Letitia stood up and smiled at Camilla graciously. ‘He did not run it single handed, my dear, and I did not help him. We did it together. It could not have survived any other way.’ She looked at Camilla and then suddenly raised a limp hand to her head. ‘I am so sorry, but I very much fear I may have to cancel our luncheon after all. I have a very severe migraine coming on. The only thing is simply to get home and lie down in a darkened room. Do forgive me.’
‘Of course,’ said Camilla, relief and rage struggling with each other, ‘can I get my driver to take you home?’
‘Oh, no, dear, mine is waiting. He’s been with me for years, you know. Ever since the company began. So loyal, all my staff. Goodbye, Camilla, I think I’ll just get dressed again and hurry off. I do hope you will find someone else to join you. I don’t suppose you have managed to find many friends in London, as you are so dreadfully overworked.’
Talking to Eliza that evening over dinner, regaling her most wickedly with every lurid detail of the encounter, Letitia said, ‘I do hope for all our sakes, Eliza, he never does marry that dreadful creature. Our lives will become a great deal less agreeable if he does.’
The Connection Four
Los Angeles, 1968
LEE LOOKED AT Dean across the breakfast table and wondered for the hundredth, possibly the thousandth time, what she could possibly do to make him eat less. He was, at forty-two, seriously overweight: the last time she had managed to get a look at the scales when he had been on them they had lurched up to two hundred and forty pounds; that was an awful lot for a man who only stood five foot ten in his socks. It wasn’t just that he looked – well, certainly not the most attractive man she had ever seen, his shirts straining desperately round his huge belly, his trousers slung awkwardly and uncomfortably beneath it (‘You’ll need them specially made soon’ she had said tartly, the last time they had been shopping for some together, ‘Or some maternity ones, like I used to wear with an elastic panel in the front’). She felt his weight was a serious threat to his health, and had only last week tried to tell him so, and suggest he cut down on the hamburgers and the fries and the beer, but he had laughed easily, and slapped his gut with his soft, dimpled hand and said he and his belly were old friends, and he was damned if any diet was going to come between them.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you get to grow any bigger, you won’t have any other friends. You look terrible, Dean.’
‘Miles,’ he said to the little boy, who was sitting in the living room reading comics and munching his way through a bumper bag of potato chips, ‘do you think I look terrible?’
‘No, Dad,’ said Miles without even looking up.
‘There you are,’ said Dean, ‘two friends. Miles doesn’t mind me being a little overweight, do you, son?’
‘No, Dad.’
‘Honey, you shouldn’t worry so much about these things. It’s that Amy Meredith with all her cranky nonsense about wholefood and not eating red meat, I never heard of such nonsense, man was meant to eat meat, he used to live on nothing else, a bison for breakfast on a good day, now you go tell Amy Meredith that.’
‘Well, I will if you like,’ said Lee, ‘she won’t want to hear it, but I will. And you’re wrong anyway, man was a hunter-gatherer, he ate nuts and grains as well, and vegetables. And besides if we’re going to get into all that stuff, when man was eating bison for breakfast, he was also going out and killing the bison, and getting quite a lot of exercise that way. The only thing you do to hunt your food is walk over to the refrigerator and open the door. Please, Dean, do at least think about a diet.’
‘OK,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘I’ll think about it. For five minutes every day. Before dinner. Now why don’t you start worrying about something more sensible, like your own figure. You’re skin and bone, honey. If anyone looks awful, you do.’
‘Well thanks,’ said Lee, giving up on the discussion, shooing Miles outside and turning her attention to sorting the laundry. ‘But at least I won’t be dying of a heart attack.’
‘No, malnutrition. With all those goddamned dance and yoga classes you go to, you could eat twice as much as you do. I’d like it if you were a bit rounder, honey. Bit more to get hold of. And roll around in the hay with.’
Lee thought of his massive weight descending upon her in bed, and the way, these days, she had to lie on top of him if he wanted to make love to her, and looked thoughtfully at him. Maybe this was her chance.
