The Fountain

by Mary Nichols

  ‘You haven’t done anything. But then I haven’t done anything, either. Not what you think.’

  She stared at him. ‘So, you do at least know what I think?’

  ‘You think I’ve been having an affair with Virginia.’

  ‘And haven’t you?’

  ‘No.’ He smiled, sure of his ground again. ‘I’ve been a fool, no doubt of that, but for you to think I’ve been to bed with her is very hurtful. She is your stepmother. I wanted to help her and help myself as well.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt that.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic, it doesn’t suit you. I meant getting her a job as secretary to the chief executive. I have been seeing rather a lot of her, not to make love to her but to get information out of her. I suppose we must have been seen. That’s how rumours start. All so silly, really.’

  ‘But you’re already a councillor, privy to council business. Why do you want a spy?’

  ‘Oh, Barbara, you can be so priggish sometimes. It’s not spying.’

  ‘No, then what do you call it? And why do you need it?’

  ‘I’m a town councillor, not a county councillor, and there’s still a lot goes on behind the scenes that never gets made public, wheels within wheels, mutterings behind closed doors, that sort of thing. Old Bulliman confides in Virginia a lot, things that never come out in public meetings, things that are not always passed down to town level…’

  Once she might have believed him, but not anymore. ‘And she tells you. Not very loyal of her, is it?’

  ‘Depends where your loyalty lies, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Do you pay her?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘I wonder why not?’

  The sarcasm was lost on him, or if it wasn’t, he chose to take her remark at face value. ‘She is simply grateful for what I have been able to do for her, giving her the house, finding her a job, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Grateful enough to climb into bed with you.’

  ‘Barbara, haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying? That’s your trouble, you never listen. What’s the good of talking to you…?’ He got up and stood looking out of the window onto the parched garden.

  ‘OK, go on. I’m listening.’

  ‘There’s nothing more to it.’

  ‘What about Paris?’

  He turned back to her. ‘Virginia did come to my room one night. She came to discuss something about the negotiations, something that had happened after I left the meeting. I left early to buy the children’s presents. And yours too. You did like the perfume, didn’t you? You didn’t say.’

  ‘I had other things on my mind.’

  ‘Honestly, Barbara, she was only bringing me up to date. I never dreamt…’

  She wanted to believe him, wanted it so desperately that she was halfway there, but it was difficult, especially when he mentioned perfume.

  ‘George, you came home reeking of Virginia’s perfume. You didn’t need to get that close to exchange information, did you?’

  He made a valiant effort to look mystified. ‘Did I? I don’t know how… Oh, yes I do. We were sitting together on the train and she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.’

  ‘And why couldn’t you tell me all this before? Why did you deny there was anyone in your room if it was all so innocent?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t want an argument with you, didn’t like the idea that you didn’t trust me. I didn’t see why I should have to explain. It was simpler to deny it.’

  He had had all night to marshal his excuses and arguments and he had done it very well. She wondered if he would have been so plausible if she had forced him to talk when they arrived home the night before when they had both been so angry. She poured herself another cup of coffee.

  ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Do you believe me?’

  ‘I believe you.’ She spoke flatly, without conviction, but he accepted it, probably in the same spirit she had accepted what he said, to save tearing each other apart.

  ‘Thank God for that.’ He slumped down in the chair opposite her and put his arms on the table. ‘I’ve been a fool, I freely admit it. We’ll start again, shall we? Like it used to be. We’ll have a holiday, take the children to the seaside. I’ll clear up the problems on my desk and we’ll go. What do you think?’

  ‘OK, but there’s to be nothing like it, ever again. Not ever, George. From now on, there’s to be no more underhand dealings, business or otherwise, then there can’t be any room for misunderstanding, can there? I won’t be able to jump to the wrong conclusions.’

  ‘I promise.’ He got up and kissed her cheek. ‘I’d better go and get dressed.’

