Going Wrong (26 page)

There were five flats, one on each floor. Guy, before he even rang Newton’s bell, had a very good idea what the “luxury,” as described by the estate agent, would amount to. A bathroom that actually had tiles on the walls, and some sort of central heating. He didn’t much like to think of Leonora living in this place, a back street that looked as if it would be unsafe at night, a grey brick house whose paintwork needed renewing.

Newton’s voice, coming out of the grid, instead of asking who it was, said, “Come up,” and the lock on the door buzzed.

A steep staircase and two long flights to climb. Another one of those dreary walk-ups. Newton was on the landing, outside an open front door, waiting for him. He said, “Hi,” and held out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Guy shook hands with him. He was glad he hadn’t put a suit on. Newton wore jeans and a grey jumper with a hole in one of the elbows. His longish ginger hair stuck up like a punk’s, only it grew that way, the effect hadn’t been achieved with styling gel.

Leonora was in the living room, looking awkward, Guy thought, or embarrassed perhaps. As well she might in this barn of a room with a surprisingly low ceiling and two small sash windows giving onto the grey façade opposite. He had got over all his heart-turnings on the way upstairs and advanced towards her with no more diffidence than if she had been Celeste. She kissed him, a light peck. Of course she would, with Newton watching. He handed the champagne to Newton, who said, “How grand. What are we celebrating?”

That made Guy smile. The little red-haired man was really very unsophisticated. Guy felt powerful, in control. He said kindly, “Quite a lot of people drink champagne as an aperitif these days, you know. There doesn’t have to be anything to celebrate.”

“Oh, I see. Then it would be appropriate to drink it now?”

“Don’t be absurd, William,” said Leonora, looking uncomfortable, though Guy couldn’t see what was absurd about what he’d said.

He was taking a good look round the room. The furniture was the kind of thing rejected by comfortably off middle-aged achievers and passed on to poor young relatives. He assessed the carpet as coming from one of those sales held after a store fire. You could even see the burnt patch in one corner. Up on the wall, above a Victorian fireplace of cast iron and floral tiles, a fireplace that was there not because Newton had found it in an antique shop but because it had been put in with the rest of the dilapidated fittings in 1895, hung the swords.

They were crossed at the point Guy remembered was called the forte. One was bare, the other in a rather worn and shabby embroidered scabbard. They recalled to Guy that dream he had had in which he was fighting Con Mulvanney with swords in Kensington Gardens and had stabbed him through the heart. He remembered Newton had said he wanted to sell the swords. He had also, on that occasion after the cinema, said something about selling his flat.

“Is that this flat that’s been sold?” he had begun to ask when Leonora came back with three glasses (one champagne flute, one hock glass, and something that looked as if designed to hold half a grapefruit) on a tray. Guy nearly offered to open the champagne, but stopped himself because he wanted to see Newton make a mess of it and in Leonora’s presence.

She was looking worried and far from her best. Gone was the elegant fashionable young woman in the dark-blue-and-pink linen suit, the pretty stockings and shoes. Being with Newton simply didn’t suit her. That was an inescapable conclusion, anyone would see it. Those white pants would only look good if freshly laundered each time they were worn, and as for that faded sweat-shirt … Her hair was hauled onto the back of her head with one of those awful crocodile clips. The red glass roses hanging from her ears looked ridiculous with the rest of the get-up.

Newton opened the champagne without mishap. It must have been one of the easy bottles, Guy thought, you sometimes got them. They began to talk about the sale of Newton’s flat and Guy asked him where he was going to live. He asked where
he
was going to live but Newton said, “I expect we shall buy a house.”

Guy ignored that “we.” “You don’t want to leave it too long. Remember, property’s the best investment. Even in a recession in the property market it’s a great mistake to sell your home and invest the proceeds in something else.”

“I’ll remember that, Guy,” said Newton.

Guy was quite well-informed about the property market and he talked some more about it. He said something about his own plans for moving, perhaps of buying a house at the “best end” of Ladbroke Grove. What did Leonora think of Stanley Crescent, the abode, he had heard, of TV personalities and one world-famous singer, a million-pound Italianate villa in fashionable Stanley Crescent? William said he hardly supposed what Leonora thought would make any difference to whether Guy bought or not. He said it coldly and Guy wondered if the two of them had been quarrelling before he arrived. Leonora went off to do the final dinner preparations and Guy changed the subject. He intended to be tactful, to behave well while he could.

