Dubious Legacy Read online

  Henry said, ‘Well enough. Better than tonight, let’s say. I should never have bribed her with that dress.’

  ‘She looked lovely in it,’ said Calypso.

  ‘I did not foresee the consequences. She was intoxicated by the girls’ desire.’ Henry gulped his brandy. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I can’t divorce her, I’ve been into all that,’ and yawned.

  ‘Come on, Hector, we must go home.’ Calypso got off the sofa. ‘We must let Henry get some sleep, he’s exhausted.’

  ‘A bath,’ said Henry, ‘then it will be time for haymaking. This is a busy time of year.’

  Driving through the scented lanes with the car windows down and Hector half-asleep beside her, Calypso heard him say, ‘That girl called him magnanimous.’

  She said, ‘So he is.’

  ‘But not necessarily to young girls,’ her husband murmured.

  ‘You disappeared,’ said James, overtaking the girls. ‘I was worried stiff,’ he told Barbara. He held her arm above the elbow, bringing her to a halt.

  ‘I was with Henry,’ said Barbara defensively, as Antonia walked on with Matthew.

  ‘With Henry? Why?’

  ‘Why not?’ Barbara faced her lover. ‘He is our host. We are staying in his house. It is customary to be polite to one’s host, is it not?’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Snappy. You are engaged to me. I can’t have you chasing Henry.’

  ‘I am not snappy.’ Barbara took stock of her intended. ‘I was not chasing him,’ she lied. ‘If you must know,’ she said crossly, ‘I wanted to ask him about Valerie.’

  ‘Valerie? Who is Valerie?’ James’s heart thumped in shock.

  ‘Valerie with whom, so Margaret told us, you bounced in bed until the springs made such a racket you kept her awake. That Valerie.’

  ‘Oh, that Valerie.’ James attempted a laugh. ‘She was just a friend. So has Margaret been making mischief? And what,’ he asked rather cleverly, as he thought, ‘did Henry tell you?’

  ‘He said she was not a call-girl.’

  ‘Well, there you are,’ said James, relieved.

  ‘And he said you weren’t in love with her, but I took it that was just men sticking together. Weren’t you in love with her?’

  James lied courageously. ‘Valerie was just an ordinary friend. She married some chap in insurance. I love you, darling, no one else. I should have thought I had made that pretty obvious. You can’t have believed Margaret; she is one of those people who can’t bear to see people happy. She’s a nutcase.’

  ‘I did believe her.’

  ‘Oh, darling.’ James put his arms round her. ‘You must not allow random malice to come between us. Margaret is mad.’

  ‘She is not mad.’

  ‘Malicious, then.’ James stroked Barbara’s hair.

  ‘She ruined the party. It was a lovely party. She ruined that dress; it was such a beautiful dress.’ Encompassed by James’s arms, Barbara mourned the Dior dress. ‘What an awful waste.’

  ‘Some day I’ll buy you a dress like that.’

  ‘How soon?’ She raised her face to be kissed.

  ‘When we are married. A Dior maternity dress.’

  ‘A what?’ She pulled away from him.

  James corrected himself. ‘I’ll buy you a Dior dress to celebrate our first baby.’

  ‘Have I got to have a baby?’ Barbara was dubious.

  ‘Isn’t that what marriage is for?’

  ‘Suppose I don’t want babies?’ Barbara was discovering the pleasures of being difficult. ‘Do we then bounce and break springs without the approval of Church and State?’

  ‘Joking,’ said James. ‘I was joking.’ There was much to be said for bouncing without strings, but Valerie had left him high and dry, bereft. ‘Would you like me to come into your bed tonight,’ he whispered, ‘just for a cuddle?’

  ‘Antonia is next door, she’d hear. And you wouldn’t really want me to sleep with you before we are married.’

  ‘People do,’ James muttered, breathing into her hair.

  ‘Not this person,’ said Barbara virtuously. ‘I am not Valerie.’

  ‘Damn Valerie!’ James exploded.

  ‘So you were in love with her?’ Barbara niggled.

  ‘I was not,’ James snapped, ‘not one bit. If you insist on picking a quarrel,’ he exclaimed, ‘and ruining our engagement, that’s OK by me.’ I would be free, he thought wildly; I could recapture Valerie, be her lover again. She knows she looks best naked; she doesn’t bore on about Dior dresses.

  Barbara began to cry. ‘You are horrible. I thought you loved me. I am so tired.’

  ‘I do love you, I do. Listen, sweetie, we are saying things neither of us mean. You must rest, have a hot bath, a good long soak, and a long sleep.’ He kissed her wet cheeks. ‘There, don’t cry, tomorrow will be lovely.’

