She had an answer for all of his queries. She had thought of everything. For instance she was quite happy to sign a disclaimer to any property rights which might accrue to her as his wife. She neither wanted nor expected to share any part of his life in Europe. She wanted nothing from him, save his name and his company for eight weeks a year.
"Oh, perhaps there is one other thing," she said, almost as an afterthought, "a favour really - but while you're in Kenya I'd be glad if you restrained your normal, well your physical, desires. Audrey Cummings this week for instance, something like that might cause me embarrassment."
He glared. Of course she got it from the houseboys, he told himself, every bloody wog in Kenya must spy for her ... and every bazaar. He felt quite drunk. Oddly enough getting drunk seemed the most sensible thing to do. "And what about your physical desires?" he demanded. "Won't they embarrass me?"
"No, never."
"What are you then? Some kind of nun?"
She met his stare without flinching. Her name had never been touched by sexual scandal. He knew that but was in no mood to pay compliments. He grunted, "I assume I do what the hell I like in Europe. Is that it?"
"Of course."
He leered, "Well I'd be entitled to conjugal rights in Africa wouldn't I? I wouldn't need Audrey Cummings -"
"Our arrangement would be a business transaction. Husband and wife eight weeks a year, a public relationship, not private."
"You mean I don't get into your bed?"
"Why would you want to? I'm not attractive. You're certainly not in love with me, not even fond of me. I don't blame you. I'm merely pointing it out. You'd find no pleasure in my bed, I assure you, so why burden the relationship with a problem?"
"You frigid bitch," he said, intensely angry.
She rose and replaced her napkin on the table. "I'm sorry you're annoyed. I need an ally, not a lover. Partners should be friends. It's up to you. I've made my offer. I'll leave you to think it over."
And she left.
He remained in the bungalow for three days, sometimes sober, often drunk. Whenever he thought of his dilemma he needed a drink, and since he thought of nothing else a bottle was always at hand. Commercially her offer was irresistible - eight hundred thousand pounds over ten years - and without losing ownership. The estates would not only remain intact, they would be enhanced - he had no doubt about that. Meanwhile he would have eighty thousand a year - more than his income from farmland in Ulster, more than from the shipyards even in a good year, and far more than from the linen mills.
But to marry her!
How Standish would sneer. Yet... and the thought took hold ... what sweet revenge to set Ziggy Beck up as the social superior of everyone in Happy Valley. They would hate it! He roared with laughter late at night, imagining their faces ... Ziggy Beck, already richer than them, dining with the Governor, treading a social path from which they were excluded. They might sneer, but they would squirm too.
Even so ...
Other thoughts took over - thoughts of Ulster, dreams of home. He was sick of Africa. A few months were fine - but two years! He longed for Europe, ached for the art galleries of London and the studios in Paris. Ziggy Beck was his ticket home.
But to marry her!
Yet, would it be so bad? For eight weeks out of every fifty-two and a divorce in ten years. And it solved all his problems in Africa. He trusted her ... she was reliable ...
They were married six weeks later. The initial announcement shocked everyone, but people recovered amazingly quickly. Oddly enough it enhanced Lord Averdale's reputation. Shrewd heads began to nod in the clubs. Men reassessed Mark Averdale, even Standish was heard to say, "He's a damn sight shrewder than we gave him credit for." Of course the new Lady Averdale received none of the credit, although some people wished they had befriended her before. Even at the Governor's table someone said, "You know, that Ziggy Averdale is really quite charming. She has such an interesting smile."
The bride and groom lived at her place, Cutter's Lodge, and gave a series of parties and receptions. Everyone went. People accepted invitations out of curiosity, or because of the Averdale name, or because the Governor might be there, or to keep up with the Joneses. They went intrigued, and came away impressed.
