Fugitive Wife (14 page)

alone?’

‘Yes, quite alone.’ Briony closed the door behind her, and picked up her case. ‘I presume Daddy has been entertaining.’

‘Some Americans,’ Mrs Lambert said almost mechanicaly.

She was frowning in utter bewilderment. ‘And your ―room’s not ready. Why didn’t you let us know? You see, Miss Briony, we thought ..

.’

‘I know what you thought.’ Briony moistened her lips. ‘I don’t want to go into details at the moment, but you’re quite right. I was―married yesterday. But my husband isn’t here with me, and I’m not expecting him. So my old room wil be fine. Perhaps you’d let my father know I’m here.’

She walked into the spacious drawing room. It was perfection as usual, not an ornament out of place, not a falen flower petal to disturb its pristine surface. Not the idea! environment for the return of a prodigal daughter, Briony decided ironicaly as she looked round her. It was almost as if she had never been away, never cracked the smooth tenor of life in this house.

She sat down on the edge of a sofa as if she was a visitor, and presently Mrs Lambert came in with a tray of coffee and a plate of smoked salmon sandwiches, and the news that she had informed Sir Charles of Briony’s unexpected arrival.

‘What did he say?’ For obvious reasons they had not stopped to eat on the journey, and Briony suddenly realised that she was ravenously hungry as she reached for a sandwich.

‘Oh, Miss Briony !’ There might almost have been tears in Mrs Lambert’s eyes. ‘He looked overwhelmed, realy he did―delighted. He’s

been so unhappy, it’s been dreadful to see him.’

If Briony had harboured any doubts about her reception, they were dispeled as soon as Sir Charles came into the room.

‘My darling girl, you’re home!’ His arms closed round her fiercely. ‘No, don’t talk, don’t say anything just yet. There’l be plenty of time for explanations later. Tomorrow―when you’re rested. You look exhausted.’ His tone hardened. ‘That degenerate swine! I’l .. .’

‘No, Daddy.’ Gently, Briony released herself. ‘There’s no need for you to do anything. I’ve left Logan, it’s true, and later on I’l be applying for an annulment.’

‘An annulment?’ Sir Charles stared at her as if he did not believe his ears. ‘Oh, my darling child, thank heavens you’ve been spared that at least!’

Briony smiled. ‘I’ve been spared nothing.’ she said, almost conversationaly. ‘But you’re quite right, I am very tired. If my room’s ready, I would like to lie down.’

‘Of course, of course.’ He was soothing, expansive. His delight in her return was almost tangible, as was his il-concealed air of triumph.

But he refrained from the actual words ‘I told you so.’

Briony slept badly that night, and awoke dreading the tete-a-tete that she feared her father would force on her, but when she went

downstairs she learned he had been caled away early to U.P.G. where there was a threatened dispute with the print unions over manning levels, so she was spared.

She spent a desultory day around the house, reading magazines supplied by Mrs Lambert, and watching television, something she normaly never did in the daytime.

It was from the television news in the early evening that she learned that the dispute at U.P.G. had developed into an al-out strike, and that both sides were taking stances behind rather inflammatory statements.

She despised herself for the thought, but she could not help a slight feeling of relief. With a ful-blooded strike on his hands, Sir Charles would have enough problems on his mind for the next few days, and his erring daughter’s matrimonial tangle would have to be relegated to the bottom of his list of priorities.

Perhaps by the time the strike was over, some miracle would have happened and she would have grown some kind of extra skin to help

her bear her father’s inevitable gloating at least with equanimity. For everyone’s sake, it was best to make him think that Logan and she had realised at once they were not compatible, and had parted on good terms.

But even with her father’s long absences, the days which folowed were far from easy. Briony found herself wandering from room to room, unable to settle or to take any real interest in anything. Mrs Lambert, meaning to be kind, insisted on treating her as if she was some kind of invalid, and, worst of al, there was a visit from Aunt Hes to face.

‘Child, are you out of your mind?’ was her aunt’s forthright greeting, as she came into the drawing room.

Briony flushed, evading her gaze. ‘I don’t think so. Didn’t you once tel me when I was quite smal that the bravest thing to do when you made a serious mistake was acknowledge the fact and try to put it right?’

