by Mary Wesley
Anxiety bunched her stomach. She shook her head when the attendant came down the corridor calling ‘First Lunch,’ then ‘Second Lunch,’ then ‘Coffee, Tea, Ices.’ All she could think of was Gus starving. She had shown Hugh the maize bin. Perhaps he would have gone off leaving a large basin of maize and a bucket of water. If he had let Gus out to fend for himself the neighbourhood fox would have killed him.
Then again perhaps Hugh was still there. He had food for some days. All he was short of was milk. She had made him promise to be careful, to keep quiet, to keep hidden. She wondered how she had got herself into this situation, it was lunatic. Obviously, she thought, clutching the car keys, by now something would have happened to alert the police. The dog would have barked, Hugh would have been seen, arrested after a chase, be ‘helping the police with their enquiries’. Why had she not read the papers or listened to the news?
Of course John was joking when he said he was meeting the Matricide in Prague. He read the papers, would have taken it for granted she did too, would have made his joke. Oh God, thought Matilda, he must think I’m mad. Perhaps I am. It’s high time I replanned my picnic or I shall end my days in a bin. Too boring for Louise, Mark, Anabel and Claud. I care for them enough not to inflict that on them. The car keys bit into her palm.
She made an effort towards calm and how to react to the police when they told her they had found Hugh. It would be best to be flustered, astonished, indignant. Then, remembering Hugh’s shoes were in her suitcase, she thought, how incriminating, I must throw them out of the window, and stood up to reach for her case on the rack, when she noticed the train slowing down. She had reached her destination.
23
THE CAR WAS where she had left it, exactly the same, just a bit more dusty. Somebody had written in the dirt on the back windows:
The driver of this car is a sex maniac.
Matilda put the key in the lock. The car was airless. She opened the windows, starting the engine, letting it idle. The palm of her hand felt sore from clutching the keys. As the engine livened she thought she would never know whether those hints dropped about Tom were true. As she drove out of the station yard she told herself she didn’t care whether he had been a part-time spy, slept around or been a bugger. It made no difference now.
Driving through the town she saw faces light up with laughter as people read the message on the back window. It’s great to look respectable, she thought. Then she thought it must even soften the hearts of the police who would be waiting for her. If Hugh has any gratitude he will have broken a window to make it look like a break-in, messed things up a bit, not too much, just enough.
She stopped to buy milk, then drove fast along the road bordered by bristly cornfields waiting for the plough, pheasants gleaming in the stubble. She felt hot and sticky after the train, looked forward to changing into old clothes. It felt warm enough to swim, make a trip to the sea. As soon as she had dealt with the police she would go.
In the three miles of lanes from the main road to her cottage, late holidaymakers were sticking firmly to the middle of the road, determined not to scratch their paint against the tall banks of this alien countryside. Their care was alarming to Matilda, used to judging the width by a whisker.
She opened the gate, drove into the garage. She switched off the engine. Silence, then a loud honk and the slap of Gus’s feet as he came to meet her.
‘So you are all right my handsome, my gorgeous brute.’ Gus flapped his wings, excreted.
‘All alone?’ She stroked his neck. Gus honked louder, walked slightly ahead towards the back door. Matilda listened. Not a soul about, no Panda car, no surprises. She felt a sense of loss. Hugh had gone just as she had thought he would, as she had hoped he would.
My Christ, Matilda said to herself, what a fake I am. I am sadly disappointed. What shall I do with his shoes and his money? He might have waited, might have trusted me.
Crossly she felt for the key under the scraper and opened the door. The house was orderly and empty, as empty as when she had closed the door and set off for her picnic.
‘Damn, blast and to hell with that barbecue,’ she said to Gus, who craned his neck in at the door, blue eyes meeting hers. ‘That bloody girl Vanessa and her Bobby.’
‘I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’ Hugh, followed by Folly, walked in past Gus. ‘Hullo there.’ He bent and kissed her cheek. Matilda burst into tears.
‘What’s up?’ Hugh stood back while Folly leapt up, wagging her tail in ecstasy, scratching Matilda’s London clothes. ‘What are the tears for?’
‘I was expecting the police to be waiting for me. I was all ready.’
