Damage

by Josephine Hart

  NINETEEN

  WE WERE AN impressive-looking group as we entered the restaurant.

  Edward had joined us. In his dark blue suit, he had the air of a man who knows that his presence enhances every gathering.

  Ingrid was in subtle shades of grey, understated, elegant; certain that she was, as always, perfectly dressed.

  Sally exuded a sort of ‘feet on the ground’ decency. It would always defeat her mother’s efforts to change her English-rose prettiness into something more soignee. A daughter’s penchant for Laura Ashley effectively puts paid to any mother’s attempts to encourage sophistication. I had been a frequent onlooker during teenage battles. I saw with pleasure that Sally, the woman, had kept her sartorial loyalties.

  Her boyfriend was blond and sporty-looking. He wore a suit that observed the convention of matching jacket and trousers, while managing somehow to mock the tradition, with a zig-zag pattern of blacks and greys.

  I studied each person slowly, carefully, in order to avoid turning my attention to Anna and Martyn. It was possible to stand close to Anna and yet not look at her. It was even possible to receive a fleeting kiss on the cheek from Anna and still not see her.

  Martyn took charge of the seating. I was on Anna’s right. ‘No couples tonight,’ joked Martyn. To my right was Sally, beside Martyn and Ingrid, then Sally’s boyfriend and Edward. I gave a sideways glance at Anna, who seemed to be wearing something in dark blue. It made her hair look even darker. A line from an old song came back to me, ‘A dark girl dressed in blue’.

  We ordered. The guests carefully and silently examined prices before decisions were taken.

  ‘Well, that’s over,’ said Edward. ‘What a pleasure to have been invited, Martyn. And congratulations on your new job.’

  We all raised our glasses to Martyn.

  ‘Anna, you’re also a journalist.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you and Martyn meet at work?’

  ‘Yes, we did.’

  ‘How nice,’ said Edward, glancing coolly at her. He had a ‘Don’t be too clever with me, young woman’ look in his eye.

  ‘Do you like your work?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It suits me,’ said Anna.

  ‘How?’

  ‘This sounds like the Inquisition, Grandpa.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. Was I being rude?’

  ‘Never,’ said Martyn. ‘Anna’s an excellent journalist.’

  ‘Clearly you are too,’ said Edward. ‘Do you think it’s for life, this work of yours?’

  ‘Yes. I like the world of newspapers. It’s exciting —copy-dates, seeing my stuff in the paper.’

  ‘Hoping people will read it,’ offered Sally.

  ‘People do read it, Sally. I know exactly where I’m going.’ He looked at Anna as he spoke.

  I had to turn away quickly. For a second I had seen the passion in his eyes.

  ‘Father, Martyn has always been certain that journalism was what he wanted.’

  ‘Yes. But then people can change direction quite late, can’t they?’ Edward looked at me.

  ‘Politics you mean,’ said Martyn. ‘God, no, I don’t want to be a politician. It wouldn’t suit me, Grandpa. I leave that to you and Dad.’

  ‘Oh, but it would suit you. You are articulate, very handsome, yes, and very clever.’

  ‘And very, very uninterested,’ said Martyn emphatically. ‘I want the kind of freedom I couldn’t find in political life, always toeing the party line.’

  ‘Well, now,’ said Edward. ‘What about the line of the chap who owns the paper?’

  ‘Accurate reporting of an event is not normally at risk. It’s only in the leader that any proprietorial bias is seriously taken into account,’ said Martyn.

  ‘What do you think about that, Anna?’ asked Sally’s boyfriend suddenly.

  ‘Oh, I’m just an observer,’ said Anna. ‘I observe carefully. I write truthfully, exactly what I have observed. It gives me pleasure.’

  ‘Observation is Anna’s strength,’ said Martyn. ‘She misses nothing … nothing. I don’t know anyone more acute than Anna.’

  I sensed Anna’s bowed head. I looked at Ingrid and saw her eyes narrow. Then a look of resignation passed over her face. Our eyes met. She’s got our son, they seemed to say. And more, I thought, and more.