‘I gave altogether too much advice.’ Aunt Hes said grimly. ‘And probably I never expected any of it to be taken. Isn’t that the main purpose of advice―to be ignored?’ She sat down and gave Briony a long look.

‘You’re miserable.’ she said, half to herself. ‘The light that was on inside you has gone out.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I think you do. You were living in my flat before you married him, my dear. I saw how it was with you. You wanted him―you couldn’t

hide it. Are you trying to tel me it was al self-deception, because I warn you, I don’t believe it.’

‘Perhaps I did. Perhaps I do.’ Briony got up feverishly and walked over to the window. ‘1―1 can’t talk about it now.’

Aunt Hes sighed softly. ‘So Charles Trevor wins as usual.’

‘Daddy had nothing to do with it.’ said Briony, and then paused, remembering Logan’s jeering words. ‘At least .. .’

‘At the very least,’ her aunt agreed. ‘He likes to remain in ful control, does Charles. That’s why he’s up to his ears in strikes and disputes at this moment, and we both know it. He creates discord at al levels so that he can emerge victorious. But I thought you knew that. I thought you understood, and that’s why you left home and sought a measure of independence for yourself. That’s why when I met the man you’d chosen, I was pleased, because I knew that he’d stand up to Charles.’ She shook her head. ‘I assumed, of course, that you’d be fighting for him, not against him.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Briony protested. She could feel tears pricking in her eyes, and was glad her back was turned. ‘You―you don’t know what happened.’

‘I could make an educated guess.’ Aunt Hes retorted. ‘Come and see me, child, when you’re calmer and can think more rationaly. You

don’t have to tel me anything. We won’t even mention it again, if that’s what you want. And forgive me if I’ve been interfering. You’re my sister’s girl, and I’m fond of you―cal that my excuse.’ She went to the door. ‘I was beginning to be fond of your Logan too.’ she said, almost musingly, and went out.

Another week limped by, and the strike was clearly no closer to being settled. In early news interviews, Sir Charles had spoken scathingly of the unions and prophesied an unconditional surrender, but now he was beginning to look almost harassed, his immaculate, invincible facade showing distinct signs of wear and tear.

He came home to snatch fragments of sleep and the odd meal, and Briony and Mrs Lambert found themselves conferring worriedly over

the lines of strain now prominent on his face.

‘Worry accumulates,’ Mrs Lambert said gloomily one day as she and Briony sat planning a dinner that Sir Charles would probably not be there to eat. ‘And poor Sir Charles has had a lot to contend with recently.’ She flushed hastily as she caught Briony’s eye. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Briony. I didn’t mean―it wasn’t that so much as―wel. I suppose I shouldn’t be discussing this with you.’ She sat in silence for a moment looking embarrassed and uncomfortable while Briony waited in some surprise. Mrs Lambert had been a part of the

household for as long as she could remember, always self-effacing and discreet, and never one for confidences either about herself or anyone else that Briony could think of.

‘Please go on.’ she said at last. ‘If there’s something else bothering my father apart from this wretched strike, it might be best if I knew about it.’

‘Oh, I think it’s al over with,’ Mrs Lambert said quickly.

‘Although it can’t have been pleasant for him.’ She sat for a minute, twisting her fingers together. ‘It was one of his lady-friends.’ she said awkwardly at last.

‘I see.’ Briony’s amazement increased. This was indiscretion with a vengeance! ‘You mean-Fiona de Bruce?’

‘Oh, no, Miss Briony. Mrs de Bruce is a very pleasant lady―and the last one to make any kind of―of fuss. This particular person―she

wasn’t here many times at al. I never even knew her name. When she came to the house, she came with Sir Charles. And they dined out, not here. Then they would come back to the house and Sir Charles would ask me to take coffee and liqueurs to his study.’ Mrs Lambert looked distressed. ‘That’s when I realised what had been going on. I had the tray awkwardly one night-the last time she came here-and I couldn’t help hearing what they were saying as I put it down so that I could knock.’ She paused.

‘Go on.’ Briony said, frowning.

‘She was laughing, Miss Briony, but not a nice sort of laugh at al, and she said, “It’l cost you.’’ Just like that. And I listened, I’m afraid, because I had this awful feeling that she might be a blackmailer and Sir Charles might need a witness against her.’

‘It’s al right,’ Briony said gently. ‘Please go on.’

