‘I believe Mr Ballantyne came on the plane today,’ said Angus, with a sneer. ‘An event you failed to foresee.’
‘Someone else was on the plane,’ she said. ‘I failed to foresee that too. Your husband, Fidelia. He has a lawyer with him.’
She could have sworn that for a few seconds Angus looked quite gleeful. Thereafter, he frowned and tried to look sad.
Fidelia was silent. She sat upright, a feat on those divans. Her heart must have been racing with fear but her hands on her lap were still. Surely no man in the world could have rejected so lovely, so intelligent, and so brave a woman. There were two, Angus and Gomez; but perhaps they were all being premature in assuming that Gomez had come only for Letty. How marvellous if, at Ardnave, with its lambs and larks and monks’ ghosts, the Gomez family was united.
Fidelia must have had some such hope, for, when Janet suggested that she and Letty should go into hiding somewhere until Gomez had gone, she shook her head. She would discuss it with Letty, she said. Then she turned to Angus and asked him what they should do.
What answer did she expect? That when Gomez came, he, Angus, would never allow them to take Letty? That he would snatch the warrants out of their hands and tear them up? That he would himself hire lawyers and fight the case for years if need be until Letty was of age and that, in the meantime, they were welcome to live in his house for as long as they wished?
What he did say was: ‘How should I know?’
In Fidelia’s place, Janet would have hit him. There was no putter handy but, within reach, Fidelia had a choice of a small statue of Ganesh, the elephant god, or a Buddha of green soapstone, either of which would have made a formidable missile.
Fidelia had no violence in her. She rose, smiled at Janet, looked sadly at Angus, and went out. Janet heard her opening the outside door and then saw her through the window making her way slowly towards the beach. Surely she wasn’t thinking of drowning herself? No, as a Catholic she would never do that. Besides, the tide was well out. She would have had to walk for half a mile to reach drowning depths.
What she was doing was preparing herself for a sacrifice more painful than being burned to death, and it would last for the rest of her life. In her room she had some religious books. Without permission Janet had looked through them. One was about the torments of hell. There were illustrations. One showed a naked woman with tiny sharp-toothed devils nibbling at her toes, her private parts, her breasts, and her face. How in God’s name, Janet had wondered, can she look so calm with such horrors in her mind?
Janet turned on Angus, who was nibbling at his knuckles. ‘You ought to know,’ she said, scornfully, ‘if you love her. She came to you for help. You’ve given her none.’
‘All I want is to be left alone to get on with my painting. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Why can’t you all leave me alone?’
‘You use people, Angus. They don’t like being used and then thrown away like paper hankies.’
‘An artist has to use people. Writers too. They know it’s despicable sometimes but, if they don’t do it, they won’t learn and, if they don’t learn, they can’t paint or write and there would be no masterpieces.’
‘So we’re all just material to you?’
‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’
‘You’d have to be as good as Picasso to get away with that.’
‘No. Even the worst of us.’
‘So when Gomez comes tomorrow and demands that Letty be handed over to him, you’ll just stand by and let it happen?’
‘She’s the one who’ll let it happen. She’s known since Letty was born that it would happen one day. You see, she’s got to obey God.’
‘So God wants her to give her daughter to a man that owns brothels?’
‘I don’t know what God wants. She thinks she does. I don’t even know that God exists.’
‘Tell me this, Angus. Let’s suppose that Letty’s been taken from her, would you let her stay here with you, would you be kind to her, would you help her to get over it?’
He was silent. She hated him for it and yet he was being honest. He could have lied.
She looked at the time. It was almost six o’clock. She would have to go and get dressed. It was suddenly important to her not to let Douglas down.
14
David was in the bar when, just after seven, the car arrived bringing Janet, Nell, and his two girls. Sadie the maid came in to tell him. He had arranged for her to take over for half an hour. He had to have a word in private with Janet before she spoke to Douglas, who was in his room getting dressed. Fortunately, putting on a kilt was for him a lengthy ceremony.
