‘She was in New York. They are virtually separated.’
‘How did you know she was in New York?’
‘I rang him.’
‘Before you went to Paris?’
‘Yes.’
‘So Martyn went to Paris with you, believing he was going to have a weekend with his lover. I am accurate in that, am I not?’
‘Yes.’
‘And I went to Paris because I could not survive the day without seeing you. And you, Anna, you went to Paris to see Peter.’
‘No. That’s not quite true. I wanted to go to Paris with Martyn. You followed me. You needed me. I came to you.’
‘And Peter?’
‘Peter is always there, in the background.’
‘A lurking presence in the corner.’
‘If you want.’
‘Why does it take virtually an inquisition to get even a glimmer of the truth from you?’
‘Because I find people ask questions when they are ready for the answers. Before that, they usually guess, or sense the truth. But they don’t know for certain. When they want to know, they ask. It’s dangerous either way.’
‘Dangerous. Why?’
‘Because I hate being questioned. On the other hand, I try not to lie. Tonight you came for me. I was there, I will always, somehow, be there. What else matters? If I answered every question you wanted to ask — what would you gain? We have our story. Leave it alone. Leave everybody else in my life alone. As I do with you. I never ask you about Ingrid. Or about other women — have there been others?’
I shook my head.
‘We know this is extraordinary. We knew it the second we met. It will never happen again in our lives. Let it be.’
‘I can’t watch you with Martyn. I just can’t. It’s impossible. I can block it off when I don’t see you together. But tonight … watching you both, I felt such violence. I felt I could harm Martyn.’
‘But instead you crushed a glass. Don’t worry, you won’t commit any act of violence. Physically you will control yourself.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because of us. You are at the extremes of yourself with me. There is no further to go. Try not to see me with Martyn. Stay away, make an excuse.’
I threw myself on my knees in front of her.
‘Anna, leave Martyn. Just finish it. I will leave Ingrid. In time we can be together publicly, and until then discreetly.’
She jumped up, and moved away from me.
‘Never, never. I will never do that.’
‘Why? My God, why not?’
‘Because I don’t want more from you than I already have. And what we already have would be destroyed by you, if we were together.’
‘No. No, you’re wrong.’
‘I can see from your face that you know I’m right. You would be full of doubts and fears. And you would have reason, sometimes. I will, for example, always see Peter. Maybe I would want to see Martyn. I will not change the way I live my life. I have promises to keep. Debts to pay to people. I will not be forced to change that.’
‘But I’d give you that freedom. I would. I’d teach myself.’
‘You couldn’t. You would be in a deeper hell than you can possibly imagine. All the agony, the pain for Ingrid, for Martyn, your guilt, and for what? For nothing more than you have now, or need. And in time you would jeopardise even that.’
‘Has Martyn asked you to marry him?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘But you think he will?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why will you marry him?’
‘Because Martyn asks no questions. Martyn lets me be.’
‘Is that the extent of your demands on people? That they just let you be?’
‘It’s a very heavy demand. So far, Martyn is the only person who has been able to meet it.’
‘Well, clearly I can’t.’
I took my clothes, and I dressed in silence. She lit another cigarette and began to speak.
‘What exists between us exists in one dimension only. To try to trap this in an ordinary life will destroy us both. You will never lose me. As long as I live. You will never lose me.’
‘And Martyn?’
‘Martyn will never know. It’s up to us both to ensure he never knows. Some things about me, Martyn guesses. But our pact, our way of handling each other, grows stronger all the time. All will be well.’
‘If you and Martyn married, where could we meet?’
‘What a practical question for a night like this.’ She turned her face to me so that in the half light it seemed to float in a sea of dark green, the green of the curtain and her collar of gleaming olive.
She looked so sure, so strong. Like some goddess to whom one could safely hand one’s destiny, certain that her decisions would be right, her judgement wise. We were colluding in a life plan of betrayal and deceit that involved the breaking of age-old taboos, as well as the more ordinary cruelty of adultery. And we knew that we would continue to the end. We were designing our world, and those most closely bound to us, into a semblance of order. An order which would allow us our essential, blazing, structured chaos of desire.