‘All keyed up?’
‘Yes.’
‘No police, sorry. Were you hoping?’
‘I thought you’d gone.’
‘Sorry, I haven’t.’
‘I brought your money and a pair of shoes.’
‘Oh good, I need shoes. Well done.’
‘But I absolutely felt you’d be gone or that they would have caught you. I saw it all in my mind.’
‘So you’re disappointed.’
‘God, no, I’m –’ Matilda pretended to herself she did not know what she was feeling.
‘Don’t tell me you’re pleased.’
‘Very,’ Matilda whispered. ‘Very pleased.’
‘Ah,’ Hugh took her face in his hands and gently kissed her mouth. ‘Nice to see you back, sex maniac.’
Matilda giggled. ‘Some naughty child.’
‘Did you have a good time?’ Hugh was filling the kettle, putting out cups while Matilda, in her London clothes, watched him.
‘Not really. No. I had good meals, went round the shops, saw people –’
‘Friends?’
‘They used to be friends.’
‘Not any more?’
‘One suggested Tom was a bugger, another that she’d slept with him and the friend I was staying with had the nerve to hint that Tom was a spy.’
Hugh laughed. ‘Strong or weak? India or China?’ He held a tea-spoon in one hand, a caddy in the other.
‘Strong Indian.’
Hugh made the tea.
‘It’s been pretty boring here without you. If it hadn’t been for Mr Jones I might have left.’
‘Have you met him? Oh my!’
‘Yes. Day after you left. He came to tell you he’d seen a UFO. He and I play chess.’
Matilda kicked off her shoes, sat at the kitchen table. ‘He used to play with Tom.’
‘So he says.’
‘Has he told anybody you are here? Who does he think you are?’
‘He says he never sees anybody except you as they think he is barmy. I like him. He plays a very odd game.’
‘Tom said he cheated.’
Matilda took from her bag the envelopes, handing them to Hugh. ‘What made you think of hiding it in such a public place?’
‘My brother and I used to dream up places, have competitions between ourselves when we were children.’
‘The Major with the nose?’
‘Yes. Life was simpler then. We trusted each other. It was like Mr Jones. He trusts me. I trust him.’
‘When did he see the UFO?’
‘Day you left. He’s coming presently for a game and supper.’
‘It’s not safe.’
‘I can’t tell him not to come. It would upset him.’
‘A secret between two people is a secret, but not between three. More than three, I daresay. He’s really crazy.’
‘No, no,’ said Hugh comfortably. ‘He is eccentric. He likes to talk, he’s lonely.’
Matilda groaned, put down her cup and went up to have a bath, running the water very deep, almost hotter than she could bear, to wash away insinuations about Tom. She came down to find Hugh and Mr Jones lying on the grass, chatting in the dark.
‘Mr Jones, Huw, how nice.’
Mr Jones scrambled to his feet, short, square with his beard grey on the chin, brown at the sides, h
is black eyes observant and bright.
‘I brought a bottle with me.’ Mr Jones held Matilda’s hand between both of his, squeezing it reassuringly before letting it go.
‘Oh, how kind.’ She tried to enthuse.
‘Not dandelion, whisky.’ Mr Jones smiled shyly. ‘From the pub.’
‘I’ll fetch some glasses.’ Hugh went into the house.
‘How was London?’ Mr Jones asked politely.
‘So, so.’
‘Nice to get home then?’
‘Yes.’
‘I was delighted to find Hugh here when I came to see you. I would have been disappointed to find the house empty.’
Hugh came out carrying a tray with water and glasses. Mr Jones ignored him. ‘It is important to help Hugh.’
‘Help? In what way?’
‘Oh, give him a lift.’ Mr Jones reached out to take a glass from Hugh and passed it to Matilda. ‘I am interested in the extreme.’
‘What do you mean?’
Mr Jones took the glass Hugh offered. ‘Just a little water. It’s extreme to kill your mother.’ He sipped his drink, eyes downcast.
Matilda couldn’t see Hugh’s face. She let out her breath. ‘You sly old boots.’
Mr Jones swallowed a gulp of whisky. ‘I am neither sly nor mad. I listen to the radio and read the papers. I mind my own business. You should know that, Matilda. Hugh knows it.’