“Very autumnal this evening,” he said, looking towards the window.

“The nights will soon be drawing in,” said Newton.

Guy looked narrowly at him to see if he was mocking him, but it was all right. Newton’s expression was both serious and pleasant. He began to talk about the summer that was past, the sunniest of the century.

It wasn’t much of a meal. If people couldn’t or wouldn’t cook properly, Guy thought, it was better to buy smoked salmon and a cold roast chicken for guests than attempt strange meat loaves. He was even more dubious when Leonora told him there was no meat in the loaf, it was all soya and herbs. The only good thing was the wine, a surprisingly good claret, of which Newton actually produced two bottles. Guy complimented him on the wine. Drink, as it always did, made him feel a lot better. Just the same, he knew it would be impossible for him to pass a passive evening here and to go home alone. The brandy, the wine had wonderfully clarified his mind. He saw that this was the crunch, the time had come. But it wasn’t this decision of his that was responsible for the change in atmosphere, the rapidly ensuing trouble. It was the question he asked Leonora, in all innocence, about her first day back at school.

“It’s a shame you’ve had to cook. We could have gone out to eat.”

This remark was partly prompted by the dessert she served, a home-made sorbet, the colour and texture of three-day old snow but with large ice crystals in it like splinters of glass. The sorbet was as tasteless as snow too, though Guy guessed it was supposed to be lemon.

“Why is it a shame, Guy? Because the food’s so awful? I’m sorry, I know I’m not much of a cook. But William’s worse except with curry. His curry’s marvellous, only we didn’t know if you liked it.”

The idea of a man possibly being expected to cook for guests rather shocked him. But he didn’t say so. He hastened to assure his Leonora—that she should apologize to him!— that he only meant she must have had a hard day at school, today being the first day of the new term.

She reddened. It was years since he had seen her blush like that. Newton didn’t seem to notice. He was busy with the mousetrap cheese, which was all that was on offer. But he looked up and said, with his mouth full.

“She hasn’t been in today. She’s given up—remember?”

Remember? What did the man mean? “Leo, have you left your job? You didn’t tell me.”

“I resigned,” she said, “as soon as I knew … I mean, I resigned in June.”

“What were you going to say?” he said. “As soon as you knew what?”

Newton picked up the wine bottle. He looked at Leonora, who shook her head, filled Guy’s glass and then his own. He took a long slow drink, said, “As soon as she knew I was going to work for BBC North-West.”

Guy looked at her. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s no particular reason why you should need to.”

Newton could be quite simple and innocent-sounding and, suddenly, he could become crisp. The crispness was starting to gel into ice. “I have a new job. In Manchester. BBC North-West Studios are in Manchester. Therefore, in the nature of things, since I’m not a happy commuter, I shall live there. Are you answered?”

“You,
yes,” Guy said. “I don’t see why Leonora has to give up her job because you’re going to live in Manchester.”

“Don’t you? You’re rather slow sometimes. I’ve noticed it before. Let me explain in simple language. Leonora has given up her job in West London because she intends to get another one in Manchester. She is going to live in Manchester with me. From the end of this month. Leonora is going to live with me because she
will be married to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Leonora?”

“Because she’s afraid of your reaction. She’s afraid of what you’ll do. And who can blame her? Now let’s talk about something else. Let’s change the subject. We can revert to any of those things you’re so fascinated by, house buying or the autumnal weather, any bloody thing, only for God’s sake let’s not get our tempers running any higher.”

He was hardly going the right way about reducing Guy’s temper. Guy jumped up. Before he could speak, Leonora said, “Please stop quarrelling, the pair of you. Please stop now. I should have told you, Guy, but William’s right, you’re so
violent.”

“Would you expect me to take it lying down? That he’s preparing to take you away? To take you up to the north of England?”