‘I will buy a small flat. We will meet there. Leave all of this to me. It is easier for me. Now you must go.’ She smiled as we parted at the door. ‘Let everything … just be.’
It was nearly dawn when I climbed into bed beside Ingrid. ‘So sorry,’ I whispered. ‘John Thurler captured me — he went on and on — you know how he does.’
She groaned in sympathy, and half opened her eyes for a second. Then her breathing resumed its steady rhythm. I lay there in the darkness, wondering how I could breathe at all.
TWENTY-SIX
‘I’VE RECEIVED A letter from Martyn thanking me very charmingly for the trust fund I helped set up. You know its terms. Does this mean wedding bells?’ Edward was on the phone.
‘Possibly.’
‘What a pity Tom died before Martyn became a young man. He would have been very proud of him. I miss Tom, you know. Marvellous man, marvellous character.’
‘I know.’ The mention of my father suddenly conjured up my days as the son I had long forgotten. The days when I was my father’s son, as well as my son’s father.
‘I’ve been very lucky,’ said Edward. ‘I’ve seen Ingrid happily married for all these years. Now there’s the possibility of Martyn getting married. Not sure about Anna. Clearly Martyn loves her … so I’m going to warm towards her. Sally and Jonathan seem very jolly together. You could find yourself with both of them married soon — how about that?’
I tried to sound relaxed and pleased. I even gave an imitation of an Edward-style chortle.
‘How are things with that committee you’re chairing?’
‘So, so.’
‘Soul of discretion, aren’t you? Mark my words, you’ll be promoted at the next reshuffle. You’re a bit of a dark horse, even to me! But it works, your semi-low profile. People do like you. They trust you. Trust is a minor miracle these days. No one seems to trust anyone any more. Ah well, if this does end in an engagement between Martyn and Anna I’d like the wedding to be held at Hartley. What do you think? I know it’s normally the girl’s family’s place. But her parents are divorced. Her mother lives in America. I’m probably jumping the gun, it’s just an idea. Say something.’
‘It’s a very nice idea, Edward. But they’re not even engaged yet.’
‘Quite, quite so. Engagement party then, at Hartley.’ He laughed. ‘I never give up, do I? It’s age, you know. I’m clinging more and more tenaciously to my family. I don’t want to let go. Very odd, old age. Always knew it would happen, if I was lucky. I just didn’t expect it so soon. You see … it comes too soon. Must let you go. Tom and I did well, I think, for Martyn and Sally. Ingrid will get Hartley, obviously. Plus quite a lot … well …’
‘Edward. Please. You’ve been marvellous to us and to the children. We’ve all got years together. Years ahead of us.’
‘I hope so. Sorry if this all got a bit sentimental. It’s the idea of Martyn marrying. Couldn’t say it earlier, but of course it brings back the loss of Ingrid’s mother. Terrible sadness still, you know. Now this time I’m finishing. Take care.’
‘You, too. Bye, Edward.’
I put the phone down, and with some determination tried to blind myself to a vision of my father.
You may not be a son any more, he seemed to say, but my God you have one.
What are you doing? What kind of father are you?
You were always a distant son. Always distant from your mother and me. And a cold son becomes a cold father.
Maybe I had a cold father.
I saw the vision of his face turn away from me. I dreamed I saw all his years of failed love crush him.
TWENTY-SEVEN
WE WERE IN the bedroom. I never really thought of it as ours. Certainly I never thought of it as mine. It was the bedroom where Ingrid and I spent that time of our marriage — the room which tells the real story of a man and woman in that strange arrangement. But the story has no observers other than the participants. They must in most cases lie to themselves, and to each other. The secrets of the bedroom lie buried under layers of time and custom, children, work, dinner parties, illnesses, and the myriad other rituals and events with which we dull the pain.
