Bitter Water

by Douglas Clark

  It was necessary, when descending this short flight of triangular treads, to hold on to the banister tightly. Carla Sanders, burdened with floral tributes, had no free hand. Furthermore, she was dewy-eyed with success and emotion, and to compound this prescription for disaster, as she started to descend she was chattering over her shoulder to one of her male colleagues. It was a near certainty that what did happen would do so. Carla, in high heels, missed her footing. The middle-aged male actor who was preceding her, apart from being showered with cellophane-wrapped blooms, fortunately took most of the brunt of her fall. He, himself, staggered but managed to hang on, so the girl did not finish up in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the flight. She did, however, do some unsightly damage to the famous legs which formed so great a part of her visible assets. In short, not only did she severely twist her right ankle, but she suffered a nine-inch abrasion on the same leg, wide enough to damage the skin and the outside part of the calf. The edge of a metal step had done its bit exceedingly well, because not only had it taken the skin off this area, it had also caused two long, fairly deep scratches which immediately started to well with blood.

  This accident caused turmoil. Apart from Carla’s sobs of pain and fright, there were her screams of anger when she realised that the damage done to her legs was not only unsightly, but would almost certainly cause her to miss the second night—and probably quite a number of subsequent nights—of the success in which she had achieved so much personal triumph. The piece demanded great agility and much showing off of the famous legs. Both requirements could no longer be fulfilled by Carla. Her fears were confirmed by the doctor who had been called to attend her in her dressing room, and she was in a hysterical rage when Hugh Carlyle propelled his chair through the door.

  It was he who quietened her down, first with stern, commanding language and then with more soothing, sympathetic words. When he left her, she was quiet if tearful, and allowing her dresser to get on with the business of preparing for her to be taken home by Howard Collier, her current live-in boyfriend, who was also an actor, but in a different play—Mirror Writing at the Leader—from which theatre he had just rushed in order to attend the stage party at the Victory as Carla’s guest.

  This post-farce drama was unbeknown to Masters who, at about the time Hugh Carlyle was quietening Carla Sanders, was gently ushering his own wife into their little house behind the Westminster Hospital.

  “I shall be sad to leave it,” she said as they entered the hall. “It has been a lovely home, hasn’t it, darling?”

  He smiled and nodded, but said nothing as they relieved Molly Howlet who was all ready to leave in the cab which was still waiting to take her home. After that they had much to discuss and, to the delight of both of them, they discovered that they had each had the same idea about an important step they were due to take.

  The next evening, about an hour after he had arrived home from the Yard, Masters was interrupted as he was drawing the cork on a bottle of what he hoped would be a dark, vigorous red wine. He had never before served Madiran, but he had been assured that the ’78 would be to his liking, so he had bought a quarter of a dozen, of which this was the first. He answered the door as soon as he could lay down the opened bottle and the corkscrew. Wanda was in her kitchen doing wondrous things to the food she was preparing for her small supper party. The ring of the bell suggested that their two guests, DCI and Doris Green, had arrived, well up to time as usual.

  It was a very small house, tucked away in its little narrow street, but so well-maintained and tastefully furnished that all who knew it referred to it as Wanda’s Palace, a name originally used by DCI Green, who now stood on the doorstep, slightly ahead of his wife who was staring upwards at the first-floor window above her head.

  “Good evening, Bill. Nice to see you, Doris.”

  “Don’t mind the missus, George,” replied Green. “She’s taken up astronomy and she’s looking for the evening star.”

  “In broad daylight? At seven o’clock on a summer’s night?”

  Green shrugged. “She’s a bit early, perhaps …”

  “Idiot!” said his wife. “George, I think I saw Michael at the window. He must be out of bed.”

  “Come in and make yourselves at home while I go up and see what’s going on.” He turned and went up the stairs, taking the risers in pairs.

  “What did you want to split on the choker for?” Green demanded as he shut the door behind his wife.

  “Because I didn’t want him to fall out. There are no bars on the windows. Now he’s big enough to get out of bed on his own and he’s finding it difficult to drop off to sleep on these bright nights we’ll have to start taking precautions with that young man.”

  “His mother watches him like a hawk.”

  “I know that, but even Wanda has to let him out of her sight sometimes. Ah! There she is. Hello, dear! Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, thank you, Doris. Hello, William. Where’s George?”

  “Settling the heir-apparent who apparently decided he’d like to look out of the window rather than stay in bed.”

  “It’s a new habit,” sighed Wanda. “It started a day or two ago. But come into the room and sit down.”

  Masters joined them a few seconds later, in time to pour the drinks.

  “What’s all this?” asked Green as he accepted a glass.

  “Gin and tonic. Isn’t that all right for you?”

  “The booze is bang on, thanks.” Green gestured with his free arm. “But this? The place is full of house catalogues. Dalton’s Weekly, agents’ blurbs and free newspapers. What goes on, George?”

