Damage (13 page)
‘I’m so sorry my wife is not here to meet you. Our daughter was a little unwell.’ I remembered the daughter of the second marriage. We apologised for Sally’s absence. Her new executive position now demanded executive lunches.
‘Do sit down. What would you like to drink, Ingrid? May I call you Ingrid? Champagne perhaps?’
‘That would be lovely,’ said Ingrid.
‘Whisky for me, thanks.’
Anna and Martyn arrived. She brushed her father’s cheek with her lips.
‘Father. This is Martyn.’
Charles Barton turned to greet my son. His head seemed to jerk as though someone had hit him. In a second he recovered. ‘It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Martyn.’
He looked at Anna. ‘You have kept this young man very secret from us. I’m so pleased for you both.’
We sat down slowly.
‘Sir. I feel very guilty. I should have driven through the night to beg your permission to marry Anna. But frankly I was concentrating so hard on getting her to say yes, that all else slipped my mind. Please forgive me.’
‘What a graceful speech! Of course, I forgive you. I never expected such a request.’ He had recovered his poise and he studied Martyn carefully. ‘Anna, I can see that you are a very lucky girl.’
‘Now, Father, you should be telling Martyn what a lucky man he is.’
‘It’s obvious Martyn knows that already.’
The waiter hovered. We ordered. The pleasantries unique to each such family gathering, and common to all, were exchanged. As the meal wore on I could see that Anna’s father, kind though he was, did not really like his daughter very much.
As they kissed goodbye after lunch he tapped her arm for a second, and whispered something to her. I heard her reply:
‘I don’t agree. It’s not that strong …’ Then she caught me looking at her, and turning to Ingrid she said, ‘My father thinks Martyn looks rather like my brother Aston.’
‘Anna!’ Shocked, her father stepped back from her, and bumped into Martyn, who steadied him.
They looked at each other. Martyn spoke. ‘It must be a terrible shock for you … the resemblance … if it’s there …’ He paused, distressed.
‘You have a kind son.’ Charles Barton turned to Ingrid. ‘Forgive the intrusion of sadness into such a happy occasion. It was just a very fleeting resemblance. Anna should not have repeated my comment. I have an appointment I must keep. We will meet again soon. Goodbye, Martyn. I’m pleased, indeed honoured by the thought of you as my son-in-law. Goodbye, Anna. Be happy, my dear.’ He shook hands. Frailer and older-looking than he seemed only an hour before, he left us.
‘Anna, Martyn told me that Aston died when he was very young.’ Ingrid spoke gently. ‘If there is a resemblance it must have been an awful shock to your father. Is it a strong resemblance?’
‘No, not strong. Perhaps … for a second … there is a slight resemblance. Martyn has very unusual colouring. So did Aston.’
‘And so do you,’ said Ingrid.
‘Yes. But it’s not so unusual in a woman.’
‘I dare say it’s startling enough, my dear,’ said Ingrid.
I could see that Ingrid was disconcerted.
Martyn the conciliator stepped in again.
‘Mum, we’re off to see a house now. All’s well. Let’s not get this out of perspective. Mum is pale and blonde. Dad is kind of swarthy and dark.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ve got Mum’s pale skin, and your dark hair. It’s not all that uncommon, is it?’
‘Of course not. Anna’s father was naturally taken aback, that’s all.’
‘Poor Anna. Come along, a-hunting we will go. For a small, sweet house with only happy memories.’
Ingrid and I were alone. We ordered another coffee.
‘Every time I feel everything will be all right, that girl does something unnerving or strange that makes my heart go cold. There are people in this world, innocent in their own way, who cause damage. Anna is one. She is going to harm Martyn, I’m certain. My first reactions were right. They always are. Oh, why didn’t I intervene earlier?’
‘Really, Ingrid, what are you so upset about? Her father noticed a resemblance to Anna’s brother — that’s not so terrible, is it?’
The calming and soothing of others is always the best antidote to one’s own panic and dismay.
‘What happened to that boy? I’m certain you know the full story. Martyn told you. Didn’t he?’
‘No.’
‘There was a tragedy. She’s linked to it in some way.’