Ingrid was at the dressing-table applying a layer of cream to her face and neck. She took great care not to touch the satin straps that lay on her pale, delicate shoulders.
‘Blondes have dry skin’ is one of life’s absolutes emblazoned on my mind. Though she was never in any way a frivolous woman, her morning-and-evening ritual was vital to Ingrid. I had never known her to miss it. The familiar sight of patting was regularly accompanied by the repetition of the essential truth, ‘I know it’s a bore. But blondes do have dry skin.’
‘Wilbur rang to thank us for dinner. He’s quite fascinating, I think. Don’t you?’ Ingrid spoke.
‘He writes better than he talks.’
‘Oh, really? I thought he was very interesting at dinner.’
‘I don’t know. I found it all rather banal actually, the glories of truth, et cetera.’
‘He likes Martyn a great deal. Do you think Martyn will become a writer? It seems quite extraordinary to me that he never mentioned it before. I mean, it’s not as if we’ve ever put any pressure on him one way or the other. I’m quite pleased really.’
‘He might just have said it to impress Wilbur.’
‘Oh, no. Martyn’s not bothered about impressing anyone. Except Anna perhaps. Wilbur says her mother will be very pleased to hear that Anna looks so well and happy. They’re not close, as we gathered. How lucky we are with our children. Frankly, our doubts about Anna — the age gap and so on — are really trivial in a way. I mean, so what, she’s older and a bit more sophisticated. He could have fallen in love with someone much more unsuitable. What do you think?’
‘Yes. I think we’ve been blessed.’
‘Anyway, I’ve made up my mind to put my worries to one side and get to know her a bit better. Up to now, I’ve been a bit cool, don’t you think?’
‘You’ve always been very nice.’
‘Yes, I know that. But “very nice”, it’s not the same as really friendly, is it? Mind you, can one ever be really friendly with one’s son’s wife?’
‘They’re not married yet, you know. They’re not even engaged.’
‘Yes. But you know what I mean. It’s difficult for men. They don’t feel the same sense of loss when a son marries. Maybe you feel a little jealous of Sally’s boyfriend, Jonathan?’
‘I never give him a thought.’
‘Hmm! That’s slightly your problem. You give the impression sometimes that you don’t really think very much about the children … their future … their relationships.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘That remark about Sally’s boyfriend is just typical. If I didn’t keep on about Anna you’d probably never give her a thought either.’
My back was to her. I closed my eyes. A sudden shame at the meanness of the deceit, and the cruelty of the evasion, came over me. I could neither move nor answer.
‘Darling? Darling, are you all right?’
I spun round, and realised that Ingrid had seen my back in the mirror. Perhaps some line of my shoulder or body had told its own story. Certainly the face I saw in the mirror as I turned to her was that of a man in deep distress.
Ingrid’s eyes filled with love as she approached me. Her nearness, and my guilt, led to a rage within me. Ugly and menacing, my reflection stared back at me.
‘What’s the matter? What’s the matter?’ she cried.
‘Nothing. Nothing. Age, I suppose. I suddenly felt old.’
‘Oh, darling! Darling, it’s because the children are on the verge of marriage, that’s all. You’re not old. You’re still the most attractive man I know.’
She was close to me. Her body, satin-contoured, rested against mine in a familiar embrace. I put my hands on her shoulders, and keeping a chasm of inches between us, kissed her forehead. Then I moved away. It was a rejection. We both knew it.
‘Is there something you haven’t told me?’ She was not looking at me as she creamed her hands.
‘Of course not.’
‘Are you worried about something? The committee perhaps …’
‘No! Nothing. Ingrid, I’m sorry. I just suddenly felt old and tired. It’s passed now. I’m going downstairs to read a bit. I’ve got some papers I must work on. I’ll come up later.’
A look of anger flashed between us. I ignored it, and left the room.
