Duplicity

by Doris Davidson

  The other two guests were introduced to her as very old friends Mr and Mrs Greig, and she to them as Miss Lewis, a stalwart in the office. It was Mrs Greig who smiled, ‘It’s Roderick and Lucy, actually, but we’re always known as Rod and Luce.’

  ‘I’m Dyllis,’ she responded, shyly, adding as an afterthought, ‘but I’m usually called Dilly. My twin brother’s called Roderick, too, but he’s known as Roddy.’

  During the meal, it was established that the Greigs had two sons. ‘Gordon works for an oil company in Dubai,’ Lucy said proudly. ‘He’s the one with ambitions, and I don’t think he’ll be satisfied until he’s Managing Director of the whole company.’

  ‘My wife loves to boast about our eldest son,’ Rod grinned at Dilly. ‘She leaves it to me to boast about Freddie.’

  Dilly couldn’t help noticing the change in Lucy’s expression - from outright pride to downright shame. ‘What does Freddie do?’ she asked and immediately wished that she hadn’t been so bold. The woman obviously wished that her husband would say no more.

  Rod Grieg, however, was happy to tell their new acquaintance. ‘He’s an inventor.’

  Intrigued, Dilly asked, ‘I expect he’s very good. What sort of things does he invent?’

  ‘All kinds of excuses not to go out and take a job. He is very good at that.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’ She felt really flustered.

  ‘Don’t worry, my dear. It doesn’t bother me.’

  It was blatantly obvious that it did bother his wife, who looked pointedly at her watch and pushed her chair back. ‘I nearly forgot, Rod. We promised to go and see how Florrie is, and she needs to go to bed early, so we’ll have to hurry.’

  It was also plain that this was news to her husband, that it was probably an excuse made up on the spur of the moment, but he got to his feet. ‘Sorry, folks. Florrie’s her sister, so we’ll have to love you and leave you.’

  Despite the light-hearted words, Dilly could see that he was livid, and sure enough, Neville had barely closed the door after seeing them out, when the quarrel broke out. From what she could hear, Rod Greig was berating his wife, calling her a selfish bitch as they walked away and then they were too far away for her to hear any more. She had never dreamt that people of their class would behave like that, and she wondered now if she had been foolish to get involved with Neville Richardson.

  ‘Well,’ he said, as he re-entered the room, ‘I can see by your face that you are trying to figure out what was going on. Let me tell you that, although Lucy thinks she is the boss, she is sadly mistaken. Rod’s first wife could tell her a few home truths about him. She wouldn’t admit it at first, but explained away any bruises by saying she had accidentally walked into a door, or some other lame excuse. Their marriage hardly lasted two years, and I give this one only another few months or so. He is a bully, a liar, and I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.’

  Dilly could scarcely believe this. ‘If he’s as bad as you say, why do you have anything to do with him? If it was me, I’d never let him darken my door.’

  Neville gave a roar of laughter. ‘I quite agree with you, my dear, but unfortunately, he is my cousin, my mother’s only sister’s son, and just before my aunt died, she made me promise to look out for him. She knew what kind of person he was, but blood is thicker than water. I’ll tell you this, though - if he doesn’t pull up his socks shortly and stop shaming me in front of guests, I’ll kick him out. Now, if you think you can bear it, why don’t we go through to the lounge and have a drink?’

  She could see by the clock that she was too late to catch the last bus home, and she didn’t like the idea of him seeing her to her hotel room in case he turned on her at some point like Rod had turned on Lucy.

  ‘I promise I have no intention of getting you tipsy. Just the one drink and then I shall drive you to the hotel. Please? I am nothing like my cousin, I swear.’

  Realising that she had no other means of getting there, and that she hadn’t the faintest idea of how to walk it, she said, ‘Right. One drink and that’s the finish.’

  The housekeeper came in at that moment to clear the table, so Dilly followed him through to a lovely big room, where, surprisingly, the large Chesterfield suite looked in sad need of attention. The house and its contents had likely belonged to his mother, she thought, which, strangely, made her feel more comfortable about being there.