‘And Sir Charles said “I don’t care how much it costs. Wil this be enough to satisfy you?” Then she laughed again and she said, “My God, when you want to be rid of someone, you don’t mess about do you?” And he said, “Just as long as I am rid, that’s al.’’ And I felt dreadful then, because I realised that she must have become a nuisance, and he was having to buy her off.’ Mrs Lambert’s face was crimson. ‘Such an awful thing to happen, and she wasn’t at al Sir Charles’type. I knew that as soon as I saw her.’

‘What was she like?’ Briony’s curiosity had been aroused by the unpleasant little story. She thought back over her father’s numerous conquests in some perplexity.

She had never wondered how his little affairs began or ended, but she would never have imagined he would have to use a cheque book in order to get out of an unwanted liaison.

‘Thin,’ Mrs Lambert said. ‘And neurotic, I thought. Smart, I suppose, in a way, but not a lady.’ She hesitated. ‘I knocked and took the tray in and put it on the desk in between them. The cheque was stil lying there. She hadn’t bothered to pick it up, and I couldn’t help seeing how much it was for.’

‘How much?’ Briony queried automaticaly. What was the seling price for a discarded mistress, who didn’t want to go, in Sir Charles’

sophisticated little world? she wondered rather bitterly.

Mrs Lambert told her.

‘What?’ Briony heard her voice rise to a squeak. ‘You must have made a mistake!’

‘No, Miss Briony.’ Mrs Lambert sounded positive. ‘I could hardly believe it myself, so I had another look, and then Madam saw me and picked up the cheque and stuffed it into her handbag, and Sir Charles said that was al, and they didn’t want to be disturbed again, so I came out.’ She sighed. ‘But your father hasn’t been himself since. It’s as if he’s had something on his mind al the time-apart from missing you, of course,’ she added conscientiously.

‘Of course,’ Briony echoed drily. ‘Thank you, Mrs Lambert. You were quite right to tel me.’ But for the rest of the day she found herself wondering just what she had been told. None of it seemed to make any sense. And Mrs Lambert had been quite correct when she had said that this strange woman had not been

Sir Charles’ usual type. He liked the Fiona de Bruces of this world, either divorced or widowed, with money of their own and figures as opulent as their backgrounds.

Someone thin and neurotic would not appeal to his taste at al―unless she had some hold over him.

Now stop it, Briony chided herself. These were realms of fantasy, and she knew it. It was Logan and his tales of bribery and corruption who had started her thinking along these lines. And the maddening thing was she could never ask her father about the woman, without

betraying Mrs Lambert.

On an impulse she went along to her father’s study and looked in. It seemed the same as it always had, a rather severe and workmanlike room, not at al a background for the ending of a love affair, no matter how acrimonious it might have become. And Daddy must have been desperate to payout the sort of money

Mrs Lambert had mentioned.

She walked over to the desk’ and stood there for a moment, an inward struggle going on over what she should do next. One inner voice told her not to meddle, that it was none of her affair, and she had troubles of her own. But another, more insistent voice said that this was a mystery that needed solving.

Despising herself, she began to try the drawers of the desk, one by one. Her father’s cheque book was normaly kept in the top right-hand drawer, and after a brief search she found it. Al the stubs were neatly filed in, except one which had been left blank―by accident or design? she wondered. None of the filed-in stubs were made out to a woman or for the amount Mrs Lambert had mentioned.

She replaced the cheque book, and began looking in the other drawers―for What, she wasn’t sure. But when she saw the manila folder,

half hidden under some papers in the bottom drawer, then she was sure. It was a curious sensation―like the pricking of thumbs, she

supposed. And the rest of the quotation jumped into her brain as she laid the folder on the desk. ‘Something wicked this way comes.’

And when the press cuttings on the Harry Chapman suicide spiled out of the folder, it was as if she had always known they would be there.

Briony began to tremble. She sank down into the chair behind the desk and looked at the cuttings. Many of them were the same that

Marina Chapman had brought to the cottage. Were these the duplicates she had spoken of?

Or―more likely from the appearance of the file―were these the V.P.G. colection of cuttings on the case from the office library where she herself had worked?

A thin, neurotic woman, smart but not a lady. Mrs Lambert’s description ran through her head with a terrible emphasis. ‘My God, when you want to be rid of someone, you don’t mess about, do you?’ ‘Just as long as I am rid, that’s al.’