He found Jean and Agnes in the kitchen telling their mother about the wonderful time they had had. They showed the presents Letty had given them: small animals carved out of wood, in Jean’s case a sad-eyed monkey, and in Agnes’s a long-legged bird. They were begging their mother to let Letty come and play with them tomorrow. Daddy or Aunt Janet could go and fetch her. When Mary reminded them that tomorrow was Sunday and they had church and Sunday school to attend, they cried that didn’t matter, Letty could go with them, she was a Christian, she had a wee gold crucifix round her neck. They uttered strange words. ‘Emak.’ That was Malay for mother. ‘Bapa.’ That was Malay for father. Mary was touched that those were the words their new friend had taught them.
David took his daughters to the private sitting-room. They had just got there when there was a knock at the door. It was Janet, accompanied by Mrs Ballantyne.
David was glad to see Mrs Ballantyne looking so eager and attractive. He would not have called her fat. Well-upholstered, his father would have said. He did not know it but it was thanks to her girdle, worn with heroic fortitude. Her green dress suited her. Over her red hair was a gauzy scarf embroidered with butterflies in bright colours. Fidelia had lent it to her.
‘Your husband’s in the lounge bar,’ he said. ‘Shall I go and tell him you’re here?’
He thought they might want their reunion to be private.
‘No. That’s all right. We like company. Wish me luck.’
They wished her luck.
‘She won’t need it,’ said David. ‘He’s on edge waiting for her.’
‘Waiting to tell her he wants a divorce?’
‘Waiting to tell her how much he’s missed her.’
‘I hope so. Well, what about my own beloved. Is he missing me?’
He glanced at his daughters, resting after the day’s excitements. ‘Let’s go to my office, Janet.’
She was wearing a white blouse cut so low at the neck that part of her bosom could be seen. Douglas would not be pleased. This shamelessness was emphasised by a jade necklace which David had never seen before. It had been lent by Fidelia.
In the office, David looked at his cousin across the desk, past the penguin.
‘You’re looking like Bonzo again,’ she said.
‘It’s that blouse, Janet. Douglas won’t like it.’
‘I can assure you Cissie McDade was showing a lot more than this.’
He sighed. ‘I’ve been worried about Mrs Gomez. Jean and Agnes seemed to have enjoyed meeting the little girl. What do you think’s going to happen?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe she’s hoping for a miracle.’
As well as the book about the torments of hell, Fidelia had one about miracles.
‘Did you mention about them hiding somewhere? I’ve been thinking about that.’
‘She’s refused. She wants to go through with it. She seems resigned. Angus is a beast.’
‘Why, what has he done?’
‘It’s what he hasn’t done and has no intention of doing. Helping her, giving her support. He says it’s none of his business. All he wants is to get on with his painting.’
‘I see.’ What David saw was that McAllister deserved as much to be pitied as blamed.
‘Well, is my darling in the lounge bar too?’
‘No. He’s upstairs dressing. He’s wearing his kilt, in your honour he
says.’
‘He’s wearing a kilt because he wants to show off to Nell. What sort of man is Mr Ballantyne?’
‘I’m afraid he caused a bit of a scandal at lunch with his bad language. There were complaints. But the children like him. So does Douglas.’
‘Douglas must have beaten him then. He likes people he beats. He’s not so fond of those who beat him.’
‘That’s not fair, Janet. It was a draw. They had to stop at the seventeenth. They ran out of time. There’s something I’d better tell you, Janet.’
‘About my adulterous husband?’
David winced. ‘You see, Janet, I didn’t like to tell him you were staying with Mr McAllister. He might not have understood. So I’m afraid I made up a story that you were staying at Ardnave with a family called McAuslan.’
‘McAuslan? Remember the wee minister in Portree called that? He had a wig that kept coming loose in the pulpit. But, David, there are no people called McAuslan living at Ardnave.’
‘I know that. I invented them.’
She laughed. She had invented a lot of people in her day. This was David’s first time. ‘Good for you. Tell me about them. In case he asks.’