Even Jan Tatz, Mark's dour South African manager, was impressed. Suddenly more labour was drafted onto the Bowley estates. Merchants delivered materials and machinery round the clock. The very air hummed with co-operation - and although every penny was counted by a battery of Indian book-keepers, at least money was spent, as distinct from the restricted operation which had existed before. Tatz was brimming with optimism at a meeting with Mark four weeks after the wedding. "I've been going through the figures again - with this new investment I think we'll hit real pay dirt in a couple of years, in fact it wouldn't surprise me to see over a hundred thousand a year."
It would not surprise Mark either. Ziggy had a habit of keeping her word.
In those four weeks every aspect of their bargain was honoured. He stood beside her at innumerable receptions, holding her hand and easing her path. Nobody from Happy Valley was ever invited, and if Ziggy saw any other enemies among her guests she gave no sign of it - but Mark never doubted she had scores to settle, and would settle in full when it suited her.
Everything went to plan. The secret agreements were signed, Mark collected his first year's rent, wrote to Ulster saying he would soon be home, mentioned his marriage almost in passing - and acted the role of dutiful husband. But the role-playing stopped at the door to her bedroom. Even on their wedding night the threshold was barred, "We have a business arrangement, remember?"
He had been mildly drunk, mellow enough to be amused - but his view changed with the passing of time. She had changed. She dressed differently, especially when they entertained. Her "business outfit" was discarded in favour of more glamorous clothes. Her figure was revealed. Her over-large nose and square jaw seemed less noticeable. Instead Mark was struck by her smile and the amusement found in her eyes - and he was very aware of her body, displayed as it was in a whole series of low cut gowns.
By the end of six weeks he was sour with frustration. He had been made comfortable at Cutter's Lodge. The rambling thatched house was very much in the Kenya style, with guest rooms in one wing and the master suites in another - but his bedroom was separated from hers by bathrooms and dressing-rooms - and her door remained locked against him at night.
"This won't work," he grumbled one night. "A man has certain needs -"
"Eight weeks a year," she reminded him, "a business arrangement, remember."
He was damned if he would beg. He stifled his anger but it was a strain. In fact the entire relationship was beginning to trouble him. He found himself confused by conflicting emotions. It had never happened before. Dorothy had been a possession, pure and simple, he had owned her. Molly Oakes was an expensive play-thing, bought and paid for. But he could hardly say that about his new wife. The trouble was he liked her. Mark had never liked a woman before. Worse, he respected her, and to respect a woman was quite foreign to his nature. Yet he found it hard to deny her respect. She was so ... so honourable.
She kept her agreements with everyone, be they white or black or brown. Consequently, albeit grudgingly, Mark Averdale reminded himself of their "business arrangement" and schooled himself to keep his side of the bargain.
The night before he left they gave a final dinner for about twenty of the most progressive farmers. Mark's story, prearranged, was that he would be away for some months on business in Ulster. Ziggy would explain his extended absence as and when it suited her.
It was a successful evening for two reasons, the first being the obvious respect in which Ziggy was held by the other farmers. True none of them were "the Kenya aristocracy", none of their families were alongside that old buccaneer Delamere when he first blazed the British presence across the land, but they all farmed a fair acreage and seemed to know what they were talking about. Ziggy might well
have plenty of enemies but she also seemed to have a number of friends.
The other reason concerned Mark Averdale himself. A proposal was made - that while he was in England he should meet Westminster politicians and find out what they were planning for Africa. The idea was widely supported. Mark was flattered and promised to do what he could. People toasted the success of his trip and the evening ended on a convivial note - after which those who were travelling left for their homes, and those who were guests dispersed to their rooms. The host and hostess remained for a moment, knowing it would be another twelve months before they next wished each other goodnight.
Mark poured two final brandies. "Well," he said, raising his glass, "here's to my partner in Africa. To your continued health and prosperity."
She replied with a toast of her own. "And to my partner in Europe," she said, "a true British gentleman."
He looked at her sharply, remembering the significance she had attached to the words when she talked of her first husband. But her voice was empty of sarcasm, her smile was genuinely warm. The tribute was meant.
He slept badly that night. He hoped against hope she would come to him, but when dawn broke he was still alone under the mosquito netting. With a dry smile he told himself he should have known better.