“Why not? She’ll be my wife. I’ll be her husband. If she’d got a job in Manchester, I’d have followed her. The idea of being married surely is that you share each other’s lives.”

“I want to hear what Leonora has to say, not you. Let her speak for herself. She’s quite capable of that, I assure you. Now you tell me, Leonora—you weren’t going to leave me, were you? You weren’t seriously contemplating going to Manchester?”

“What do you mean, ‘leave me’?” said Newton, very cold now. “You can’t leave someone you’re not with. Leonora left you seven years ago.”

“It’s a lie!” Guy shouted. “She loves me, she’s told me so a hundred times. She isn’t going to marry you. What makes you think she is? Her family found you for her and pushed her onto you, but they can’t control her mind, they can’t touch her heart. She’s mine and she always will be . . .”

“Guy …” Leonora came round the table to him. Newton still sat there staring, calm, as cold as ice. “Guy,” Leonora said, “you must stop this, you must.”

“Get him to stop lying to me and then I’ll stop all right.”

“He isn’t lying. I’m going to marry him and I’m going to Manchester with him.”

“I don’t believe it. I
won’t
believe it. I’ll see you dead before I let you go away with him.”

“Do you wonder I didn’t tell you about it when you go on like this? The reason I didn’t tell you was to avoid you going on like this.”

Guy looked at her, feeling a tide of misery gathering and mounting inside him. He had never felt more like weeping in her arms. He wanted to take her in his arms and beg her not to go. “You won’t go, will you, Leo?”

She made no answer but her face was twisted as if she was in pain.

“That’s why you’re selling your flat,” he said. “That’s why he’s selling his.”

“Please don’t, Guy, don’t go on. Please stop shouting.”

It was slowly becoming clear to him. “That’s why he’s getting rid of ”—he flung out an arm—“all this shit. All this rubbish,” he said, “… these swords. He said he wanted to sell his swords.”

Guy was trembling. He took two steps to the fireplace and pulled down the swords from the wall. Newton sat there, looking incredulous. Guy threw the naked sword down on the table and tugged the other from its scabbard. Leonora seized his arm. He flung off her hand and leaped back, brandishing the shining sabre.

“I’ll fight you for her! We’ll fight a duel.” He was trembling no longer. Adrenaline poured through him, quenching misery. “I’ll fight you to the death!”

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

W
illiam Newton picked up the sabre from the table and stood looking at it as if it were some strange implement he had heard of but never seen before. He laid it down again, said to Guy, “Why don’t you put that down and go home.”

“He’s afraid to fight me, Leonora,” Guy said.

“It might be unwise.” A little smile, probably nervous, had appeared on Newton’s horsy face. “They’re old fighting sabres, they’re not ornamental.”

“You coward,” said Guy. “Where’s your honour? Admit it, you’re chicken. This is the man your parents chose to be your husband, Leonora. Pathetic, isn’t he?” He raised the sabre. It was years since Guy had taken his fencing lessons, but he was strong and fit. He held the sword at an angle, the point level with Newton’s eyes.

Leonora said in a breathless voice, “I’m going to phone the police.”

“Why?” said Guy. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“I’m going to phone them unless you put that sword down
now.”

“No, you’re not, my dear.”

The phone on a small side table had a long trailing lead. It wasn’t the kind you can plug in. Guy brought the sabre down with a long slicing movement across the lead six inches from where it emerged from the wall. The phone bounced off the table but the lead remained intact. Guy made a grab at it, pulled the lead and wrenched it out of the wall socket.

“For God’s sake. Are you mad?”

“Don’t say that to me, Leo. You shouldn’t have talked about phoning the police. Stand back, please. Go in the other room, if you want.” He added contemptuously, “If there is another room.” He turned back to Newton, who had said nothing, who had responded to none of Guy’s insults, but merely stood there, the smile still twitching his lips. “Ginger dwarf, miserable runt. Fucking prig.”

Casually, Newton picked up the sword. Its blade was dull but it looked sharp. For all their shabby appearance on the wall, the swords had been kept in good condition. The two men faced each other, each holding his weapon, but not crossing them, not performing any preliminary ritual. They looked at each other and Leonora watched them, one hand up to her open mouth.