  When he asked what she wanted to drink, she replied honestly that she didn’t know. She had never taken any drinks before except the glass of wine at the table.

  ‘My mother liked Bailey’s Irish Cream. It’s not intoxicating unless you have more than a few, so one won’t touch you.’

  She was surprised at how thick and smooth the Irish Cream was, and sipped it slowly, enjoying every drop, and when she was finished she laid the glass on the small table beside her. She wished she could ask for a spoon to get at what was still sticking to the sides, but that would most likely be frowned on.

  Neville smiled at her knowingly over his chunky glass of Laphroaig - she could see the label on the bottle. ‘I think I had better tell you, Dyllis, that my mother always licked out the glass so that she didn’t miss anything. Please feel free to do the same.’

  She couldn’t help smiling - she would have got on fine with his mother - and lifted the glass to her lips.

  ‘Of course,’ he cautioned, ‘she never did it if anyone else was present.’

  She recognised this as a warning for future use, but said nothing. She wasn’t entirely sure that they would have a future after tonight.

  At a quarter to eleven, he said, ‘It is time to go now. It would not be seemly for you to roll in about midnight.’

  Once again, he saw her to the door of her hotel room, waited until she had unlocked it and then, after the kiss on the back of her hand, he left. In bed, she went over the events of the unusual evening, fluctuating from being sure that she would never go out with him again, to deciding, a few seconds later, that he had done nothing wrong, so why should she finish with him? It wasn’t his fault that his cousin was an absolute rotter.

  Brian’s first question when they were going home in the car the following night was ‘Well, Dilly, where did your boyfriend take you? Somewhere special?’

  During the day, she had planned exactly what to say, enough to satisfy her parents, but nothing that would start them worrying about the kind of people she was meeting. ‘He took me to his house in Milltimber. He had invited some friends to dinner and he needed a hostess, really. His housekeeper had done all the cooking, and it was a wonderful meal.’

  Her father’s face had stiffened at the mention of her being at Neville’s home. ‘And when the visitors left, what happened?’

  She had prepared for this. ‘I went with them, of course. You surely didn’t think he took me to his room and seduced me?’

  ‘It did cross my mind.’

  ‘I told you, Dad, he’s a gentleman. He had arranged with two of his friends to drop me off at my hotel on their way home. A husband and wife,’ she added with a smile, in case he jumped to the wrong conclusion.

  That appeared to satisfy him, but her mother, of course, wanted to hear everything, down to the last little detail. Describing the meal was straightforward enough, and the layout of the room, but Dilly had to delve deep into her imagination to give a description of the dresses worn by the other three women - two of whom were non-existent.

  At last her ordeal came to an end. ‘So will you be going out with him again?’ Roselle asked. ‘Or has he got you down as some sort of stand-in hostess?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, Mum, but to be honest, I wouldn’t mind doing it again.’

  ‘How much did he pay you?’

  This was something the young woman had not foreseen. Of course, her mother was right. To be hi
red for a whole evening was a job, not a date. ‘He paid for the hotel,’ she defended herself, then felt obliged to defend the man. ‘He had likely been concentrating on seeing that everything was going well and had forgotten to pay me.’

  ‘Make sure he does, then,’ Brian laughed. ‘Some of these toffs would conveniently keep on forgetting, if they got away with it.’

  Dilly didn’t bother to answer this. Neville Richardson wasn’t the kind of man to cheat anybody out of anything. He had never mentioned paying her, but she had had a lovely five-course meal, plus another night in a luxurious bed, and an ‘English breakfast’. She had no complaints about that. He was wooing her, to use an outdated expression, not employing her, and she was quite happy about that.