Later that morning, he boarded a BOAC aircraft at Eastleigh airport and began the long journey home. Mark was nervous about the very long flight, but it did have an advantage. He could make a two-day stop-over in Rome and still be in Ulster sooner than had he travelled by sea. And with eighty thousand pounds to spend the prospects of Rome's art galleries was too tempting to resist.
The huge plane settled itself after banking low over Mount Kenya. The cabin staff distributed the newspapers and began to serve coffee - and quite by chance Mark's eye fell on a small story in the Kenya Times -
Foreign investments curtailed? Rumours grew this week that investments in Kenya by non-British nationals may soon be restricted. Sources at Westminster suggest that the colonial office is concerned about a growing imbalance between British and non-British investment in Africa. Our London correspondent writes - "various schemes are believed to be under review. One is that investment in Kenya may be restricted to British nationals ..."
Lord Averdale burst out laughing. Ziggy Beck (he still could not think of her in other terms) had done it again. She was a British national, thanks to her recent marriage ...
His mind dwelt on her for the next few hours. Most of his thoughts were admiring. His ego had recovered from her rejection - he even felt grateful. Sexually Ziggy Beck would be inept. He remembered Dorothy and shuddered. It would have been an embarrassing disaster. "Why burden the relationship with a problem," Ziggy had said - and she had been right. She really was a most remarkable woman!
He reviewed his affairs with a certain satisfaction. He had been away much longer than intended, but had salvaged more than he had dreamt possible. Meanwhile young Tim O'Brien had apparently developed splendidly under Harris's tutelage in Ulster. The Averdale fortune had in large part been saved, despite the worst efforts of the Labour Government at home and thieving managers abroad. Mark grinned. No surrender! He was unworried by his marriage of convenience. All thoughts of a real marriage had evaporated more than two years before. Of course it still hurt, he had spent too long yearning for Kate for the pain to fade entirely. But he tried not to dwell on it. Instead he looked forward to public triumphs with the Averdale Foundation - and to private pleasures with Molly Oakes.
Three weeks before Christmas 1948 - after an indulgent forty-eight hours in Rome - Mark Averdale came back to the British Isles. His plane landed at Heathrow and he took a cab to his London club, intending to settle himself in and then go directly to St John's Wood. He could hardly wait to see Molly. His suitcases contained presents for her, bought in Nairobi and Rome. In all the years he had known her he had never as much as written her a note. Prudent men did not write letters to their mistresses. It was the way affaires were conducted.
But to his surprise an envelope was waiting at his club, marked - "Not to be forwarded. To be collected by Lord Averdale on his return." The letter inside contained disastrous news.
Molly had gone to Australia! Sold up and emigrated. She thanked him for the past and wished him well for the future - but she had gone out of his life!
It was a bitter homecoming. London glittered with Christmas decorations. The city was festive with seasonal spirit. Everyone was celebrating ... but suddenly Mark Averdale felt very much alone.
He went to the bar for a brandy, then had another. He felt ... betrayed ... betrayed by a wife in Africa who refused him access to her bed, and a mistress in Australia who should have waited in London. Bloody women! But by Christ he had to have one ... he had been looking forward to Molly for so long.
Finally he went into Piccadilly and picked up a tart. They spent the night together in a cheap hotel behind St Pancras Station. Mark abused her brutally. In the morning he returned to his club, took a bath and ate an appallingly bad breakfast. He still thought "bloody women!" In particular "Bloody Molly!" To make matters worse he had been fond of her. He re-read her letter. Now that the shock of its contents had passed it took on a softer, kinder tone. "I shall always remember you with fond affection ... be forever grateful for your kindness ..." He lingered over it and realised she had been fond of him too. It made him feel better. He sighed, but he would miss her, that was for sure.
He went for a walk after that, across Green Park to think things out. During the long journey home he had planned to spend more time in London. He would have to if his interests were to be protected - the threat to Ulster lay not in Belfast, just as the threat to the Bowley estates was not to be found in Kenya - the threats were to be found in the same place, at Westminster with this wretched Labour Government. He would take his seat in the House of Lords and defend his interests from there. He had looked forward to that on the journey home ... it would mean spending more nights with Molly ... and he had looked forward to that too.