  “Bill! You can’t ask questions like that,” protested Doris.

  “Can’t I, love? I have done. And if the answer isn’t the right one, you and I are going to lose our home from home. How would you like that?”

  “Wanda, you’re not thinking of moving, are you?” asked Doris anxiously. “Not out of this beautiful cottage.”

  “Sit down, Doris,” replied Wanda gently to the older woman. “And you, too, William.”

  “That sounds bad,” grunted Green. “As if you were preparing us for a shock.”

  “I hope not, but George and I have something to tell you. And to ask for your help and advice, perhaps. That’s the main reason why we invited you round tonight specifically.”

  Green looked across at Masters who raised his glass in silent salute. Green responded and then said to Wanda, “Right then, poppet, let’s have it.”

  “As I’m going to have another baby …”

  “Wanda, how lovely,” cried Doris. “Oh, I am glad.”

  “What?” screamed Green at the same time.

  “Another baby, William.”

  “I got that bit. But where does the ‘as’ come in? Does it mean you’re actively taking steps to achieve it, if you’ll pardon my way of putting it, or does it mean it is actually on its way?”

  “On its way,” said Masters. “But only recently suspected, and confirmed just yesterday, so we couldn’t let you know much before now. We didn’t hold out on you and Doris, Bill.”

  Green stared at Wanda for a moment. “I knew,” he said airily. “Have known for the best part of a fortnight, in fact.”

  “You liar,” snorted his wife. “How could you possibly have known? There’s no sign. Wanda is still as slim as a …”

  “Wand?” asked her husband, knowingly.

  “If you like,” she snapped. “So how could you know?”

  “Read it in her eyes,” said Green. “You can always tell by the eyes. Women go all sort of gooey and filmy round the orbs.”

  “Filthy beast! You’re just making it up to pretend you’re not surprised and delighted. Your trouble is you never like to think anybody knows something you don’t.”

  Green shrugged and turned to Wanda. “If I said what I really think, love, I’d break down and cry. As it is, I’m having to try hard not to drop tears in my gin.”

  “Thank you, William. G
eorge and I know exactly how you feel about our news and we’re very happy in that knowledge.”

  “Fair do’s, fair do’s,” grunted Green. “Now, about the advice you said you wanted. Though I’m no gynaecologist or obstetrician or whatever, I do know that the period of gestation is …”

  “Bill, will you please shut up,” wailed his wife. “We all know you’re excited and have to talk nonstop to hide your feelings, but just be quiet now. I want to talk to Wanda.”

  “And disposable nappies to you, too,” snorted Green.

  There followed some minutes of women’s talk from which the two men were firmly excluded. “So you see our problem,” said Wanda at last, “this house will just not be big enough.”

  “Ah!” grunted Green moodily.

  “That is so, Bill,” said Masters. “Michael is four now. By the time this next one gets here and grows past the infant stage, Michael will be getting to be quite a big lad. We should want him in a room of his own, not trackled by a much younger child.”

  “Quite right, too, but you’ve got the little third bedroom.”

  “It’s only a boxroom really,” said Wanda. “Hardly big enough to put a single bed in, and even now if we have anybody to stay, we have to move Michael out of his own room.”

  Green shrugged. “I know, love. It’s just that I don’t like the idea of you moving away from here to heaven knows where. I’ve become quite attached to this place.”

  “So have we,” replied Wanda gravely, “because we’ve lived all our married life here and been very happy. But the time to move is not yet. It’s just that George and I decided we ought to start thinking about it because the delays in buying and selling property are horrendous these days.”

  “It’s a disease,” grunted Green. “House agent’s tardiness. Symptoms: postponement, putting off, hindrance and the desire for deposits. Signs: loitering with intent to defer and the erection of unsightly notice boards. There should be a TV campaign warning people against them. Don’t die from ignorance of subject to contract. Never have anything to do with them without first going to a chemist for a packet of …”

  “Bill!” screamed his scandalised wife.

  “… itching powder,” went on Green, innocently. “You sprinkle it all over them to ginger them up a bit. It’s the only way to get any action.”

  Masters laughed, Doris sank back with a resigned sigh and Wanda smiled. “We think we might have a scheme that would circumvent house agents.”

  “In that case,” said Green airily, “it’s worth selling up just to dot them in the eye. By the way, have you had the cupboard under the stairs separately valued? You know, the one that will just take the Hoover and the small ready-for-use stock of booze? I mean, if a broom cupboard will fetch thirty-six thousand, you’ve literally got a gold mine there, and as for that niche between the dining room and the kitchen—the one that just accepts the reading lamp with the landscape shade—we-e-ell, I reckon you’d at least get an out-of-town cabinet minister to snap that up as his in-town pad.”

  “Oh, be quiet,” said his wife.

  “I’m offering the advice I was asked for.”

  Doris ignored him and turned to Wanda. “Now you’ve at last got a moment’s peace, can you tell us what’s going on?”