  Chapter Eleven

  His wife was still asleep when Frank Milne slipped out of bed. He always rose at seven on the dot and gave her a cup of tea in bed before he made the breakfast. She had done the same for him for over fifty years, so he was only repaying her, and she deserved every minute of the attention he gave her. Poor lass, she had taken badly after the stroke with not being able to do the things she had always done, but once she’d mastered the laptop, she had regained her old cheerful spirit. It did his heart good to see her tapping away with one good and one useless set of fingers. At least there was nothing wrong with her brain.

  He only used the one teabag for the two-cup teapot, and filled the kettle again ready for their breakfast. Lifting the morning newspaper which had just been delivered and tucking it under his arm, he carried the cup through to the lounge, converted to a bedroom because she couldn’t climb stairs and he wasn’t fit to carry her.

  ‘Shake a leg,’ he said, cheerfully, his usual jocular greeting as he pushed open the door, because they were both aware that this was an impossibility.

  There was no response, not even a sleepy grunt, and,

  panic ripping at his innards, he laid down the cup and hurried over to the bed. ‘Helen, lass, come on. I’ve brought your cup of tea.’ He shook her shoulder gently, but there was still nothing. He knew the worst even before he touched her face. It was so peaceful, so unlined, but oh so cold.

  His own face crumpled as he took her hand and rubbed it to bring some life back, although he knew that it was far too late. She must have died in her sleep, even before he got up, and he had known nothing about it. Had she known she was dying? Had she longed for him to hold her, while he’d been lying beside her snoring? Had she drawn her last breath thinking he didn’t care?

  ‘Oh, God, Helen lass,’ he murmured through his tears, ‘you aye wanted to do things for yourself, but surely you could have let me share your last few moments?’

  The concept of her being absolutely alone at such a time overpowered him then, and it was almost thirty minutes later before he pulled his senses together, drew the curtains and went through to phone the doctor.

  It was only in the evening, the undertakers having taken his wife to the funeral home, that it struck Frank how alone he was now. The young couple next door had only been here a week or two, so he hardly knew them - there had been a steady stream of tenants over the years, the Lewises being the ones who had stayed longest.

  The Lewises, he thought, a lump coming into his throat. If only Roselle had been there she’d have helped him through this. But there was nobody - no, that was wrong. He had a son, hadn’t he? A son who must be told that his mother was dead. Glad of something to keep his mind occupied, he went over to Helen’s desk to find Andrew’s address.

  Roselle had been feeling out of sorts all the day before, but put it down to worrying about her daughter. Dilly was going to spend the weekend with that Neville Richardson; that meant Friday night, Saturday and Sunday, actually two whole days and three nights. In his house. Alone with him, for she’d said the housekeeper had been given the weekend off. What decent man would do that if he’d no designs on his guest?

  Roselle’s sigh was long and shuddery. Brian had laughed at her, told her she was making mountains out of molehills and that Dilly was well able to look after herself, but that was a man for you - no understanding of morals. Just because he would never take advantage of a young girl, it didn’t mean that all men were the same.

  But this morning, as well as her problem with Dilly, there was something else troubling her. As soon as Brian and Dilly had left for work, she began to puzzle over what it could be, and one face kept turning up in her mind. Helen Milne! She should have kept in touch with Helen. She shouldn’t have let Brian tell her what to do. She would be quite glad of a friend like Helen at the present moment. But something was telling her things were not as they should be. Something was wrong with Helen - that’s what her heart was trying to tell her. Should she just say to hell with Brian and write to her old friend, or would it be best to leave things as they were? After more than fifteen years, Helen would likely not want to have anything to do with her, anyway.

  She couldn’t say anything to the members of the Club, that was for sure. They always laughed at her for being so old-fashioned. She couldn’t get over how they joked about their daughters having sex as soon as they left school; even before they left school! What was the world coming to?

  Tracy and Aimee were intrigued to see the weekend bag that Dilly brought to work on Friday morning, but she refused to tell them where she was going. Curiosity almost choked them all day, but it was not to be satisfied until they were making ready to go home and the manager came into their office, a most unusual procedure.

  ‘All set, Dyllis?’ he asked.

