A Final Reckoning

by Susan Moody

  One of the nearby daddies was with a pair of adorable twin girls aged about five, both with Asiatic features, although he himself looked as English as Windsor Castle.

  ‘Look, Daddy, look,’ one of them said.

  ‘He’s taking the bread right off our hands,’ said the other.

  ‘Can we take one home with us?’ said the first.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ their father said. ‘The Queen wouldn’t like that at all.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because all the birds here – all the birds in England actually – belong to her.’

  ‘Couldn’t she spare one, just for us?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be fair to ask her. She would be awfully sad to lose one.’

  Daddy looked round, smiling, and I smiled back. He did a double-take. ‘We’ve met, haven’t we?’ he said.

  ‘Have we?’

  ‘Aren’t you … You’re Chantal, aren’t you? May I?’ He gestured at the bench and sat down at my nod. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  He gestured at his children. ‘I’m putting in some significant daddy-time. We sort of met recently at that restaurant on the river.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ I had placed him now. One of the less obnoxious of the men who had been on their way to Charlie Leeming’s funeral.

  He grimaced. ‘I’m afraid the boys weren’t behaving particularly well that day. Especially Barnesy. I suppose you could say we were drinking to forget – it’s quite sobering when someone your own age dies.’

  Tell me about it, I thought.

  He put out a hand. ‘I’m Rob Bradley, by the way.’ He looked across the park at windows glinting in the sun and the tops of the trees lining the Mall. ‘So where’s your fiancé this morning?’

  I said he was away. It didn’t seem worthwhile enlightening him as to the true status of our relationship.

  ‘And when’s the wedding?’

  I was evasive. ‘Uh … we haven’t settled on a date yet.’

  ‘Have you known Metcalfe-Vaughn long?’

  ‘Only about six months.’ Looked at dispassionately, that seemed an awfully short time to make such a commitment. ‘No, more than that,’ I lied. ‘More like a year.’

  I don’t think he believed me. ‘I’ve known him for years,’ he said. ‘Played rugby with him all over south-east Asia and Australia. Singapore. The Hong Kong Sevens. Sydney. The financial world out there is very small, and you can’t avoid bumping into people you know.’

  ‘It was obvious that none of you liked him,’ I said coldly.

  ‘That’s not quite true.’ Bradley paused as one of his daughters ran up, asking if there was any more bread for the birds.

  When she’d returned to the water’s edge, he looked down at the asphalt beneath his feet, which was covered in breadcrumbs and duck-droppings. ‘I often think about what that poor guy went through … what happened at his guardian’s house … the two Palliser boys …’ He shivered. ‘God, what a frightful experience that must have been for a kid his age.’

  ‘He still hasn’t gotten over it.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. I suppose they sent him to a psychiatrist.’

  ‘If by “they” you mean his parents, yes. But they only suggested it when he was older.’

  ‘What, some kind of anger-management course, was it?’

  ‘Why on earth do you ask that?’

  A leaf floated past Bradley’s ear and he tried to catch it. ‘Just, he used to have a bit of a temper, get himself into quite a state. He would be terribly apologetic afterwards. It was as if he just couldn’t help himself.’

  ‘I can honestly say that I’ve never seen Gavin anything but completely charming.’ Again I lied: once or twice he had been considerably less so.

  ‘That’s a relief. I really shouldn’t have said anything, damned cheek really, but after that strange business with his wife, I thought—’

  ‘His what?’

  ‘Hasn’t he told you about Miki?’

  I hated to admit that he hadn’t. ‘Not really,’ I hedged. ‘Just said there’d been … something. Someone, I should say.’ I was finding it hard to get my head around this. Gavin had been married? Why hadn’t he said anything? Especially when I had told him all about Hamilton.

  ‘It was all pretty ghastly at the time, I can tell you,’ Bradley was saying. ‘The poor man was absolutely devoted to her, so you can imagine how devastated he was. And they were expecting their first child, too, which made it even worse.’

  ‘How did she …’ I coughed. ‘Um … what exactly happened?’