  She watched him go, feeling shattered, as if she had been buffeted in a storm at sea, pitched this way and that, fighting waves which threatened to engulf her. She hadn’t believed his explanation, but she wanted to believe he was trying to make amends. He knew what he stood to lose and so did she. Believing it could be made right was not weakness, it was strength.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Mrs Kennett? It’s Mrs Gregory. Are you very busy?’

  Barbara had been sitting at the kitchen table, looking at the remains of breakfast, reluctant to move and face the day, when the telephone rang. ‘Not especially. Why?’

  ‘I’ve been asked to escort a young lad to Liverpool Street station and hand him over to another escort. He’s being sent to an approved school in Surrey. I’m afraid I can’t go and I thought of you. You will be paid expenses.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow. I know it’s impossibly short notice, but say you will.’ There was a slight pause before she added, ‘His name’s Tommy White. He needs someone strong but sympathetic. The poor lad’s had a terrible life.’

  ‘Yes, of course I will.’ She did not hesitate, did not even say, ‘I’ll have to ask my husband,’ as she would have done a few days earlier. A day away from Melsham, away from George and thoughts of George was just what she needed.

  ‘Good. I’ll meet you at the station.’

  Elizabeth was happy to look after the children and George made no objection when she told him that evening. She wondered if he might seize the opportunity to go and see Virginia. ‘Stop it,’ she told herself. ‘Think of something else.’

  Tommy was thirteen years old and already an experienced delinquent, Mrs Gregory told her when she brought the boy to the station. He had been put into a children’s home because his single mother could not cope with him, and had been in and out of several since then. Usually he ran away, taking the petty cash with him, and was only brought back when he had spent the money and been caught breaking into a house or a shop to replenish his funds. Where he slept when he was out, he never said, shrugging his shoulders and muttering, ‘Nowhere,’ as if nowhere was a place on a map. His latest escapade had involved setting fire to a house where he had been squatting and nearly killing a tramp who was fast asleep against the boiler in the basement. ‘I’m sure you can cope on a one-to-one basis,’ she told Barbara, as she handed him over.

  Barbara’s initial trepidation disappeared as she chatted to him, trying to keep him occupied. He wasn’t the tearaway she had expected but a little boy as unhappy and confused as she was herself and her heart went out to him. Feeling sorry for him kept her from feeling sorry for herself. At Liverpool Street, she handed him over to his next escort and, not wanting to go home, took the tube to Chelsea, where Penny had moved into a new flat.

  ‘Do try and come up for my house-warming, she had told Barbara during a telephone conversation when she moved in. She hadn’t gone, of course, half afraid of meeting Simon. He might still be able to make her forget she was a happily married woman. Happily! So much had happened since that last time, she was not sure what happily married actually meant.

  Halfway up the steps to the front door she looked up and saw him standing at the top and it stopped her in her tracks. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  She pulled herself together. ‘Simon. How nice to see
you.’ He looked very affluent in a charcoal pinstripe suit of impeccable cut, a white shirt and an expensive-looking silk tie. As she joined him, she noticed the small scar on his left brow, but it certainly wasn’t disfiguring.

  ‘You too. Penny’s not in. Was she expecting you?’

  ‘No, I was in town and came on the off chance. I haven’t seen her for ages and it seemed an ideal opportunity to catch up…’ She knew she was speaking too quickly and took a deep breath to slow herself down. ‘You don’t know how long she’ll be?’

  ‘Not long, she knew I was coming.’ He paused. ‘Look, why don’t we go for a cup of tea and come back later. You’re not in a hurry, are you?’

  She hesitated. Elizabeth would look after the children until George came home, and how often did she have a chance to see Penny? And Simon. There was no harm in it and it would be nice to know that she could still carry on a conversation with someone like him, still grab his attention, feel flattered by it. ‘No, I’m not in a hurry.’

  ‘Good.’ He put his hand under her elbow in such a natural way, she did not even think about it.

  He took her to a small discreet café, with net curtains, white tablecloths, real silver cutlery and muted live music. She looked round as they followed a neatly uniformed waitress to a table.