‘Ingrid, our son is marrying a beautiful, intelligent woman. Her father is clearly a very nice man. Her stepfather is charming. We haven’t met her mother yet, but I’m sure we’ll like her too. Her brother died when young. Anna is more complex and perhaps less easy as a daughter-in-law than you would have liked. But that’s all. Now stop. You’re worrying unnecessarily.’
‘Maybe you’re right. This has just confirmed all my prejudices against her.’
‘Exactly! If you’d been relaxed about her from the beginning, this incident would have meant nothing.’
‘Mm.’
But behind my words lay my own stalking fear. What dangerous pattern is being reworked here? Sudden fear for my family engulfed me. Liar! cried the policeman in my heart. Liar! The only fear that grips and eats your belly is the fear of losing her. You cannot win her outright, each day that passes teaches you that more clearly. But you hold on. Because you know there is no life for you without her.
I smiled at Ingrid, and with many reassurances, I helped her on her way to Hell.
I caught sight of us as we passed through the lobby, an elegant blonde woman of a certain age, and her companion, vaguely familiar perhaps, well dressed, strong good face. Of the evil in my soul there was not a trace.
‘E
VIDENTLY YESTERDAY
was a good day for the lovers. The house was exactly what they wanted.’
‘Good.’
Each day now revealed to me my treachery and its desperate ways with ferocious clarity.
That evening, dinner with Ingrid had a brooding quietness which I knew concealed her anger.
‘I rang Martyn today. He didn’t like my enquiries. But for once I was a pushy mum. I’m not normally, am I?’
‘No. You’re normally very discreet.’
‘He’s renting his flat to someone at work, he says the rental will be handy for living expenses. Anna’s mews house goes on the market immediately. Martyn thinks it will sell easily. He intends using part of the trust fund to cover the cost of the new house. It’s been empty for a couple of months — needs some work, evidently. They can move in after completion. They want a quiet, family wedding at the end of next month. All very neat, very fast, quite clinical almost. So no Hartley wedding. A registry office affair and then a family lunch. They’re adamant. Evidently Anna’s mother is coming over a week before the wedding. At least we’ll meet her before the actual ceremony. We’ll have to invite her to lunch or dinner or something. Let’s hope Sally gives us a more traditional wedding. Apart from all my worries, I feel quite cheated.’
‘Sally will do everything the way you hope. She’s a treasure really, a wise, pretty, conventional middle-class girl.’
‘Thank God for Sally! Martyn’s changed so much, don’t you think? He’s very different. Oh, for that endless stream of lovely blondes. The Sunday lunch brigade.’
‘I think they’re gone for good.’
‘Yes, Anna’s the kiss of death to all that.’
The phrase hung in the air for a second too long.
‘I asked Martyn about Aston.’
‘Yes? What did he say?’
‘Says it was all very sad, that Anna had told him ages ago that Aston had committed suicide. He was terribly young, I gather. I read an article the other day, it’s not all that uncommon. Oh dear, I don’t mean it to sound like that but …’
‘I know what you mean. It’s not unheard of. Puberty, dawning adolescence — it’s very hard for some boys.’
‘Martyn was quite angry with me by the end of the conversation. It was very much “This is my life, I know what I’m doing.” I’ve been replaced by Anna … she is his priority now … just as it should be.’ She looked at me quizzically. ‘Our own times are a bit fraught at the moment, don’t you think? You and me.’
‘A little. It will pass.’
‘If I didn’t know you so well, I could now be persuaded you were having an affair.’
‘Could you? I’m almost flattered.’
‘Well, don’t be. I couldn’t bear it. Frankly, I wouldn’t bear it.’ She challenged me with her eyes.
‘I’m duly warned,’ I said. The voice inside said, I’m not having an affair — not an affair. I’m consumed body and soul and mind. My whole existence is geared to only one thing, my time with Anna. My life before her was an efficient lie, in which you, Ingrid, played your part. There will be no life after Anna. There will be no life after her.
With a weary smile of self-pity, I went to my study to work for an hour. I wanted to give Ingrid time to slip into bed and sleep, without further conversation. A new ritual was being established. In its early days it required total discipline.
I rang the next day. ‘Anna, I’ve got to see you.’
‘I know. I was going to ring you.’
‘Your place at three-thirty?’
‘Yes.’
She opened the door, and I walked after her to the bedroom. From a beside-table drawer she took a framed photograph of a young boy. A long, angular, almost sullen face glared back at me. There was a resemblance to Martyn, undoubtedly. But as Anna had said, it was fleeting.