  ‘Now, young man, let’s turn the third degree on you. What’s Nick Robinson’s son doing working for TV? What is this generation of media slaves up to? We’ve had newspapers and the delights of the observer’s position. Let’s hear it for television. What’s its attraction for you?’

  ‘Power, eventually, I hope.’

  ‘Power! Well now. That’s something I can understand. How are you going to get power, young man?’

  ‘Information … can change the world. I don’t think politicians … I mean …’ He stumbled in a minefield of potential insult. ‘Well, I don’t think they can really change the way people think about life, and the world. Whereas television can, and does. I really want in time … I really want to make feature programmes … about social issues which …’

  ‘That used to be the province of the artist. To change lives and souls through art.’

  Everyone looked at me, except Anna, who, I sensed, did not move her head.

  ‘Good heavens,’ said Sally. ‘What a serious group we are. Art, politics, the media. This is meant to be a celebration party for Martyn.’

  Edward laughed. ‘I’ve had such a good time putting all you young people through your paces. I’d like you all to come to Hartley for the weekend of the twentieth … for my birthday. Just the family, and the about-to-be family.’ Edward smiled at Anna and Jonathan.

  ‘How marvellous. You can go, darling, can’t you?’ asked Ingrid.

  ‘Possibly. I’ll have to check.’

  ‘Anna?’

  ‘I think so. Yes, thank you.’

  Sally and Jonathan agreed. The thought of a weekend with Anna and Martyn in Hartley opened a world of terror and possibilities, and joy.

  The meal meandered slowly through to a teasing sweetness at the end. I had survived close on three hours without by as much as a murmur betraying myself, or Anna.

  Perhaps the devil stood behind me, and delivered me successfully to evil.

  TWENTY

  ‘I FELT PROUD THIS evening. Content. I felt the power of being a mother. “Look on my works, oh ye mighty,”’ Ingrid sighed.

  We were in the car. The evening had ended properly, with manly insistence from Martyn that the bill was for him, and admiring acquiescence from his father and grandfather.

  ‘Did you feel like the paterfamilias?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘It’s very satisfying, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘We are quiet people, you and I. We suit each other. I feel very happy tonight. You make me very happy. Do I tell you that often enough? Perhaps not. But I hope you know. I don’t see many happy marriages around. I’ve very grateful for mine … and for you.’

  I smiled.

  ‘It’s been a long time. You and me,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Two lovely children, a contented marriage. It’s almost too good to be true. But it is true. It’s so substantially true. I like what I felt tonight, the substance of it. I felt I could almost reach out and touch it. Happiness. The right kind of happiness.’

  ‘Is there a right kind?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I think so. I’ve always felt so. I’ve always known what I wanted. A husband, children, peace and progress. I’m very proud of your career you know. Very, very proud. I’m not ambitious for myself … I’ve always had money … but I do my bit, don’t I? The constituency and the charities, the dinner parties.’ She laughed. ‘Do I fulfil my role, my public role?’

  ‘Indeed you do. You always have.’

  ‘So here we are then. It’s a very, very good place in our lives. I feel the future, your future, our future, could be very interesting. When I w
as at Hartley, Daddy said how highly thought of you are. He says you’re regarded as a “coming man”. Even though I say so myself, you are rather perfect aren’t you? Terrific on television. Decent, very intelligent, with a wonderful wife’ — she giggled — ‘and two utterly charming children. Perfect. It’s all perfect. Except for Anna. She is a very, very strange girl, don’t you think?’ Ingrid was suddenly alert.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I like quiet people, I can’t stand super-friendly, outgoing types … like that Rebecca girl he had for a while. But Anna’s quietness is more mysterious. She is almost sinister. I mean, what do we know about her? She met Martyn through work. She’s thirty-three, and very well off. It’s ridiculous. For example, what did she do all those years before Martyn?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I glanced studiously into my mirror. I could not be tripped. No ‘how did you know?’ errors in this potential interrogation.

  ‘You see! We know nothing. This girl may very well become our daughter-in-law, and we know nothing about her.’

