ‘Four cylinders,’ he was saying, patting the car proprietorially, ‘nippy little girl, forty miles per hour . . .’
Must have dropped it in the outhouse! She could not pos
sibly go home without her ring. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I must . . .’ What, what? ‘Something I need . . .’ And she fled round the side of the pub, across the yard to the outhouse. Only as she flung open the door did she realise that he was behind her.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘Like that, is it? Well, this is a turn-up for the books!’ He pushed her inside, one hand drawing her against him as he elbowed shut the door.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, you misunderstand. I’ve lost something.’
His moustache was damp on the back of her neck. ‘Get off,’ she said and twisted away, catching sight of a glint under the chair as she turned. She crouched down, reached under the chair and grabbed the ring.
He was leaning against the door. ‘However did you lose something in here?’ he said slowly. ‘Thought you came in from the road?’
She could think of no plausible explanation, she could think of absolutely nothing. Lemonade, bitterly mixed with bile, rose in the back of her throat.
‘I do believe you’ve been playing me,’ he murmured, ‘and now here we are. Look at us, alone in a dark place – what should we do? I’m not short of a bob or two if that’s your game.’ He lunged at her and she thumped her fist into his belly but he only laughed. ‘No little tart gets the better of me.’
As his hand went down to lift her skirt, she brought her knee violently up between his legs. With a groan he let her go and crumpled to the ground. She pulled open the door and ran out, but what could she do, dishevelled as she was? She would have to go back into the bar, get Vincent out to deal with this. She straightened her clothes, her hat, and took off her left glove to restore her rings. She’d simply have to walk back in and ask Vincent to take her to Felixstowe, or to telephone for a cab.
Vincent emerged round the side of the building. ‘What the hell?’ he was saying. ‘What’s happened? His car’s still there. What’s up? Where is he?’
Clem nodded at the outhouse. Vince stood motionless, staring at Clem, before he went to open the door.
Mr Chamberlain was staggering to his feet. ‘Fortune,’ he grunted. ‘Help me up, will you? That mad bitch . . .’
Clem cast around. Should she begin to walk, simply walk away? But it was miles.
Vincent had helped Mr Chamberlain out and now he stood, bent over, hands on knees, panting.
‘Let’s get you back inside,’ Vincent said. ‘A brandy on the house.’ He shook his head at Clem, glaring questioningly.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mouthed, grimacing.
In answer Vincent threw his hands apart, and Clem winced, realising that Mr Chamberlain had witnessed this communication. Slowly the man stood upright, restored his hat, looking from one to the other. His skin had gone a peculiar chalk blue and his jaunty jacket was soiled.
‘I see,’ he said.
‘Brandy on the house,’ Vincent repeated. ‘A double, do you?’
‘Think I’m beginning to get the picture—’
‘I’m sorry,’ Clem said to Vincent, ‘but he tried to—’
‘Shut up,’ snapped Vincent.
‘A nice little plot cooked up between the two of you, eh?’ said Mr Chamberlain. ‘What’s the game, eh? Now, let me see . . . get this little tart to chat me up in front of Doll?’
‘Show you up in your true colours,’ said Vincent. ‘And it did, didn’t it?’
‘He tried to . . . molest me,’ Clem said.
‘You led me in there, you fucking tease.’ Spittle flew from Mr Chamberlain’s mouth.
‘I didn’t,’ said Clem to Vincent. ‘I didn’t mean him to follow.’
Vincent was opening and closing his fists. ‘Come on, Ted,’ he said at last. ‘Let me buy you a drink and then I’ll take this . . . lady home.’
‘Please,’ said Clem.
‘Doll’s sorry for you, you do know that?’ Mr Chamberlain said slowly, eyeing Vincent. ‘If you could be a fly on the wall during some of our little tête-à-têtes.’
Vincent stood motionless, hands hanging loosely at his sides, as Chamberlain continued. ‘I’ve said to her often, Doll, I’ve said, why don’t you send him packing? Sponging off you, putting the customers off their drinks.’
Vincent moved not a muscle.
‘That’s enough,’ Clem said weakly.
‘Ugly tin mug. Christ, who wants to be faced with that when they come out for a pint?’
He began backing away from the dangerous stillness of Vincent, but seemed unable to stop himself blurting. ‘But she’s soft as putty, isn’t she? She says, “Oh, I haven’t the heart. Wait till he’s got a job. He’s making himself quite useful about the place in the meantime.” The hash you made of that decorating! Hopping mad she was!’
Vincent stepped forward, drew back his fist and aimed a cracking punch at Mr Chamberlain’s jaw. The man clamped his hand against it but didn’t seem able to stop. ‘You at the Naze!’ he crowed. ‘Thought you’d sweep her off her feet, did you? You know what she said? She said, “You come along too, Teddy. I shan’t be able to bear him, the creepy way he looks at me.” ’
Vincent smashed his fist into Mr Chamberlain’s face again, and this time he fought back and the two of them fell, heavy and grunting, to wrestle on the ground.