‘After all these years I certainly should.’
Mr Jones looked gravely at Hugh then at Matilda. ‘It seemed to me no business of mine to inform on your visitor and Tom never informed on me so fair dos, I thought, finding Hugh Warner here, fair dos.’
‘We, I mean I, never believed –’ Matilda hesitated.
‘Never believed in the UFOs?’
‘Well, not really.’
‘Just as well, nobody else does, so in return I do not believe in the Matricide. You cannot,’ Mr Jones leaned forward to put a hand on Matilda’s knee, ‘you cannot believe all you read in the papers or hear on the radio, that’s a fact.’
‘It is.’
‘Mind you,’ Mr Jones laughed, ‘I don’t suppose he ever told you.’
‘He didn’t. I only found out after his death.’
‘Well then, you know now. Sorry.’
‘For the last few days almost everyone I’ve met has been hinting at a Tom I didn’t know. I thought that was spiteful London but now you do it too.’ Matilda paused. ‘He hid things from me.’
‘Not telling is not necessarily hiding. He knew and I knew if he upset me about the UFOs I’d take umbrage. I would have stopped him, so he said nothing, that’s all’. Mr Jones finished his whisky, put his glass down on the grass and sprang to his feet without using his hands.
‘We’ll play chess another day,’ he said to Hugh, shook Matilda’s hand and walked off jauntily.
‘Well!’ Matilda sat back on the grass, stretching her legs, ‘I’m blowed! What a simpleton I’ve been. It never dawned on me he and Tom were partners.’
‘You look shocked.’ Hugh gathered Folly into his arms. ‘You must have had an inkling.’
‘None. It was after Tom’s death I found –’ She hesitated.
‘Evidence.’ Hugh was smiling, his teeth foxy. ‘Pot and heroin.’
‘You’ve been prying.’
‘Surely you didn’t expect me not to?’
‘Rather ungentlemanly.’ Matilda’s voice was tart. Then she giggled. ‘What did you find?’
‘Heroin. I flushed it away. What did you do with the pot?’
‘Smoked it.’
‘All of it?’
‘No.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In the bank.’
‘And you say under a stair carpet is imaginative.’
‘I didn’t have much left. I packed it into a silver cigarette box of my grandfather’s and left it for Claud. He likes it.’
‘How much did you use?’
‘Don’t know. It lasted some months after Tom –’ She sat up suddenly. ‘D’you think Tom really had his heart attack in the rue Jacob or d’you think it was in Louise’s bed? She lives just round the corner, she could have pushed him out.’
‘Don’t be vile,’ Hugh shouted at her. ‘Don’t imagine worse than you need. He was probably on his way to see her.’ He was very angry.
‘Yes, I expect you are right. One thinks such dreadful thoughts. That’s why I smoked pot. The hallucinations are mostly nice.’
Hugh refilled her glass, put it in her hand. ‘Tell me about Louise.’
Matilda did not look at him. She sat, the glass in one hand and with the other hand stroking Gus, who had come to stand beside her.
‘She was our first child, a love child. Tom was crazy about her. I was pregnant when we married. I don’t like babies much. I prefer animals.’ Gus sank down beside her, his neck twisted, blue eye looking up at her. ‘Tom looked after the baby better than I did. He changed her nappies, washed her, fed her, had her in bed when she cried, cuddled her, was marvellous really. She adored him. It was always Tom she loved, not me. I suppose in the event they were so close nappy changing evolved into fucking. I should not have been surprised.’
Hugh said nothing, watching her face, as did the gander.
‘I loved Tom,’ she said quietly. ‘They didn’t see me when I found them in my bed, well, our bed I suppose. I went for a walk and had a think. I couldn’t stop loving Tom. I loved Louise, not as much as Claud but I did love her, so I decided half Tom was better than no Tom. I never told him I knew.’
‘Go on.’
‘I thought when Louise married it would stop.’
‘Did it?’
‘No it did not.’ She flushed. ‘It became more so. Tom brought home lots of new bedtime tricks. I pretended I didn’t notice.’ She glanced at Hugh. ‘I enjoyed them. I felt a bit funny learning new aspects of sex from my daughter but it’s true, I liked it.’ She grinned at Hugh. ‘I tell you everything, don’t I?’