‘Dean, if you get to weigh any more at all you won’t be able to roll around in the hay at all. And I certainly won’t be rolling underneath you. So think about that.’
‘Oh, hell, honey, we manage.’
‘We don’t, actually,’ she said shortly, ‘or rather you don’t. Not very often. I mind about that, Dean.’
‘Hey!’ he said, beaming at her affectionately, ‘what about that? Eighteen years we’ve been married, and my wife still wants to get me into the sack. You always were a bit of a hot pants, weren’t you, honey?’ He got out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his forehead. ‘Jesus, it’s hot. Aren’t you hot, Lee?’
‘Not terribly,’ she said. ‘You’re feeling hot because you’re so overweight. If I was lugging around two hundred pounds all day, I’d get hot. Now Dean, will you please, please think about a diet? Go see Doctor Forsythe if you don’t believe me.’
‘I might.’
But he didn’t.
That particular morning Lee didn’t in any case want to get involved in a discussion with Dean about his weight. She had a lot to do. It was nearly the end of the school year and there was Miles to get ready for summer camp; she and Amy had their ballet class, and then after that they had planned to go to the beach. Sometimes Lee wondered if there mightn’t be more to life than going to ballet classes and going to the beach, she felt somehow she was missing out on the real world, but she couldn’t see what she could do about it now, nobody was going to take on a forty-year-old housewife and give her a job, and besides there was Miles to take care of, he was still only ten, and she didn’t believe in giving kids latch keys to let themselves into the house with after school, that was where the trouble started and they got in with a bad crowd.
She wondered, as she watched Miles get into the car beside Dean, to be dropped off at school, if the way she felt a lot of the time could be described as happy. It was all a bit monotone, without any highs, or even promises of highs in the far-off distance: just a long, level road stretching ahead. On the other hand, she certainly wasn’t unhappy, she had most of what she had always wanted: a family at last (albeit only a small one), a nice house and peace of mind. She valued peace of mind very highly; the only thing that threatened it was when (increasingly rarely) she saw Hugo Dashwood.
Dean was still always delighted to see Hugo; he admired him and his English style hugely, and since he had discovered that Hugo had not after all made such a success of his business, had warmed to him still more. Dean had not made too much of a success of his business either; he got by, he had provided for his family and hung on to his job, even made chief district sales rep, but he wasn’t exactly Henry Ford. It made him feel comfortable that someone with all Hugo Dashwood’s obvious advantages should not do so well either. Anyway, Lee thought with some relief, there was no danger of Hugo coming for a bit yet; he had said he was spending the rest of the summer in England, and would contact them in what he called the autumn; she was safe for a while: safe from his probing eyes, his interest in her, his insistent friendliness, his ridiculously pressing attentions to Miles.
Miles at ten could not have been more of an all-American boy, she thought fondly; with his blond hair, his snub nose, his passion for the beach and for baseball, his hatred of anything that might smack of book-work. Nobody, nobody at all, could doubt for an instant that he was an all-American boy; in fact, why on earth did she have that thought so often, when there was no reason why they should?
Lee had managed by now to persuade herself that the relationship with Hugo had never ha
ppened; she had done this by every means she knew, from simply determinedly putting it out of her head, to (when that was not quite enough) using the meditation and visualization techniques she had learnt in her yoga classes. Most of the time she never even thought about it; it was dead, buried, like a person she might have met long ago; but every now and again, usually when she couldn’t sleep, it would rise up inside her, the memories, the knowledge, and a suffocating stifling panic, and she would have to get up and get herself a cup of tea, and sit very still, in her yoga lotus position, willing herself into calm. And in the morning, when the sun was shining and Miles was playing in the yard and Dean was tucking into his double egg and bacon breakfast, grunting contentedly at her as she set it before him, she would be able to smile at her fears and wonder how had she ever worked herself into such a state, and tell herself that nothing could hurt her now.
Only she was wrong; and it could.
The phone was ringing as she and Amy got back to the house from the beach. ‘Mrs Wilburn? This is the hospital. Casualty. We have your husband here.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Lee, clutching Amy’s hand and dropping all her things, ‘it’s happened. Dean’s had a heart attack.’