  ‘I seem to remember they returned an open verdict. She slipped off a cliff. Or jumped. No one was sure whether it was an accident or suicide.’

  ‘Why would she want to commit suicide?’

  ‘That’s what we all wondered. Whenever you saw them together they always seemed so happy. So much in love. It was really tragic … They were one of the top social couples out there in Singapore, life and soul of the party, always celebrating something or other, going out to dinner, Embassy functions, that sort of thing. Miki was a wonderful hostess, too. I’ve been to some super parties at their place.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  ‘Miki? She was one of those cute little Japanese girls, a real bundle of fun, rather like my own wife; in fact they were good friends, my wife was really cut up about her death. Hugely clever, of course, ran her own fashion business – doing very well indeed from what I heard – and thrilled to pieces to be having a baby, but determined that it wasn’t going to cramp their social life.’ Bradley laughed. ‘My wife told them they hadn’t got a clue. Amazing, isn’t it? You can be out every night of the week, but once the first sprog comes along, that’s it. Suddenly, rather than be out on the town, you’d much rather be home, staring into its crib and accepting that it’s the most beautiful and amazing creature ever to be born.’

  ‘And where did this … accident take place?’

  ‘They were in Japan at the time, sightseeing at some well-known Lovers’ Leap type beauty-spot with a marvellous view. According to Gavin, and to the witnesses, one minute she was there, the next she wasn’t.’ Bradley seemed embarrassed. ‘Look, I do hope I haven’t been telling tales out of school. I just assumed Gavin would have told you.’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I can see how he might not want to upset you. A trauma like that – and the earlier one too. We didn’t hold it against him too much when he got a bit worked up.’

  ‘Worked up meaning what exactly?’

  ‘Oh, you know … screaming at people. Throwing stuff around. Deliberately smashing other people’s things if he was angry with them.’

  ‘Yeah, well …’

  Again Bradley stared out across the park. ‘He was an only child. And because of what happened, his parents probably spoiled him. So he was used to everything going his way, couldn’t handle it when it didn’t.’ He patted my knee in a fatherly fashion. ‘But I’ve no doubt he’s grown out of all that sort of thing by now.’

  I nodded. My blood felt chilled at the edges, like milk left on a frosty doorstep. I didn’t want to hear what he was saying. Partly because I didn’t want to believe the subtext behind his words. But partly because I had already begun to sense – although I didn’t want to admit it – a darkness at Gavin’s core, something feral and uncontrolled. ‘As I said, I’ve never seen the slightest sign in him.’

  ‘Good, good.’

  The younger of Bradley’s girls had fallen over and instead of getting up was continuing to lie on the path, sobbing. ‘I’d better go,’ Bradley said. ‘Marshal the troops. Find a café or an ice-cream seller.’ He grinned at me. ‘It’s amazing how many ills an ice-cream can cure. Especially if it’s got chocolate sprinkles on top.’

  ‘I’ll try to remember that.’

  ‘It was nice to meet you again,’ he said.

  He was describing a Gavin I didn’t know, I told myself. We were
happy together. There was no flouncing or sulking. I loved him. I was sure he loved me. I knew that love could be quiet and still be passionate. And that passion can transmute into contentment, and love remain as strong. If – when – Gavin asked me to marry him I anticipated nothing more than a blissful life with him, a contented family, few if any money problems, successful children, all the usual uncomplicated middle-class desires. Unambitious, yes, but then I had never been ambitious. I was quite content to leave that to Gavin. There had been certain things I wanted, such as my career, and I had come by them relatively easily. Now Bradley had raised spectres I could not have envisioned.

  Back at home, I spent part of the evening lying in a hot bath and examining the time Gavin and I had spent together, analysing the traces of bad temper or uncontrolled behaviour on his part, searching for flaws. Occasionally we had exchanged a sharp word or two, but we’d never quarrelled. True, he liked to tell me what to do, what to eat, what to wear, but I took no notice of that, seeing it as just one of his funny little ways. I had plenty of those myself.