  ‘Will you be mum?’ he said, when the waitress returned with their order and set it on the table: a beautiful china teapot, matching cups and saucers, milk jug, sugar bowl and a plate of cakes. ‘You seem to be dressed for the part.’

  She looked down at the brown tweed suit, mannish shirt and tie, and comfortable brogues she had decided were appropriate to her role, and laughed. ‘It’s not very glamorous, is it? But suitable for the job I was doing.’ While she poured the tea, she went on to tell him about the escort job, still nervous, still speaking too quickly.

  ‘Very commendable,’ he said when she suddenly stopped. ‘And I am grateful to the young beggar for bringing you to me, but it’s such a fearful waste…’

  ‘Waste, how can you say that? He is a child, who’s lost his way—’

  ‘I didn’t mean the boy, I meant you, because you’re young and beautiful and far too talented to be doing jobs best left to old biddies with nothing better to do.’

  ‘Talented?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I saw that picture you did for Penny, the one of the sea pounding on rocks and the girl sitting on the edge in that diaphanous dress and her hair damp with the spray, watching the waves. She looked sad, as if she was thinking of jumping in. Is that how you felt when you painted it, kind of sad?’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ she said. But she did remember. She had been feeling miserable because she and George were drifting apart and she had been sure he was seeing someone else, though she had not known it was Virginia. Alone with the children she had tried to keep cheerful for their sakes, and hadn’t realised her misery had translated itself to the canvas.

  ‘It’s good,’ he said offering her the plate of cakes. ‘What else have you done?’

  She took a jam tart. ‘Not much. I don’t have the time.’

  ‘You would rather be out doing good deeds.’

  ‘I enjoy it. I meet so many interesting people.’

  ‘Tell me about them.’

  Her nervousness gradually evaporated as she told him about the charity, peppering the tale with amusing stories, and from there it was a short step to explaining why she had needed the stimulus of something useful to do. It was easy to talk to him: he was a good listener and his questions, though innocuous in themselves, led her to say far more than she intended, though she shied away from anything more than a superficial mention of George.

  Simon noticed it, noticed the emptiness in her eyes, the dark shadows beneath them, the slight hesitancy, and knew she was not happy. Beneath the light-hearted chatter, there was a sense that if she did not keep talking, if she came to a sudden stop, she would be overwhelmed, would become the girl on the rock. He reached across and laid his hand on hers. She did not pull it away.

  ‘You know,’ he said, slowly. ‘You should come up to town more often, get away just to be yourself for a few hours. You’re trying to be all things to all people and the real Barbara has got lost. You have to find yourself again…’

  ‘Oh, Simon, that’s silly…’ But it wasn’t silly, it was exactly how she felt. She laughed. ‘Where do you suggest I go to look for myself?’

  He grinned, making a game of it. ‘Where were you last seen?’

  ‘I don’t know. Was it this morning when I left home?’

  ‘No, further back than that. I think it was before you were married, when you were at college. Of course, there may have been sightings of you occasionally since then, times when the young Barbara broke through and showed herself.’

  ‘Like when?’

  ‘At Penny’s party.’

  ‘Why then? Because I was stupid enough to let you kiss me? I thought you’d have forgotten that.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten it. Nor do I regret it, except it made you run away. I think you were more frightened of being yourself than of me. I wouldn’t have done anything you didn’t want to, you know.’ His voice was sensuously soft and her heart began to thump in her chest. She gulped her tea. ‘The real Barbara would have known that. The real Barbara would have laughed and passed it off; the artificial one ran away.’

  ‘You’re talking nonsense. I’m beginning to wish we hadn’t started this conversation.’

  ‘That’s the pretend Barbara talking. Do you want to know what other sightings there have been?’

  She was glad he had moved off that disastrous party. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘At your dad’s funeral; you came back then. You were the girl I had known, the loving daughter, a little lost, but real, all the same. I could feel your grief.’

  ‘You were very kind. I appreciated it.’