‘No, no, Mrs Wilburn, it’s all right. Nothing terribly serious. But could you get down here right away, please.’
‘Of course,’ said Lee, ‘I’ll be right there. Amy, will you drive me to the hospital? Dean’s in Casualty.’
‘Oh God,’ said Amy. ‘Oh, God. Lee, I told you he should go on a diet.’
‘Shut up, Amy, for Christ’s sake. I know, I know he should have gone on a diet. Did you ever try telling the sun to cool down? Anyway, he hasn’t had a heart attack. I don’t know what it is.’
‘Whatever it is, his weight will exacerbate it,’ said Amy. ‘There is a constant strain on his heart and all that cholesterol he consumes will have totally damaged his arteries.’
‘Amy, will you for God’s sake stop giving me a lecture on health care, and get into the car. Oh, wait, Miles will be home soon. He doesn’t have a key.’
‘I’ll come back and let Miles in, if you look like being a long time,’ said Amy. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘Oh, Amy,’ said Lee, her voice trembling, ‘what if he dies? What will I do? I’ll feel so guilty. All those eggs. All that red meat. It’ll be my fault.’
‘He won’t die,’ said Amy firmly. ‘Apart from anything else, Heaven couldn’t hold him. Half the people already there would have to leave. They said it wasn’t too serious. Hang on to that. Christ, I wish they’d do something about this traffic.’
Dean was lying in a room in Emergency when they got there. He looked pale and sweaty; a pretty nurse was taking his blood pressure.
‘Hi,’ said Lee, ‘I’m Mrs Wilburn. They said to come on up.’
‘Yes. That’s right, Mrs Wilburn,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ll go find the doctor. He said he wanted to see you.’
‘How is he?’ asked Lee, gently taking Dean’s fat, moist hand in hers.
‘Not too bad, I think. The doctor will be able to tell you, though.’
She disappeared. Lee kissed Dean’s forehead. ‘What happened, Hon?’
‘I’m not sure. I was just leaving the diner, after my lunch, and suddenly I felt very sick and swimmy. Sweaty too. Next thing I knew I was lying on the floor of the diner, and then they brought me here.’
‘What’d the doctor say to you?’
‘Not a lot.’
‘Does he think it’s a heart attack?’
‘No. That’s what I thought, of course, but he said no it wasn’t. He said he wanted to talk to you.’
‘Oh, how do you feel?’
‘So so. A bit shaky. A bit sick.’
A doctor walked into the cubicle.
‘Mrs Wilburn?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Doctor Burgess. Could I have a word with you outside, please?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Lee. She suddenly felt very sick herself. Amy was out in the corridor. ‘Amy, could you possibly go and meet Miles, do you think? And maybe bring him back here?’
‘Sure,’ said Amy. ‘Everything OK?’
‘I think I’m just going to find out.’
‘Well,’ said the doctor, ‘first of all, let me reassure you. He has not had a cardiac. But you’re very lucky he didn’t.’
‘So what was it?’
‘He’s simply had a blackout. His blood pressure is phenomenally high. And it was no doubt increased by the beer he had for lunch and the heat, and I imagine stress of his job. Now that in itself is not very serious. He’s fine now. But what you have to understand, Mrs Wilburn, is that if he goes on the way he is he will have a cardiac, and very soon. He is grossly overweight, his diet is frankly disastrous, and one more incident like this and I wouldn’t like to answer for the consequences.’
‘I see,’ said Lee. She felt very small. ‘Doctor, I have tried to make him diet. And exercise. But he won’t.’
The doctor smiled at her. ‘If I had a ten-dollar bill for every wife who has said that to me over the past five years I could retire right away up to the Hills. Mrs Wilburn, you have to make him. I think he’ll be more cooperative now.’
‘Yes,’ said Lee, ‘maybe for a while, but once the fright is past, he’ll just relapse into his old bad ways.’ She felt faint herself, suddenly. ‘Could I sit down?’