  I hoicked a toe round the hot-water tap and turned it on. We were two people who already enjoyed each other’s company, had a marvellous time in bed together, liked the same people, the same books, the same films. Together, we were each more than we were singly on our own – and wasn’t that about the best definition of a good relationship you could ask for?

  Nonetheless, the information I had so recently learned grew in me like a canker. Thanks to Rob Bradley, I had not only lost my peace of mind, but I was even starting to develop an unfocused sense of personal danger.

  Meanwhile, my work load at Chauncey’s was growing heavier. I was about to travel down to Wales to inspect a house outside Cardiff, in order to evaluate a number of paintings which the owners wished to sell. Then there was a catalogue to prepare for the sale of miniatures which I was supervising in the New Year, thanks to Desmond Forshawe’s intervention. And on top of that, there was helping Malcolm Macdonald to set up his new flat, which was taking up most of my free time. I scarcely had a moment to do what I was best at: being dull.

  Gavin telephoned from Papua New Guinea. ‘How’s it going, sweets?’

  ‘Just fine, thank you.’ Not as warmly as usual. I was more wary and hoped he didn’t sense it.

  ‘Are you missing me?’

  ‘I think I must be, but honestly, darling, I’ve scarcely had time to. Up in the morning while it’s still dark, home late, asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow.’

  He made a disappointed noise, and I laughed. ‘Of course I miss you. Horribly. Life’s no fun without you.’

  ‘Ditto, darling. Look, could you possibly go round to my place at the weekend? Water the plants, feed the cat, that sort of thing?’

  ‘You haven’t got a cat.’

  ‘I know, but if I had, it would need feeding.’

  ‘Idiot,’ I said fondly.

  ‘Also, could you pick up the mail? And check that there’s nothing gone off in the fridge?’

  ‘Shall I also stop by the employment agency and register myself as a maid-of-all-work?’

  ‘Very amusing, darling.’

  ‘I thought so. Hey, what happened to your char-student?’

  ‘I had to let him go. He was mucking about with things, reading my books, actually playing my piano, if you can believe it.’

  ‘Quentin is a music student, probably doesn’t have a piano where he lives,’ I said. ‘Sounds pretty reasonable to me.’

  ‘Not if he’s going to leave pizza fingermarks on my piano keys.’

  ‘Well, did he?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Gavin admitted.

  ‘How do you know he even eats pizza, you old curmudgeon? Or if he does, that he would be eating in your place instead of his own?’

  ‘I sound like a real grouch, don’t I?’ Gavin said cheerfully. ‘But I bet it was only a matter of time. You know what students are like. Besides, I was paying him to clean the flat, not to lounge about playing Chopin all day.’ He gave a little groan. ‘God, I wish I was with you.’

  ‘So do I. How much longer do you think they’ll need you out there?’

  ‘No more than week, I think.’

  ‘Good. I can hardly wait to see you again.’

  ‘Same here.’

  ‘We seem to spend an awful lot of the time apart, sweetheart.’

  ‘That’ll change. Once we’re properly together, I’ll ask to be shifted to another department. There’s not much point having the most super woman in the world and spending so much time away from her.’

  ‘Oh, darling.’ My heart melted. ‘Kiss, kiss.’

  Saturday morning, I drove to Gavin’s flat in the Barbican. I’d been there many times and by now had my own key, even knew the couple next door, who’d invited us in for a drink not long ago. Gavin’s cleaner, the student from the Royal Academy of Music had always done a pretty good job of keeping the place neat and tidy. When I let myself in, it was fairly obvious that no one had cleaned up since Gavin’s departure: his breakfast things were still in the kitchen sink, covered in a disgusting green mould, and the milk in the fridge had long ago separated into curds and whey. As I emptied it down the sink, averting my nose, I asked myself, as I had done many times before, why Miss Muffet seemed to relish them so much.

  The Sunday papers from two weeks ago were still strewn over Gavin’s white leather sofa; the bed was unmade, the trash had not been emptied. There were lights blinking on his answering machine, and I stared at them for a moment, wondering whether listening to the messages was more or less the same invasion of privacy as opening someone else’s mail, or reading their personal diary. I decided that it was.

