Dubious Legacy (23 page)

‘Pregnant!’ said the lovers. ‘Well, well! Population explosion.’

With her mouth full, Antonia asked, ‘May I have some mustard?’

Passing the mustard they said, ‘Go on. That can’t have—Did you have cross words with Matthew?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Not exactly,’ said the older man. ‘What then?’

‘Well, I didn’t tell Matthew what I thought. I went up to visit Margaret. I don’t mind visiting Margaret when Barbara is with me, but on my own I am falsely jolly and I mind her jibes. This time she suggested we make use of Henry and don’t pay our way, that sort of thing. I, retaliating, suggested she has agoraphobia-I’d read an article about it in a magazine.’

‘Bit risky.’ The older man sucked in his breath.

‘That led to other things,’ said Antonia. ‘Oh dear, d’you mind if I skip that bit? It was true, you see.’ Antonia’s eyes filled with tears.

‘No, no, don’t tell us,’ cried the younger man. ‘Not that we aren’t dying to know, but not if it hurts.’

‘Of course it hurts,’ said his lover. ‘Margaret’s talent is finding the weak spot and inserting the stiletto. But do go on, love.’

Antonia said, ‘Thanks,’ and sniffed. ‘Henry came back from London while I was cooking supper,’ she said. ‘You know how different the London Henry is from the country Henry? I teased him a bit; he always brings Margaret a present, I teased him about it. God knows why he takes the trouble.’

‘It’s to stop himself hitting her, that’s our theory.’

‘Really? How daft of him.’ Antonia stared at the two men. ‘You are percipient.’

‘What did he bring this time?’

‘Gorgeous scent, Guerlain.’

‘And?’

‘So we had supper. Matthew, who’d gone out to avoid visiting Margaret, was back by this time. Actually he had been back quite a while, because he’d fetched wine from the cellar, and that made me twitchy because it’s Henry’s cellar and it was Henry’s wine and Henry wasn’t back when he did it. It’s not that Henry minds, but Matthew does sometimes take things for granted.’ Antonia, having finished her eggs and bacon, put her knife and fork down. ‘That was delicious.’

‘What else?’ asked the younger man.

‘Well, I take things for granted, too, I know that!’ said Antonia. ‘Pilar doing practically everything for Susie, all the things I dislike or am bored by, it was just that at supper, Matthew—oh dear, I can’t tell you that either.’

‘Not to worry,’ they said. ‘None of our business.’

Antonia said, ‘So we ate our supper, we discussed the beauty of Henry’s London suit, we drank quite a lot. Oh, dear boys, it’s so easy to get carried away by you two sympathetic dears and get bitchy and disloyal.’

‘We love it,’ said the moustached lover. ‘Please get carried away.’

‘Honestly,’ said Antonia, laughing, ‘I can’t. Anyway, in the middle of all this in came Margaret.’

‘Oho!’

‘And?’

‘She went straight to the dresser where Henry had put the scent. She tore the parcel open, she ripped off the stopper—’

‘And poured it over Henry?’

‘No! The dogs.’

‘Whew!’

‘It was whew,’ said Antonia. ‘The dogs went mad. They rushed whimpering round the kitchen, then disappeared into the yard and Margaret sneered, “He expects me to anoint his feet and dry them with my hair”.’

‘And then?’

‘Henry laughed and offered her a glass of wine. I told you we’d been boozing a bit more than usual. All Henry said was, “Oh, Margaret, the poor creatures, they will now find some really terrible stink and roll in it.” Somehow his being so nice to her made me want to throw up,’ said Antonia. ‘I used to believe he was heartless and a lot of other things she told us, but there he was wheedling her to sit down with us and telling her she looked beautiful.’

‘And was she looking beautiful?’

‘Of course,’ cried Antonia. ‘Then Matthew began sucking up to her. He put his arm round her and said, “What’s upset you, woman?” (So awful, that use of woman.) And guess what? She kissed him and he kissed her back. What possessed Henry to marry that bitch?’ cried Antonia.

‘There was some suggestion of persuasion, we believe. It was a long time ago.’ The lovers avoided each other’s eyes.

Antonia said, ‘Huh!’

‘And? Then?’

‘I—er—I went and telephoned Barbara again. Things seemed to be getting out of hand. If she had been there, it would have been different, felt different. She might have found it comical, it was comical, but on my own I couldn’t take it.’

‘And what did Barbara say?’

‘I felt I could kill her. I was drunk, of course, I freely admit it.’

‘And cross with Matthew.’

‘Cross!
Murderous!’
Antonia wailed. ‘Don’t laugh, you two.’

‘We are not laughing,’ they said as they dissolved into helpless giggles. ‘It’s a tragic story,’ they cried. ‘Terrible. What next?’