‘Of course. I’m sorry. Water?’
‘No, it’s OK.’
Doctor Burgess looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You’re very slim yourself. Very fit looking. You obviously know about what you should and shouldn’t do.’
‘I do, of course I do. And I am so careful with my little boy. But Dean – my husband – he just lives for his food.’
‘Well,’ said Doctor Burgess. ‘He’ll die for it if he isn’t careful. What about exercise. Does he take any?’
‘No.’
‘None? Not even walk?’
‘Least of all walk,’ said Lee, and sighed.
‘How long has he been this big?’
‘This big for about five years. Always inclined to be that way.’
‘I see. Does he suffer from stress?’
‘Not too seriously. He takes life pretty much as it comes.’
‘Well, that’s something. Does he drink a lot?’
‘Yes. A lot of beer.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Bourbon.’
‘I see. Does he smoke?’
‘Yes. But not too much. After dinner. After lunch.’
‘How is his health generally?’
‘Not too bad. He doesn’t get colds and all that stuff.’
‘Headaches?’
‘Yes, a lot of headaches.’
‘That’s the blood pressure. How does he sleep?’
‘Very well. Too well.’
‘How’s his libido?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘How often does he want to make love?’
‘Oh,’ said Lee, ‘not very often.’ She knew why he had asked that. Amy had told her that very overweight men often lost their sex drive.
‘Do you have children?’
‘Er – only one.’
‘Was that deliberate?’
‘Well – no. Not exactly. We – he – well, it never happened again.’
‘Did either of you have any investigation into that?’
‘Yes. A long time ago.’
‘How long?’
‘Before my – our little boy was born.’
She began to feel her midnight fears closing in on her, beginning to threaten her. ‘Is that – relevant?’
‘What? Oh, no, not really. Well it could be. Certainly the loss of libido. Now look, Mrs Wilburn, I think what I’m going to do is keep him in hospital overnight and then, providing he’s OK in the morning, and the blood pressure is down, he can go home tomorrow. But he has to go on a very fierce diet, he must lose at least seventy pounds, and he must start taking some sensible exercise. N
othing too radical, just some steady walking would be ideal at first. Now I’m going to talk to him very seriously about his weight, impress upon him how crucial it is. I’ll give you some diet sheets and I want to see him here in a week. And I’ll talk to your family physician and explain the situation and make sure that he keeps an absolutely regular check on your husband. He should have his blood pressure and his heart rate taken every week at least. All right? Are you all right now?’
‘Yes,’ said Lee. ‘Yes, thank you.’
But she wasn’t. She was seriously frightened.
Dean embarked on his new regime with immense seriousness. He cut out alcohol, gave up smoking and almost stopped eating red meat and butter and fries. Once a week he allowed himself a steak. He said he had to have some pleasure left in his life. He went for a walk right around the neighbourhood every evening after dinner and even bought a dog, a roly poly golden retriever called Mr Brown, to keep him company.
Within one month he had lost fourteen pounds, his blood pressure was down and his headaches were improving. After two, he had lost twenty, his headaches had gone. He looked ten years younger and, he said to Lee one night in bed, he certainly felt it.
‘I hate to admit this, Hon, but I think the old doc’s probably right. He said I’d be feeling as randy as a young man again if I lost this weight, got myself back in shape, and I do. Come over here, and let me show you how much I love you.’
He was showing her how much he loved her quite often after that. If some hovering dread hadn’t been permanently with her, Lee would have been pleased. As it was, she was fearful; and she didn’t know why.
‘You never know, Honey,’ said Dean, rolling off her one night and kissing her contentedly, ‘this whole thing may have been a blessing in disguise. We may manage to provide Miles with a little brother yet.’
‘Oh, Dean, don’t be silly,’ said Lee quickly. ‘What difference can losing a little weight make to your fertility?’
‘Oh, you don’t know, Honey, quite a lot. The doctor said obesity and high blood pressure could certainly affect your performance, and who knows but it might not affect that as well. He thought it perfectly possible.’
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