  I tidied up, changed the sheets on the bed, dropped the trash down the chute into the basement. Watered the herbs Gavin kept on the kitchen window-sill, washed-up, cleaned out the fridge. Threw out the dead roses in a vase on his piano, crimson ones which I’d brought the week before he left. (Guess what, Gavin: I love you.) Then I made a cup of instant coffee and sat down in the living room to drink it. It was a pleasant space, but a little small for two people to live comfortably together. My flat was much bigger, much more suited to a couple just starting out on married life, especially if children were to come along, although Gavin had expressed no enthusiasm at the prospect.

  ‘Won’t it cramp our style?’ he’d said.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve got any style to cramp,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I certainly have. I’ll go along with what you want, of course, but I can’t say my heart leaps up at the thought of baby-sick all down the front of my suits. And I can tell you, the clients aren’t going to be hugely impressed.’

  ‘You could always take your suit off before you hold him or her.’

  ‘Anyway, I prefer it when it’s just the two of us.’

  I had patted his arm. ‘I shouldn’t worry about it, sweetheart: at my age, the chances are fairly remote,’ I said, jokingly.

  ‘There is that, I suppose.’

  ‘Thank you very much for making out that I’m some dried-up old crone too old to have babies!’

  He had pulled me into his arms and kissed me. ‘Have I ever at any point suggested in any way that you’re too old to do anything? Have I? Have I?’

  ‘No, Gavin, you never have.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  Well then was all very well, but it would have been nice if he’d been a bit more positive. My mind wandered to the future and what it might hold for us both, while my eyes moved idly among Gavin’s possessions. That silver vase, badly in need of polishing, would look good on the sideboard in my small dining room; that hideous bowl would have to go; the ceramic candlesticks blended nicely with my sitting room curtains; the scene in bright colours which I knew he’d bought in Papua New Guinea could hang in our bedroom.

  Our bedroom … but it wasn’t our bedroom, it could never be. What was I doing, hypothetically moving Gavin and his things into the home which Hamilton and I had built up together? Th
ere was only one thing for it, and that was to sell up, buy another apartment, get rid of the things which Ham and I bought together with so much hope, give Brigid or his brother the furniture which he had inherited from his grandmother.

  But I didn’t want to. I couldn’t just junk my former life. If Ham had been in the room with me, he’d have told me not to be so silly, the furniture was just polish and memories, nothing that should play too big a part in my future relationships. And he’d be right. Nonetheless, I had a feeling that Gavin wouldn’t see it that way.

  I stared at the books in the low white-painted bookshelves which stood all along one wall. A lot of cheap thrillers – aircraft reading, Gavin had told me; a set of illustrated Dickens; various books on money and business practice, on sport, on art; some dictionaries; books on PNG, Singapore, Hong Kong, Australia, South America. An eclectic reader, my Gavin. And a constant traveller, since he was always being sent to far-flung corners of the earth to negotiate big deals. Several of his art books were duplicated on my own bookcases: a book on Frida Kahlo, for example, another on Canaletto. And a book about the paintings housed in the Scottish National Gallery. I’d ordered the same book online from California as a Christmas present for Sabine; I’d selected the gift-wrapped option, and since I couldn’t write in it myself, had asked them to enclose a card with a message I sent them. Now I sat back on the sofa with it, realizing how much less often I thought of Sabine these days. Happiness was a good a way to drive out grief. And I was happy, wasn’t I? Of course I was.

  Opening Gavin’s copy, I flipped through it, enjoying the contents: Ham and I had often wandered through the rooms on the Mound, sharing our favourites with each other. How young I had been back then; how jaded I felt now. I turned to the title page – and stared in disbelief.

  To the one and only Sabine Françoise Monroe,

  from her adoring little sister, Chantal

  The words were written in someone else’s handwriting, on a card which had been loosely stuck to the first page. I read the inscription again. And then once more. It was undoubtedly Sabine’s book, but its presence here made no sense at all; I could not work out how it came to be in Gavin’s flat. She couldn’t have lent it to him, because she’d died before she could open it.