Hugh felt he had had enough of Louise, that it was better to leave Louise while she was tasting good. ‘Tell me about Jones. Have you slept with him?’
‘Does he say I have?’
‘No, but I wasn’t sure.’
‘I haven’t. He wanted to and there was a time when I might have. He is such a contrast to Tom, all that hair and short legs, but Anabel – oh!’ Matilda gave a shriek of laughter which she tried to stifle, putting her hand across her mouth.
‘Anabel?’ Hugh probed.
Tears of laughter oozing from the corners of her eyes, Matilda gasped. ‘It’s so unkind to laugh. Anabel had come. It was after Tom had been dead some time, a year perhaps. Mr Jones was being helpful, so kind, weeding the garden. I’d let it go dreadfully. Anabel was with me in the kitchen. She’d just said in an arrogant, bossy voice, “Ma, you should brace up. What you need is sex. It’s very bad to stop suddenly and give it up altogether. You’ve tried pot,” she said – I don’t know how she knew – “you’ve tried pot and it doesn’t do anything for you, you must have sex. Why not,” said Anabel, fixing me with those great brown eyes, “have old Jones? Do him a favour. You know he pines for you.”’ Matilda wiped the tears with her finger. ‘We looked at him. He was crouching there wearing wide khaki shorts and his balls were hanging down over the carrot leaves. Oh!’ Matilda’s eyes filled again. ‘I’ve never been so close to that girl. She said, “They look like nutbags you hang out for the tits. Sorry I spoke.” Poor girl. She laughed until she threw up and Mr Jones came in and made us a resuscitating cuppa. He thought we were crying over Tom. That was the last time she came here. I saw her in London. She came into the Connaught looking lovely with the most beautiful man. John, Sir Piers to be, knew him. She wasn’t expecting to see me. She carried it off rather well.’
‘You didn’t know she was in London?’
‘No. She had not wanted to see me. I might have asked her to visit me. It’s a risk.’ Matilda shook her head. ‘Poor Mr Jones.’ Hugh felt it safer to leave
Anabel sick with laughter.
‘So Mr Jones’s UFOs?’
‘Why are you changing the subject?’
‘That’s the art of conversation – edge. Did you know about the UFOs, what they were?’
‘Not until I found the drugs after Tom’s death. While he was alive it all went on under my nose so . . .’ She seemed unwilling even now to say more.
‘So?’ Hugh pressed.
‘So if he was a smuggler and I didn’t know, it may well be true that he slept with Lalage as well as Louise and that he was one of the next-honours-list Sir Piers’s spies. But I cannot see him as a bugger, as Anne suggests.’
‘Would you have loved him less?’
‘No. I loved him. If you need proof there’s Louise. No divorce.’
‘You couldn’t cite your own daughter.’
‘I don’t see why not. I thought of doing it but it wouldn’t have altered anything. Louise is married to a man I like, it would have broken him, whereas you –’
‘Whereas I, who have killed my mother, can understand, is that it?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Tom and Louise didn’t kill anything or anybody.’
‘How d’you know?’
‘What are you suggesting now?’
‘Louise’s second child is abnormally like Tom.’
‘You repellent woman! It’s well known children take after their grandparents. Louise would never have let herself –’
‘Conceive her father’s child?’
‘That’s what I mean.’
‘You don’t know Louise.’
‘She sounds very like you.’ Hugh’s voice expressed disgust.
‘She’s very like me, very like indeed. Tom always said so.’ Matilda laughed. Hugh joined in the infection.
‘The Egyptians, the Pharoahs.’ Matilda grinned at Hugh. ‘If they did it, why not Tom and Louise?’
Hugh left the question unanswered, setting himself to opening the envelopes and counting the money.
‘How much?’ Matilda watched him.
‘Quite a lot. Enough to get away. When my brother gets back, if he ever does, he will find the cache gone. He’ll know.’
‘But he won’t tell.’
‘Money is funny stuff, it does things to people. If he is needing a couple of thousand and it’s gone, he may well be irked. So –’