  The surprise on the other girls’ faces made him add, with a wide smile. ‘To save you having to speculate any longer, Dyllis and I are to be spending the weekend together.’

  Jaws dropped, eyes widened dangerously. ‘You … and Dilly?’ Tracy asked, incredulously. ‘The whole weekend?’

  He nodded. ‘If she can put up with me for that length of time.’

  Dilly had been left as speechless as Aimee. She had never expected him to come out with it openly like that, and she wasn’t sure that she liked it. It had been the secrecy of the whole thing that made it all the more exciting. Now that it was common knowledge, the edge had been taken off the gingerbread - if that was the right expression. It just sounded like any other sordid, sleazy, dirty weekend, which was not how she had seen it before. Definitely not! She wasn’t going to be given the label ‘boss’s totty’, as they spoke about, or ‘Richardson’s bit on the side’. No way!

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she burst out. ‘I’m sorry, Neville, but sleeping with the boss was never my idea. Sleeping with a man who loved me, a man I loved, that would have been different, but this …’ She shrugged as she walked to the door. ‘I’d better hurry or my Dad’ll have gone home without me.’

  There was dead silence until they heard her leaving the cloakroom, with, presumably, her weekend bag, and then Mr Richardson, chalk-white, said, ‘I’m sorry, girls, that you had to witness that. I should have been more sensitive, and I certainly had not planned to seduce Dyllis, but there you go.’ He whipped round and left.

  ‘Jesus!’ Tracy exclaimed, immediately covering her mouth at the swearing.

  Aimee nodded. ‘I hadn’t a clue. Had you?’

  ‘Not a sausage. I wonder how long they’ve been seeing each other?’

  ‘You think they’ve been seeing each other for a while, then?’

  ‘He wouldn’t ask her to spend a weekend with him on a first date, surely?’ Tracy was suddenly struck by another thought. ‘She’ll get the sack.’ ‘You think so?’

  ‘Or she’ll leave. She can’t work here now.’

  While they discussed her, Dilly had run to where her father usually picked her up, and to her relief, he spotted her and stopped. ‘Change of plans?’ ‘Don’t ask,’ she told him.

  From the set of her chin, he could tell that she was extremely upset, and wisely made
no further awkward remarks.

  Dilly ran straight upstairs as soon as she went into the house, and Brian was able to warn Roselle not to say anything to upset the girl. ‘There must have been a row, or something, and we’ll just have to wait till she gets over it before she tells us anything’

  The weekend passed as if they were in mourning, the only conversations being centred on events on the television news broadcasts, and even then, Dilly only appeared for one meal a day, although her mother took her up a cup of tea in the afternoons.

  Monday morning brought another surprise, when the young woman said she wasn’t going to go to work. ‘I think you were right, Dad,’ she said, making a face. ‘Neville was only after a dirty weekend, and he even came into our office to boast about it.’

  ‘But why —’ Roselle began, but stopped when Brian’s foot gently tapped her shins under the table.

  Well aware that both she and Neville would find it impossible to work with the same firm, in the same building, Dilly spent most of the forenoon typing a letter of resignation on her computer, glad that she didn’t have to waste paper even if she changed her mind a dozen times about the wording, but at last she was more or less satisfied and printed it. She asked that the three weeks she was due as holidays should be taken as her notice, so that she would not have to go back and face the man.

  On her walk to the tiny sub-Post Office, she wondered if she had over-reacted to Neville’s announcement. Maybe he hadn’t been boasting that he was going to seduce her. Maybe he had just meant to be open about their relationship. Maybe she had shit in her own backyard, as she had heard Frank Milne saying once, long ago. She had only been five, but it was such a weird expression that it must have implanted itself in her mind.

  Fancy remembering Frank Milne, though. She wondered what had become of him and his wife after fifteen years. Helen had been such a kind woman, like a grandmother to her and Roddy, really. She stopped walking abruptly as something occurred to her. At the moment, she was in dire need of someone to advise her on what to do with her life, and who better than Helen? Her spirits lifting, she posted the letter and almost skipped home.