‘I thought, to hell with it, to hell with them all. I went upstairs, I collected Susie, wrapped her in a blanket, put her in the car and drove off into the night, and came to rest in the Grants’ herbaceous border.’

‘But what had Barbara
said?’
cried Jonathan ‘What?’

‘Barbara said she couldn’t talk now, she and James were catching the midnight train from Victoria for Paris.’

‘H
ERE COMES HENRY, I
wonder what he wants.’ Maisie Bullivant watched a car approach up their drive.

‘It isn’t Henry,’ said her husband, glancing up from his newspaper.

‘It’s Henry’s old Bentley, stupid.’

‘Matthew Stephenson’s driving.’

‘But he has his own car,’ said Maisie. ‘I told you it was time to get your eyes tested.’

‘Test or no test, that’s Matthew.’ Peter put his paper aside and rose to his feet. ‘Bye, bye, Sabbath peace,’ he groaned.

‘I wish people wouldn’t drop in before I’ve done my face,’ said Maisie as Peter went to meet Matthew.

‘Hullo, Matthew, what can we do for you?’ Peter had reached the hall.

Matthew came in. ‘You don’t happen to have seen Antonia? Good morning, Maisie,’ he said, looking round the room.

‘I was just going to do my face,’ said Maisie. ‘What’s happened, have you lost her? You look terrible,’ she said, ‘really terrible.’

‘Not lost, mislaid,’ said Matthew. ‘I hoped she’d be here.’

‘She’s not,’ said Peter. ‘Do sit down.’ Matthew was already slumped in an armchair. ‘Where has she gone?’

‘If I knew where she’d gone, I wouldn’t be here, would I?’ Matthew raised his voice. ‘God! How stupid can you get?’

Peter Bullivant swallowed. ‘Have you tried the Jonathans?’

‘Of course I’ve tried the Jonathans,’ Matthew shouted.

I must keep my cool, Peter thought. ‘Not there?’ he said.

‘Would I be here if she’d been there?’ ‘No need to be aggressive, Matthew,’ said Maisie, wounded. Matthew said, ‘Sorry, I’m half out of my mind. She took the child with her.’ ‘Took little Susie?’ ‘Yes.’

‘Why ever should she do that?’ ‘She’s its mother,’ said Peter. Matthew said, ‘I wish I had not come here,’ and rose to go—

‘No, no, don’t go, we want to help,’ exclaimed Maisie.

‘Please tell us what happened; we sound stupid because we don’t know. Even stupider than usual,’ she added humbly.

‘Would you like some coffee?’ she asked. ‘Or a drink?’

‘I’ll get him a drink,’ said Peter. ‘He’s had a shock of some sort.’

Matthew watched Peter leave the room and listened to the clink of glass against decanter in the next room.

Maisie thought, He’s too upset to notice I haven’t done my face. ‘Have you tried Mrs. Watson at the Post Office?’ she asked helpfully. ‘She never misses anything.’

Matthew said, ‘I’ve tried Mrs. Watson at the Post Office, I’ve tried the whole bloody neighbourhood, now I’ve come to you.’

‘Last resort,’ said Maisie sadly.

Peter handed Matthew a stiffish whisky. Matthew gulped the whisky, then said, ‘Sorry to be so rude, I am terribly anxious.’

Maisie said, ‘Of course you are. Could you try and—’

‘I
love
my wife,’ said Matthew violently and took another swallow. ‘I
love
her.’

‘Did she take the car?’ asked Peter. ‘You driving Henry’s old thing suggests—’

‘Of course she took the car.’

‘Gone to mother?’

‘You don’t know her mother.’ Matthew snorted.

‘Ah. No. We don’t know her mother or for that matter her father,’ said Peter. ‘So you don’t think she’d go to them? The Lowthers?’

‘No.’

‘What about Barbara?’ Maisie brightened. ‘She and Barbara are so close. That would be London, of course.’

‘Tried her first, there was no one there.’ Matthew put his glass down. ‘Oh God,’ he said. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God!’

‘She wouldn’t do anything silly?’ suggested Maisie.

‘Like suicide? No,’ said Matthew. ‘No.’

‘Of course not, not with little Susie.’

‘I don’t see why little Susie should avert it,’ said Peter. ‘One reads—’

Matthew said, ‘I’m drunk,’ and began to cry. ‘You topped me up,’ he accused.

‘Oh dear,’ Maisie said. ‘Oh, Peter, how could you?’

Peter did not reply.

After a bit Matthew said, ‘Henry has
no
sense of morality.’

Peter said, ‘We are not with you. How does Henry come into this?’

Spacing his words, Matthew said, ‘Henry went to London yesterday, right? Henry goes to London from time to time and he comes back bringing Margaret a present, which Margaret either chucks at his head or at someone else. You with me?’

‘Yes,’ they said, ‘just about. It’s common knowledge.’