  ‘Glad to be of help.’ His words were flippant but his eyes were not. They were studying her closely, asking unspoken questions, questions she did not want to answer, dare not.

  ‘That was the last time you saw me, there can have been no ‘sightings’, as you call them, since then.’

  ‘There’s one. The picture you painted for Penny. That girl is you. Oh, she does not have your colouring, but it’s you just the same, yearning for something across the ocean, in the sky, something out of reach…’

  ‘You can’t see all that in a picture. And it isn’t me.’

  ‘Come back to Penny’s flat and I’ll prove it to you. She might be back by now.’ He beckoned the waitress for the bill. It was exorbitant, but he didn’t turn a hair as he paid it.

  ‘We’ve done nothing but talk about me,’ she said, as they strolled along, picking their way through the crowds. ‘What have you been up to since we last met? Any children yet?’

  ‘No, that’s not on the agenda at the moment. Dodo is pursuing her career.’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Mind? Why should I? I knew about it before we married. Besides, I have to establish myself too, you know.’ Barbara caught the sharp defensiveness in his tone, as if it were a sore point he was tired of explaining. She knew exactly how that felt.

  ‘You look very prosperous.’

  ‘Thank you. I don’t do too badly.’

  They went up to the flat in the lift and Simon used his own key to let them in, calling as he did so, ‘Penny, are you home?’

  But there was no one there. He wandered round while Barbara stood hesitantly in the doorway. The apartment was spacious with large high-ceilinged rooms, decorated in muted brown and beige, with additions of dusky pink and the odd touch of lime. Except for one or two pictures, including Barbara’s Girl on a Rock, the walls were plain. It was quiet and restful.

  ‘She left a note,’ he said, returning from the kitchen with a sheet of notepaper. He had taken off his jacket and tie. ‘She says she’s sorry she missed me, but she’s had to go out again.’

  ‘Oh, then I’d better be going.’
r />   ‘Nonsense. We haven’t looked at the picture yet. I really do want to know what you were thinking and feeling when you painted it.’

  She had hoped he’d forgotten it. ‘But this is Penny’s home. Should we…?’

  ‘She won’t mind. In fact she’d be annoyed if I didn’t entertain you.’ He disappeared into the kitchen again and came back with an opened bottle of white wine and two glasses. ‘I found this in the refrigerator, it should be all right.’ He poured two glasses and left them on mats on a coffee table before coming to stand in front of her. ‘Come on, let’s have that headgear off, and that jacket. We can’t study the picture and make comparisons with you dressed like that.’ He pulled off her cloche hat and flung it on a chair, then slipped her jacket off and hung it over the back of another chair. ‘This too.’ He turned her to face him and gently removed the tie. His fingers, coming into contact with her throat, sent a frisson of something that was half pleasure, half fear, and she wondered what was coming next. If he made another attempt to seduce her what would she do? He smiled, as if reading her thoughts. ‘That’s better. Now you look human again.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be going home? Won’t Dodo be wondering where you are?’

  ‘No, she’s filming up in Yorkshire. I was supposed to be spending the evening with Penny, but as you see, she’s stood me up. Not that I mind when I have such a marvellous substitute.’

  An uncomfortable feeling of disquiet, which had begun when she realised Penny was not at home, grew almost to panic. ‘Simon, I really think I should go…’

  He grinned ruefully. ‘Oh, dear, the real Barbara has disappeared again, just when I thought we might get another sighting.’

  ‘Oh, that silly game…’

  ‘It’s not a game, Barbara,’ he said, drawing her towards the picture on the wall opposite the Adam fireplace. ‘Look at that.’

  ‘What about it? It’s nothing very special.’

  ‘Oh, yes it is. Very special. Look at that girl’s face. Can’t you see it?’

  ‘Me? No. It’s your imagination.’

  He turned her about so that she was looking in the mirror over the mantelpiece, seeing her own reflection beside that of the picture. ‘Now tell me those are not your eyes, that’s not your chin and mouth. It’s a self-portrait.’