Downstairs I poured myself a whisky. I must find a way of moving us quickly towards the marriage for which we were destined. A marriage of diminishing physical contact, which would cause neither comment nor heartbreak. Ours had never been a passionate marriage. Surely it must be possible to accelerate the already well-established route towards celibacy.
I must make it happen. Ingrid’s physical closeness was becoming impossible for me to handle. A sickness for Anna wrenched my being. It was as though Ingrid had been trying to invade the space which the ghost of the absent Anna filled. The battle-charged air had made me ill.
You will make yourself very sick, an inner voice admonished. You know that. Don’t you? Yes, doctor. Physician, heal thyself! I smiled wryly as I remembered the old adage. Perhaps punishment was what I needed?
Having made up my mind to a further sacrifice of Ingrid’s happiness, I went to work on my papers.
Breakfast the next morning was monosyllabic and cool. To my shame, Ingrid’s concern for me constantly triumphed over her desire to punish me.
I remained cool. I was anxious to keep a distance between us that would allow a new workable pattern to emerge. A finely judged thing, this careful undermining of the foundations of a marriage.
‘I want to organise the birthday party for Father on the twentieth. I thought it might be nice if we could all arrive for dinner the night before and stay for lunch on the Sunday. I’ll talk to Ceci. I can plan the lunch menu. Sally and I can help Ceci prepare everything. Then there’s Anna, of course, she can help too.’
This domestication of Anna seemed to me part of a plot on Ingrid’s part. Did she not see the incongruity of Anna in a kitchen? I had a vision of the four women. Ceci, Ingrid, Sally, all busy and competent and on home territory, and Anna, weaving her mystery and her power round the kitchen. Anna, imbuing all with another female aura, one that was infinitely more potent than the charm of care and kindness. The others were cardboard cut-out figures, and Anna alone was real, and glorious, and dangerous.
‘I may be late down. I’ll check, but Sunday lunch should be fine.’
‘Good. I’m sure Father will be thrilled. We can discuss presents later.’
She looked at her watch. Ingrid was anxious to be the one who dismissed the other. A revenge for last night.
‘I must be off.’ I moved towards h
er to give the customary kiss on the cheek. But she just smiled briefly and as she turned her head slightly, my lips brushed her hair. Perhaps that was another subtle change in the ritual, to move from skin to hair on the ever-lengthening road away from each other’s bodies.
In the car I remembered that it had been at Hartley I had asked Edward for permission to propose to Ingrid. So long ago. A fateful yes, that had led to Martyn and Sally, and to year upon year of peace and contentment, good luck and prosperity.
Hartley too would fall to Anna. Its other associations would be altered for ever. Its walls and gardens, innocent of her till now, Ingrid’s most beloved domain, must surrender too.
I rang her. It was early, she was home.
‘Hartley!’
‘Yes, I know. It was impossible to say no.’ Anna paused. ‘I don’t think I mentioned it but I’m going to be away next week, until Thursday evening.’
I paused. Don’t ask where. Don’t push, I admonished myself.
She laughed as if she had read my thoughts and said, ‘I’ve got to go to Edinburgh for a feature I’m writing, that’s all.’
‘Good. My committee is at the proposal stage. Final documents need to be prepared.’
‘Life, it seems, goes on.’
‘The surface needs attention, I agree.’
‘The outer edges of our world need strengthening. Only then can our secret real life continue.’
‘We know each other very well.’
‘Indeed we do.’
‘Goodbye. Till Hartley.’
‘Till Hartley — goodbye.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
HARTLEY HAD NEVER held me in its thrall. It was Edward’s home. The place where Ingrid had been born, and had spent her childhood. The place where she rode and fished with Edward in school holidays. ‘Look, over there, I fell off Border. Father thought I had been killed. I was only concussed. There, that’s where I used to sit and dream of my future. That’s where, behind that rose bush, my first boyfriend kissed me!’ I had listened to all her dreaming memories, with a politeness that should have worried me. A man in love does not listen to the tales of his beloved’s childhood with such detachment. Nor does he look on the house that sheltered her with so cool an eye.
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