But Molly had gone. He was too sensual a man to do without a woman for long. He brightened. He would make a fresh start. He would find a new mistress, younger, more pliable. That dealt with Molly. The mood of confidence grew. Soon he was full of resolutions. When he went back to Africa he would demand his conjugal rights ... and that would deal with Ziggy Beck. And while he was at it he would deal with Kate O'Brien, arrange a settlement with the Johnstones perhaps ... and that would deal with his adolescent obsession once and for all.
He returned to his club in a better humour. Clear the decks, he told himself. It was almost the end of a year. Start the new year right. And start immediately. He telephoned the American Embassy, hoping to arrange a meeting with this man Lincoln Johnstone ("God, the names these Americans gave themselves - Lincoln indeed!") - but then came the first problem. Johnstone was not in the office - "He's away dealing with a domestic emergency." Mark asked for the man's home number but was told "we are not allowed to divulge that sort of information."
Lord Averdale fumed. Then he had an idea. Telephone this school, Glossops. They would know.
To his surprise the Principal came on the line as soon as he announced himself. She sounded almost feverish - "Oh Lord Averdale, we thought you were abroad. I'm so glad it's you. I'm afraid we've had something of an emergency ... yes, concerning your ward, well indirectly if you know what I mean ..."
Mark Averdale did not know - and what was worse the stupid woman refused to go into details. He managed to establish that the girl had not been involved in an accident, but Miss Jenkins stopped short at that. What she did say was, "I do wish we had known you were in London. I should so like to meet you, rather urgently if possible. No, I'd rather not discuss it on the telephone ..."
Clear the decks, he told himself, deal with it today. So he said to expect him that afternoon and went back to the bar for a drink before lunch - another bad meal, made even worse by listening to an account of the current antics of the Labo
ur Government, after which he called for a taxi and set out for Maidenhead.
It was three o'clock when he reached Glossops. He was curious but not alarmed. Whatever had happened would affect him only slightly. As soon as he got hold of Johnstone he would settle the girl's future, fairly and properly, but firmly - she would cease to be his concern.
Five minutes later he was shown into the Principal's office - to be greeted by a very agitated Miss Jenkins who had barely introduced herself when another member of staff arrived; "Ah thank goodness. Lord Averdale, may I present Miss Broakes who was very much involved in this ... um, this unfortunate incident."
It took fifteen minutes of humming and hawing before they told him about "the unfortunate incident". Apparently the Johnstone girl had got herself pregnant by an American airman. Miss Jenkins walked up and down to control her trembling. "I can't tell you how shocked we are. In all my years at Glossops ..." She returned to her desk and reached for her lorgnettes, "Lord Averdale, I'm sure you can imagine -"
"What about my ward?" he asked bluntly.
Miss Broakes took over. She was nervous but more in control of herself than Miss Jenkins. Apparently Jennifer Johnstone had reported sick two mornings before and the school doctor had pronounced her pregnant by almost three months. Her parents were sent for immediately, but even before they arrived Miss Broakes had pieced the story together. Unknown to the school and without the permission of her parents, Jennifer had been seeing the airman for a very long time. Naturally the Johnstones were distraught, especially Mrs Johnstone - "I'm afraid she was furious with Kate. You see Kate knew about it from the outset. Not only that but she has ... well told lies, covering up for Jenny. We had the most distressing scene. Most upsetting."
"Lying is unforgivable," Miss- Jenkins snapped. "I've told Kate, absolutely unforgivable!"
Miss Broakes went on to say that Mrs Johnstone as good as accused Kate of leading her daughter astray. Miss Broakes flushed. "Absolutely without justification in my opinion. Kate has been guilty of telling lies, but girls can be very loyal to their friends - misguided perhaps, but you must see Kate's point of view."
Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1 Page 143