There was nothing else for it. Clem ran back into the pub. Mrs Pepper looked up, puzzled. ‘Come quickly,’ Clem said. ‘There’s a fight. You must come.’
‘Just a tick, dear,’ Doll said to the man she’d been talking to, and hurried outside with Clem.
‘Pack it in, the pair of you!’ she shouted when she saw the two men tangling on the ground. ‘Good God in heaven, what’s going on?’
Vincent was on top. His tin eye had slid round the side of his head to reveal the awful angry landscape. Mr Chamberlain was bleeding from the nose.
‘I shall throw a bucket of water over the pair of you,’ shrieked Doll.
Vincent pulled away, got up, stood with his back to them adjusting his face. His breath was coming hard; you could see his ribs expanding and contracting, the ridges of his vertebrae even through his shirt. A couple of men had come out and were making their way across. ‘Everything all right, Doll? Need a hand?’
‘Show’s over,’ said Mrs Pepper. ‘Go back inside.’
‘Help me, Doll,’ said Mr Chamberlain, and, throwing a filthy look at Vincent and Clem, Doll took Mr Chamberlain’s arm and escorted him back inside the pub.
Clem shut her eyes for the ride to Felixstowe, feeling the sweet summer air whip against her face, cool on her silk-stockinged shins. She went with the swaying, deep to the left, deep to the right, as the engine roared; twice as fast it seemed as on the earlier journey and she clung on tight, arms round Vincent’s waist, cheek pressed against his back.
Eventually he stopped and she opened her eyes. They were at the top of the Spa Gardens. Still light, of course, nearly the longest day. The sea sparkled pinkly opalescent; the trees and bushes were beginning to gather darkness between their leaves.
‘Well,’ Vincent said. His specs were bent and the eye sat askew, some of the scar visible. His mouth was a flat, grim line.
‘I must sit down,’ she said and, with unsteady legs, went to the nearest bench. Stiffly he sat beside her.
A man with a white cane tapped past. ‘Evening,’ he said, sensing their presence.
‘Good evening,’ Clem said, Vincent not a word.
‘So?’ he said after an uncomfortable few moments.
‘I did my best,’ Clem began and she explained what had happened. He listened, lips pressed together, cradling his right hand, knuckles bruised and swollen, in his left. ‘I’m sorry,’ she finished, ‘but he would have—’
‘All right. I get it.’
They sat in silence. Swallows were swooping and there was the seaside smell of petals and salt; the breeze from the sea was getting up and she shivered. Vincent, who had been gazing out to sea as she spoke, turned to look at her. He held his hand against his prosthesis, trying to make it straight. ‘You all right then?’
‘Well, I . . . stopped him.’
Astonishing her, Vincent sniggered. ‘You stopped him all right. He wants stopping. He wants stopping once and for all.’ His voice was raw and harsh, increasing her shiveriness. Were they swallows or bats?
‘So, it’s over?’ said Clem.
He was silent. Distantly you could hear the shushing of the sea, or perhaps it was the breeze in the shrubbery.
‘I’m sorry it went wrong,’ she said, and she meant it. She did feel sorry, sorry for this man with his ludicrous scheme, this poor, poor soul. She felt an instinct to touch him before she left, to kiss his cheek, but she refrained, stepped back. After all, one doesn’t want to risk encouragement.
‘Time I went,’ Clem said. ‘I’m staying with a friend, and she’ll be wondering . . .’
‘Want a lift?’
‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s not far. I’ll be perfectly all right. Goodbye, Vincent.’ And she stood and walked away.
35
WHEN CLEM WENT down to the kitchen in the morning there stood Gwen in paisley dressing gown and Turkish slippers, burning toast. The reek of it caught in Clem’s throat. The kitchen table was a sprawl of newspapers, books, pamphlets, letters, an overflowing ashtray, a box of flea powder. How typical of Gwen to shun a char and do – or not do – for herself. Captain, flopped on his side on an army blanket, took up half the floor, adding his doggy smell to the infusion.
‘Morning.’ Gwen blinked at her. ‘Feeling better? Sleep?’
Clem nodded though she hadn’t slept for more than a few moments at a time, heartbeat scattering wildly as the farcical events of the evening played over and over in her mind, making her cringe, almost laugh, squirm. Poor Vincent. But as long as it was over, as long as it was really over, she could forget about it now.
‘Tea . . . or Turkish coffee?’ Gwen’s peppery hair was flattened on one side, her cheek pillow-creased. From the stove the coffee pot began to gurgle out a tarry aroma.
‘I’d rather milk,’ Clem said, blanching.
‘Milk, eh?’ Gwen nodded as if a suspicion was confirmed.
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