‘Well, you met them in church.’
‘What a liar you are, David McNaught!’
‘Mr McAuslan is a retired civil servant from Glasgow. He came to Flodday to study birds. Mrs McAuslan is an artist. She’s got paintings on the wall in the lounge bar.’
‘Those are Miss Sievewright’s.’
‘I know that.’
‘Well, I suppose he’d have to stand on a chair to read the signature. Have the McAuslans got white hair? Do they like malt whisky? Have they got a daughter in New Zealand?’
David smiled weakly. ‘I had to tell Mary.’
‘You mean to say that Mary agreed to tell lies? What would Mr McPherson say?’
‘He’s not saying very much these days. People are wondering if he’s ill.’
‘To get back to Mary, she didn’t repeat all those lies to Douglas, did she?’
‘No. She didn’t give me away, that’s all. She thought your marriage was in danger. She likes Douglas.’
‘Knowing him to be an adulterer? But then, as we discovered in Sunday school, so was King David. What’s keeping him?’ Can’t he get his kilt to hang straight?’
‘How did Mr McAllister take the news that Gomez is to visit him tomorrow?’
‘As my mother would say, his face is tripping him.’
But what man McAllister’s predicament would not be long-faced?
There was then a bang on the door and in marched Douglas, kilt swinging. David made an excuse and fled.
Douglas, exuding forgiveness, made to kiss her. She pushed him away.
He noticed her blouse. ‘I say, isn’t that a bit risque? It might do in sophisticated circles but not here among the heather-loupers.’
‘You weren’t so concerned about Cissie McDade’s lack of modesty.’
‘For God’s sake, Janet, why bring that up? Let’s be adult about it. You forgive me, I forgive you. That’s all there is to it.’
‘What am I to be forgiven for?’
‘Well, you did hit me with the putter. It was jolly sore. And you did run away. Let’s call it quits.’
‘How do I know that, while you were on your own, there wasn’t someone else? Elsie Hamilton, for instance.’
‘Good heavens, you’d think I was a regular Casanova to hear you. How did Rabbie put it? [Douglas had attended many Burns Suppers at the golf club.] Every man gangs a kenning wrang. Look at the number of times Jean Armour had to forgive him.’
‘More fool she. And I’m not married to Robert Burns.’
Douglas decided to change the subject. ‘Where’s Mrs Ballantyne?’
‘In the lounge bar, being reunited with her husband.’
‘By Jove, wasn’t he boiling over to see her again.’
‘Was he?’
‘Could hardly play golf for talking about her. Came dashing off the course in case he would be late. I never saw anything like it.’
‘She was just as keen to see him. There’s a joyful reunion going on in the lounge bar. Let’s go and congratulate them.’
‘Just a minute. Tell me about these McAuslans you were staying with.’
‘Why? Are you suspicious?’
His astonishment was genuine. ‘Why should I be suspicious?’
‘I thought you might be thinking that David made them up.’
‘Made them up? What are you talking about?’
‘He did make them up. Invented them. To protect me. From your jealous wrath. You see, I was staying with Angus McAllister.’
Douglas was having difficulty taking it in. ‘McAllister? The fellow Mrs Ballantyne was staying with?’
‘That’s him.’
‘A painter?’
‘Yes.’
‘The two of you?’
She could have said the three of us, but he was astounded enough.
‘What have you and this creep McAllister been up to?’ he howled.
‘Make less noise. What if I were to say, the same thing you and Cissie were up to on my Afghan rug?’
‘You know it’s different for a woman.’
He knew it sounded feeble but he believed it and was sure that somewhere in the Bible were texts supporting him.
‘How is it different?’
‘A woman could become pregnant.’
‘A man could become a father.’
‘Yes, but he wouldn’t know it, the way a woman was bound to. Apart, altogether, from the morality of the thing, a woman’s got to be more careful than a man. That’s the way nature arranged it.’