  I breathed deeply. Slowly now, I said to myself, slowly.

  ‘Martyn has had so many girlfriends, Ingrid. Anna is just another one. Maybe a bit more serious. But marriage? No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, you are utterly wrong, I’m afraid. He mentioned his trust fund the other day, when he was arranging the dinner. He comes into his capital when he marries. Remember, his promotion to a national newspaper gives him great confidence. Can’t you see that boy is seriously planning his future? God knows, you can’t stop a man in love having what he wants. If Anna wants him, she’s going to be his wife. Of course he most certainly wants her. I think as parents we should at least try to get to know her better. And we should find out more about her past. Have you questioned Martyn yet? I’ve tried. It’s quite difficult. He says he knows all he needs to know. However, I got some information from him about her parents. He says they’re very respectable. Her father was in the diplomatic service. The parents divorced, and her mother remarried. An American writer, I gather. Her father has a second family too.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound too terrible, does it?’

  ‘No, but there’s something else, I’m sure. For example, has Anna been married before?’

  ‘How extraordinary. I never thought of that.’

  ‘Well, you’ve hardly given her any thought at all, have you?’

  ‘No. I suppose not.’ I breathed slowly, determinedly.

  ‘Men! Well, think about it. She’s thirty-three, it’s perfectly possible. In fact, it’s surprising if she hasn’t been. Maybe she has children. You never know nowadays. Think of Beatrice, her children stayed with their father in Italy.’

  ‘I’m certain there are no children.’ The doctor in me spoke.

  ‘What? You know nothing about her, but you’re certain she has no children.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, just a very strong guess. Come on, let’s have a night-cap at home.’

  She put her arms around me when we got to our room. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have let Anna spoil a lovely evening. Did I tell you how very impressive you looked this evening?’ She kissed me. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘Darling, let’s go to our lovely bed. I can see that look in your eyes —I like it.’

  And so we lay in bed. A man whose eyes could deceive a wife of nearly thirty years, and a wife who after nearly thirty years could be so deceived. Our practised movements were as pleasant as an old remembered song of long ago. But even as I surrendered to those final shudders that are all and nothing, it was, I knew, a final defeat for Ingrid in a battle she did not know she waged. And it was a triumph for Anna, who had not even fought.

  I cannot and will not do this again. That was my last thought as Ingrid drifted dreamily to sleep in my arms.

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘HELLO, DAD.’ It was Martyn on the line.

  ‘Martyn. Thank you for last night and congratulations again.’

  ‘Oh, thanks. You were very quiet. Working too hard? I know you’re heading one of those committees —I gather it’s getting close to recommendation time.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  He laughed. ‘I can’t reveal my sources.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better be more careful than usual now. Even secret smiles are out of the question.’

  ‘Absolutely. Journalist first, son second!’ He laughed. ‘Oh yes, I’d spill all your secrets for the chance of a scoop.’

  ‘Aha! I’ve been warned!’ I entered into the spirit of the thing.

  ‘Dad, I want to ask you something about my trust fund.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can I talk to Charles Longdon about it? And to David, he’s the other trustee, isn’t he?’ He mentioned a cousin of Ingrid’s.

  ‘Yes. Why do you need to talk to them?’

  There was a long pause. ‘I … oh, I don’t know. Plans, you know. It’s about time I examined all my financial affairs. Properly. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Well, you know the trust doesn’t come to you until you marry?’ I spoke slowly, staring unseeing out the window.

  ‘Yes, I know that. Still I’d like to talk to them about it. Just wanted you and Edward to know. I didn’t want to go behind your back, or anything.’

  ‘No. No, of course. I don’t mind. Go ahead.’

  The call was over. No mention of Anna. Martyn would make his own decisions. There would be no consultation with anyone. Just as it should be. And his plans were very clear. He meant to ask Anna to marry him. She would refuse him, of course. What then? How would he react?

  And what of Anna and me? We never spoke of the future. We never even spoke of the present.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ‘ANNA.’