‘You see. It’s nothing, it’s nothing.’
‘Then why did you announce to all and sundry the remark your father made?’
She put the photograph back in the drawer, which she closed carefully. ‘I was angry with him. Very angry. He should have said nothing.’
‘Did you notice the resemblance when you first saw Martyn?’
‘Of course. For a second … of course.’
‘Is that part of it? Part of your attraction to Martyn?’
‘No. No. I want to live a normal married life with him.’
‘What a strange way of putting it.’
She smiled. ‘You pry. But not as much as you used to. You’re changing.’
‘I’m carrying my burden. I too have chosen my life, and the way I want to live it.’
She brought her face close to mine and whispered, ‘Everything. Always.’
All her features, enlarged from this perspective, and almost ugly, devoured me. We fell around the room, against or below wood and glass and velvet. I became obsessed that day, that in the curve of her spine I would find bones that would unlock a secret way to her. Finally, we became still, her face crushed against the pattern on the silken wall, and my stomach pressed hard to the small of her back. After the moment of ecstasy, her face fell back into its old perspectives. And all I was, or ever would be, had been revealed to me again.
As I left, she said:
‘I have a gift for you.’ She handed me a small box. ‘I keep my promises. Remember that. Forget the rest.’ She closed my hand around it. ‘I planned this, a little time ago.’ She opened the door, and I slipped out.
I walked to a small cafe. I needed to sit somewhere quietly, while I opened the box. Inside there were two keys. Flat C, 15 Welbeck Way, W1. I hailed a taxi, and arrived in minutes.
Behind the imposing façade of a period building lay a dark green marble hall, from which ascended galleried landings with carved balustrades. A small, stained-glass dome shed an eerie light on marble, wood, and pale grey walls. On each floor two flats faced each other from opposite sides of the well.
The flat itself was really only a large room, with a bathroom and kitchen. The room was barely furnished, a large table, some chairs, and in a corner a small double bed. Under empty bookcases was a low glass table. On the table was a note.
“This room will contain nothing but us. A world within a world. I shall visit it to know your wishes. For in this world I have created, you rule and I am your slave. I will wait at the times you designate. Being obedient, I will always be there.”
Beside the letter was an antique leather-bound diary, and a quill and an antique ink-stand. The diary fell open at the day’s date. Folded on the page was a long green silk ribbon, and underneath was written ‘And he came into his kingdom.’ I flicked the empty pages forward and found an entry ten days ahead which said ‘Anna waits, twelve till two.’
I walked into the bathroom. It was stacked with soap, toothbrushes, toothpaste, tissues, towels. The kitchen had two cups and saucers, two glasses, tea, coffee and whisky. The fridge contained only bottled water. I looked for colour. The carpet in the lounge was the colour of dark wine. There were no curtains, only a dark blind on the single large window that looked down on to a square of green. I pulled the blinds and a half darkness fell upon me. I treasured my kingdom. And I was pleased.
I bound up the diary with the green ribbon and placed a note under the ribbon which read ‘Open on the twentieth, between twelve and two.’
I left.
Later that night Ingrid and I parted after a dinner dominated by talk of the wedding, to our ritual safe places — the study for me, the bedroom for her. I felt the keys in my pocket as I sat down to work, as a poor man might feel a gem he had just stolen. A gem which would transform his life.
My days were filled with my committee meetings and my nights with snippets from Ingrid concerning the wedding, the reception, the honeymoon. Oh, the attractive, winning, and futile ways in which we bind woman and man. In order to tame the only bond that matters.
And between twelve and two on the day appointed I slipped the key in the door to my kingdom. Anna, real and magnificent, lay on the floor; the diary was on her stomach. She smiled as I undid the ribbon.
When it was time to go she wrote in the diary. I saw the time — four to six — and that the date was the day before her wedding. She took a new ribbon — blue — and wound it round and round the diary. Stroking my face she said, ‘Everything. Always. Remember.’
A
NNA AND HER
mother, Elizabeth, sat side by side on the sofa in our sitting-room. Anna as always was quiet, controlled. Her mother was petite, almost birdlike. The dark eyes and hair she’d passed on to Anna were a disconcerting counterpoint to all that was different about them.