  “William is right, basically,” replied Wanda. “We have had this house valued. Just a day or two ago. And what we should get for it would buy us a much bigger property outside London, and leave some over.”

  “To invest?”

  “Perhaps. But as nothing we’ve got in the way of carpets and curtains would fit a bigger house …”

  “Furniture, too,” murmured Masters. “Where a couple of easy chairs overcrowd this room … but you know the score. We’d want a bit more of everything.”

  “All of which will be expensive,” agreed Doris. “But you wouldn’t have much mortgage to repay, would you?”

  “None,” said Masters. “When we bought this place we sold up my flat and Wanda’s cottage in Little Munny. What we got for both more than bought the house though it was expensive even them. But we preferred to own it outright and I’m very pleased we paid cash down because now, as Bill has pointed out, it is built of gold bricks and they are all ours.”

  “Meaning, I suppose,” said Green, “that with all that cash in your little hot hand you can toddle along and buy the house of your choice without benefit of house agents.”

  “More or less. Wanda has a friend …”

  “Ah! So you know somebody who will take this off you at the drop of a hat, also without any agents poking their noses in. No advertising, no nothing.”

  “Something like that, but nothing’s fixed.”

  “Then why all the pamphlets and papers?”

  “We were trying to get an idea of prices,” said Wanda. “They differ so much, even within reach of London. And we have to buy a property as well as sell one, you know.”

  “Of course, sweetie. I’m getting things mixed up. Pity you haven’t got another friend who wants to get rid of a house you’d like.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact …”

  “You have got your eye on something. So the area must be fixed, mustn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes, but we want to make sure that my friend who might sell to us is asking a realistic price.”

  “Realistic? You mean he or she is wanting to overcharge you?”

  “No, no. Undercharge.”

  Green sat up. “Grab it with both hands, love. Opportunity knocks but once at a girl’s door …”

  “It’s a question of do as you would be done by, William. Or rather, of taking into account some other factors.”

  “As yet unmentioned?”

  Wanda nodded and said quietly, “Although I must say I was very pleased to hear you advise me to grab the offer with both hands.”

  Green had no reply to this and there was a short, strained silence, so he said: “Well, go on, poppet. I can’t give you the benefit of my advice if I don’t know all the facts or factors.”

  “It’s a bit delicate …” began Wanda.

  “No it isn’t,” said Green. “Not when we know what you’re going to say.”

  “You can read the future now, can you?” demanded his wife.

  “The past, actually, love. On those occasions in the past when you’ve been gushing about this house …”

  “Gushing?”

  “You know what I mean. You think it’s the berries, and you’ve said so in no uncertain terms on three hundred and fifteen occasions. I’ve counted them.”

  “Well, I do think it’s a lovely house. So do you. Who was it who first started calling it Wanda’s Palace?”

  “I know, love. We’ve both broken the commandments and coveted it. We’ve even gone so far as to say that if the chance ever came our way we’d snap it up.” He looked across at Wanda. “Am I getting warm, poppet?”

  Wanda nodded.

  Green turned to his wife. “In short, love, you’re being given first refusal.”

  “But Wanda has already said she’s got a friend who will take it straight off their hands.”

  “That’s what we hope,” said Wanda. “But as we’ve already said, nothing is fixed.”

  “We could never afford it,” wailed Doris. “You heard George say it is built of gold bricks.”

  Green shrugged and said to Wanda: “There’s your answer, sweetie.”

  “Not quite,” suggested Masters. “Perhaps there could be some arrangement, were you really keen to take the house.”

  Green stared at him. “Like underchargement, you mean? To level out what Wanda was saying a minute ago? No thanks. We’re not in need of …”

  “You were the friend, or friends, we were talking about, William,” said Wanda, going over to him and putting her hand on his shoulder. She smiled at his expression. “So don’t get on your high horse. There’s no question of charity or anything like that. Simply an accommodation between friends. And you did say something a minute ago about grabbin
g with both hands.”

  Green looked up at her and put his hand over hers. “Nice one, sweetie. Okay, spell it out.”

  “George will do that.”

  “It’s this way,” said Masters. “If you and Doris would like this house. Really like to live in it, I mean.”

  “Which we would,” said Doris.

  “We’ll think it over,” said Green.

  “And so you should. It will need a lot of thought and the whole idea has been sprung on you unannounced. But the point is that Wanda and I have knocked our heads together over this and we think that there are ways and means should you wish to take them. To begin with, you own a house in London.”

  “A three-bedroomed semi.”

  “A good solid house which you have finished paying for long since. It’s in good nick and so, like this one, it must now be worth a fortune.”

  “Relatively speaking. Not as much as this.”

  “Maybe not. Until you’ve had it valued, you’ll not know the size of the discrepancy.”

  “Big,” grunted Green. “Bound to be. Situation’s everything.”