  ‘Come in.’

  ‘Was it difficult getting away?’

  ‘No. Do you want a drink?’

  ‘I’d like a glass of red wine.’

  We were in Anna’s house. She sat opposite me. She put her glass down, slowly and deliberately, on a side-table.

  ‘You are going to start a conversation I don’t think I want to have. So it might be better to finish our wine, and part for today.’

  ‘No.’ Something in my voice may have told her I must be heard, because she replied, ‘All right.’

  ‘I must know that you will be in my life for ever. I must know that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I must know that I can look at you, listen to you, breathe you, be inside you. I have got to know that. I can’t go back to being … almost dead. It’s not possible for me. That is how I was. There can be no “after Anna” in my life.’

  ‘That’s because you can’t envisage it. But there can be. It’s just that it’s a life after —’

  ‘I don’t want it. It’s not going to happen.’ I got up from my chair and stood in front of her. Perhaps there was something threatening in my movements. There was a tense silence between us. I moved away.

  ‘I think Martyn is going to ask you to marry him.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘It will be very sad for him. But it will lead to a resolution of this terrible situation.’

  ‘What will be sad for Martyn?’

  A marble coldness, the coldness of deep shock, enveloped me. Her words seemed frozen in the air. As if in a dream I heard her say, ‘I like Martyn. We have a very happy time together. I can build a real life with him. I may very well say yes. Martyn is far too intelligent to have gone this far, without at least the chance of an acceptance.’

  There are words we never dream we will utter.

  ‘You are considering marrying Martyn?’

  ‘Considering. Yes.’

  ‘You would marry my son?’

  There are answers we never dream we will hear.

  ‘Possibly. I warned you at the beginning. I told you to take care.’

  ‘Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.’

  ‘Yes. You remember. You can have what you want of me for ever. I want what you want. We
can continue for all our lives, together. Lives can be arranged like that. If I married Martyn, think how easy it would be. We could see each other all the time. I could entwine myself around you like ivy round a tree. I recognised my ruler. The moment I saw you, I surrendered.’

  Her voice almost sang the words as she moved about the room.

  ‘But I also want Martyn. I want his life to share. He is my normality. We will be like any young couple setting out together. It’s right, it’s normal.’

  She spoke the word ‘normal’ as though it were a benediction.

  ‘It’s what I want. I want to marry Martyn. Be happy for me. You will have no less of me. You will have more of me. Yes. More, constantly more. Listen to me. I don’t want to marry you. Oh, I know you haven’t even thought about it. But you will, you will. You will start agonising over Ingrid. You will start making plans. Listen to me. Martyn would never, ever forgive you. He would be lost to you for ever. Sally would be dreadfully harmed. I would be the centre of a terrible scandal. And you, you would be destroyed. And for what? So that we could have a domestic life together. It would be a nonsense. We were not made for that. No, we are made for what it is that we have. The constant satisfaction of our need for each other.’

  ‘Perhaps you are mad, Anna. Perhaps that’s the reason for what you’re saying. Oh, God …’

  ‘I am totally sane.’

  ‘When did you work all this out?’

  ‘I haven’t “worked it out”, as you put it, in some cold-blooded fashion. Things happened. I met Martyn — we started our affair. It became more than either of us could have imagined. And then you turned a secret corner in your life, and I was there. I had no control over these two events. I did not know I was going to meet Martyn. I did not know I would meet you.

  ‘But I always recognise the forces that will shape my life. I let them do their work. Sometimes they tear through my life like a hurricane. Sometimes they simply shift the ground under me, so that I stand on different earth, and something or someone has been swallowed up. I steady myself, in the earthquake. I lie down, and let the hurricane pass over me. I never fight. Afterwards I look around me, and I say, “Ah, so this at least is left for me. And that dear person has also survived.” I quietly inscribe on the stone tablet of my heart the name which has gone for ever. The inscription is a thing of agony. Then I start on my way again. Now you and Martyn, and indeed Ingrid and Sally, are in the eye of a storm I did not create. What power is mine, and what responsibility?’