‘Margaret’s a beautiful woman; she joined us at dinner.’

‘So she got out of bed?’ Maisie was astounded.

‘Must have done if she joined them at dinner.’ Peter was withering. ‘Go on, Matthew.’

‘I was sorry for Margaret,’ Matthew said. ‘She does not have much of a life.’

‘It’s of her own choosing,’ said Peter.

Maisie said, ‘I chose you and I don’t have—’

‘Shut up, Maisie. Carry on, Matthew,’ said Peter.

‘Henry gave her wine. We’d been drinking a rather good claret,’ said Matthew. ‘I sat beside her and tried to jolly her up. She drank her wine, she may even have had something to eat, I can’t remember. Antonia had cooked a smashing meal, Henry had taken the dogs out, I forgot to say Margaret had smothered them in some expensive scent he’d brought her. Terrible waste of money. The more fool he.’

‘Oh,’ said Maisie, ‘how awful. Poor dogs.’

‘Go on,’ said Peter.

‘There’s not much more,’ said Matthew. ‘When she asked me to help her up to her room—we’d been getting on rather well—of course I did. So we went up, taking a bottle with us, may have been two bottles, that’s what she seemed to want and I’ve always understood that it’s dangerous to their peace of mind to interrupt the flow when someone’s baring their chest. I’m mixing metaphors but I dare say you get the gist? Anyway, reaching her room, Margaret got into bed and I sat on the edge and held her hand—I think I held her hand, it felt as though I did. We talked as people do. I told her how I love Antonia and about the son we are planning to have. Well, I suppose it’s chiefly me that plans him, and she was so understanding, she really was! She thinks it’s selfish of Antonia to hold back, as of course it is, and that although she personally had been spared or deprived, I think she said deprived, of the traumas of parenthood because of Henry being what he is, she’d always understood that any “real man” wants a son. Well,’ said Matthew, sighing, ‘we had this confidential and highly-interesting chat.’

Peter said, ‘I’ve always wondered why she married Henry.’

‘I can tell you that,’ said Matthew. ‘It was pity.’

‘Her pity for him or his pity for her?’ Peter’s eyebrows rose.

‘Henry’s pity for her,’ said Maisie. ‘It’s obvious.’

‘That’s quite a percipient remark,’ said Matthew, ‘for a stupid woman. Any more whisky?’

‘You’ve had enough,’ said Maisie, huffed.

Peter took Matthew’s glass and went to refill it. When he came back he said, ‘Go on.’

Matthew drank. ‘Terrible story,’ he said. ‘I mean, for someone who loves their wife as I love Antonia, it’s a terrible story. Oh dear, oh dear.’

‘And I love Maisie, come to that. Do go on,’ said Peter.

‘Not much more,’ said Matthew. ‘When she tumbled to the pity bit, she made up her mind to make the poor sod’s life a misery. Now, I’m not saying she’s right, but that’s what it’s all about, the staying in bed, wringing cockatoos’ necks—shall we ever forget that? And chucking away his presents, she is out for misery for Henry.’

‘But it doesn’t work,’ exclaimed Maisie. ‘Henry is
not
miserable.’

‘You’ve done it again!’ exclaimed Matthew. ‘Spot on, Maisie. You really are quite bright.’

Peter laughed. ‘So what does she get out of her marriage?’

‘Security, of course.’ Matthew gulped the last of his whisky.

‘Well, yes,’ said Peter. ‘But do they ever—I mean—’

‘I did ask,’ said Matthew. ‘We’d grown pretty intimate. She was so confiding, amusing in her way, you know how it is, yes, I asked.’

‘And?’

‘She said yes, then no, once, just to see if he could, she suggested he try. Those were her words, that he try. They rang rather true. She said come and sleep with me or words to that effect. Prove you are a man? Something like that, perhaps? Henry refused and she, taking umbrage, went for him with a knife and he threw an inkpot at her and missed.’

‘And you believe that?’ asked Maisie.

‘Sounded true,’ said Matthew.

‘He wouldn’t miss,’ said Peter, ‘never. Henry’s got a marvellous eye. She filled you up with a bundle of poppycock, old boy.’

Seeing that Matthew looked annoyed, Maisie said, ‘And what did she tell you after that?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you.’

‘Was it something too awful?’

‘I fell asleep,’ said Matthew.

‘In her bed?’ Maisie asked, wide-eyed.

‘On it, actually.’

‘Pissed,’ said Peter, regretting his waste of whisky. ‘And Antonia?’

‘Vanished.’

‘Telephone,’ exclaimed Maisie as the telephone began shrilling in the next room. She went to answer it. ‘Hullo?’ she said, reaching for the receiver. ‘Maisie Bullivant here.’

‘And Antonia Stephenson here. Have you got my husband, by any chance?’