‘That might have been the case before the Pill was invented. Women can now have the fun without the consequences, just like men. That’s only fair, wouldn’t you say? As a golfer, you must see that.’
He looked so guilty and miserable that she almost relented. She was not to know that he was thinking not of Cissie, but of Elsie.
‘We’ll finish this talk later,’ she said. ‘How did you get on with Nell’s husband?’
‘All right. He’s a bit uncouth. Uses indecent language in the presence of ladies. But he’s an Australian, of course.’
‘At least he doesn’t expect his wife to be faithful to him when he isn’t faithful to her.’
‘That blouse, Janet. Couldn’t you pin it up a bit?’
‘Why? Are you ashamed of your wife’s bosom?’
‘They’ll ogle. You didn’t, did you, with McAllister? The bloody nerve of the man, two women in his house at once.’ That was an indignant squeal, with traces of envy.
‘Three,’ she said, unable to resist. ‘Let’s go and join them.’
As she passed him, she placed in his open mouth a feather plucked from the penguin.
15
As she entered the lounge bar Nell was holding her breath, not only because of the tightness of her girdle: suspended joy was just as constricting. She tried to carry herself with elegance: something else borrowed from Fidelia. The place was crowded, so that it took her a few seconds to find Bruce in a corner. A cheerfully insolent, normally salacious young man with long hair greeted her with a whistle of admiration, which his two cronies echoed. (They were the three who last Saturday had baited Angus McAllister.) Bruce glanced up to see what specimen of female bedworthiness had evoked these salutes. When he saw her, his face, a moment ago downcast, lit up. Years of stale custom dropped off it. She saw him as he had been on their honeymoon, when she had taken the photograph of him as Adas. He came rushing over with such unguarded delight that the youths, ready to mock middle-aged or elderly love, instead gave their ironical but good-natured blessing. Nell, inwardly calling them cheeky young buggers, was grateful. It was reassuring to learn from such prejudiced critics that her own and Janet’s efforts, with shy assistance from Fidelia, to disguise the puffness of her face and put the sheen back in her hair, had been successful.
The world,
she felt, was a happy place, full of good well-intentioned people. Bastards like Gomez were few and they wouldn’t win in the end. Later, when her happiness was at its height, remembering Fidelia, she would not be so confident of the triumph of the innocent.
She and Bruce had never made a habit of slobbering over each other in public. They did hold hands, though.
‘Pleased to see you, sport,’ said Nell.
‘Me too. You look marvellous.’
‘I feel marvellous. You don’t look so bad yourself’
He took her to a seat. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘I’m going to tell you something that’ll make your jaw drop. I’ve given it up.’
‘Given what up?’
‘Booze. Fags too. I’m a reformed character.’
‘Have you joined a nunnery?’
‘No. I’ve still got one wicked habit left, as you’ll find out later. I’ll have a glass of lemonade. But, since this is a special occasion, I’ll have some whisky in it. Flodday Mist. The local champagne.’
‘Right. Flodday Mist and lemonade. That’s a handsome scarf. I haven’t seen it before.’
‘It’s not mine. I borrowed it.’
‘From Janet?’
‘No. I’ll tell you about it later.’
He went off to fetch her drink. Sadie was still behind the bar.
Nell might have been a nun, so solemnly did she look about her. She could not resist giving the randy youths a wink.
Bruce came back. His tie, as always, was askew. She straightened it and then patted his cheek. ‘Here’s to us,’ she said, lifting her glass.
‘To us, Nell.’
‘The bridge is still standing.’
All their married life, in the midst of crises, such as when both the children had whooping cough, it had been their custom to cheer each other up by pointing out that Sydney Harbour Bridge was still standing and so there was no need to despair.
‘It sure is. You’re looking a treat, Nell. Fair blooming. The pure air of this place must suit you.’
‘You should have seen me yesterday. I’ve had a bit of good news since then. I’m a new-born woman. I know now how those buggers feel when they say they’ve found God. So what did you think of Janet’s Douglas?’
Poor Angus Page 17