  Barbara said, ‘Oh, James,’ and let him lead her to the house. ‘You are right, I’d better hurry. If Antonia gets there first she takes for ever and all the hot water.’ She kissed James fondly and raced up the stairs.

  Antonia, too, had a dubious time with her intended. Matthew keenly resented being called wet. He was not to know that in years to come, when he had become a Member of Parliament, the term ‘wet’ would be considered by many to be one of approval. ‘I am not wet,’ he had said the moment he got Antonia alone. ‘I will not stand for abuse.’

  ‘I was upset,’ Antonia riposted, ‘and so would you have been if you had had a dead bird thrown in your face.’

  ‘Only a bit of it.’

  ‘A bloody bit,’ Antonia raised her voice, ‘and still warm.’

  ‘Don’t swear,’ said Matthew. ‘I can’t stand women who swear.’

  ‘You put up with a lot of swearing from Richard,’ said Antonia, delving into the past, when Matthew had been her brother’s friend.

  ‘Richard was a boy.’

  ‘He still is, though I sometimes wonder how much of one. Why are we talking of Richard?’ she asked.

  ‘You brought him up apropos swearing. You went off at a tangent.’ Matthew remembered that Richard, much less lovely now than in his teens, had had the same evasive trait. ‘You were telling me how shocked you had been by Margaret. I was more startled by the sight of her breasts.’

  ‘Wobbling.’ Antonia giggled. ‘I wish she had not torn that dress, it was so beautiful. I longed to have it.’

  ‘Must have cost Henry a pretty penny,’ said Matthew. ‘Commodities he is short of. The more fool he.’

  ‘Is he badly off, then?’ Antonia was surprised.

  ‘Of course. Haven’t you noticed how shabby the house is? The curtains in my room are rotting, I daren’t draw them at night.’

  ‘But Margaret’s room?’

  ‘Keeps her happy. Ebro’s in the business. Gets a discount, I expect.’

  ‘But the party. So lavish! All that drink.’

  ‘I expect when he’s used up his father’s cellar, it will remain dry.’

  ‘Poor Henry.’

  ‘Of course he keeps his land in good heart, that’s what he lives on. If you work as hard as Henry does, you make a living.’

  ‘Why are we discussing Henry? And Henry’s means, as I suppose you would call them. You want to be a man of means, don’t you? I can smell it,’ said Antonia.

  ‘Nothing wrong with money,’ said Matthew. ‘It’s only wrong when you haven’t got it.’

  ‘We’ve got miles from the point,’ Antonia exclaimed. ‘I thought we were standing here so that you could comfort me for the disgusting shock I suffered.’

  ‘I thought you had got over it,’ said Matthew, who, having himself recovered from the horrid scene, imagined Antonia would have done likewise.

  ‘What is it going to be like married to you?’ Once again Antonia felt like hitting her fiancé. And yet, she thought, I shall marry him.

  Refusing to be drawn, one of the things which Antonia would later find supremely irritating, M
atthew said, ‘I think you are tired. God knows I am.’

  ‘Good night, then,’ Antonia snapped and left him without a kiss, racing to her room where, seeing her face in the glass still streaked with the cockatoo’s blood, she felt quite sick, tore off her clothes and rushed to the bathroom, only to find the door locked. ‘Barbara, let me in,’ she shouted, thumping the door.

  Barbara called out, ‘Find another bathroom. I must soak in peace.’

  Antonia leaned low to the keyhole and hissed through it, ‘Bugger you, I hate you,’ as though they were still at school, best friends having a tiff.

  Muttering with rage, Antonia snatched the bedspread off the bed and wrapped it around herself. Setting off to find another bathroom, she padded barefoot to the head of the stairs. The house had gone quiet; there were no lights. Here, where the banisters sloped slippery to the hall, the cockatoo had launched himself. Antonia gulped. There would be a bathroom near Matthew and James, but for the moment she wanted no truck with Matthew. Margaret had a bathroom; she savoured the thought of running a bath, using preternatural force and drowning Margaret in its golden depths. She put her hand to her face, felt the cockatoo’s blood still tacky on her cheek and retched. Her need for a bath was imperative.

  Backtracking, she tried doors which opened into an airing cupboard, an empty room, a door leading to an attic stair, her own door and finally, very angrily, she tried Barbara’s, but Barbara, anticipating this attack, had leapt from her bath, locked the door and returned to soak. Short of setting up a great hullaballoo and rousing the house, there would be no dislodging her.

  Venturing further, Antonia explored until at last she was rewarded by the sound of a running tap; she opened a door and there, to her joy, was a bath in the middle of the room, a wash-basin on one wall and a lavatory. Beyond it a window stood open to the dawn and the sound of robins, thrushes, tits, wrens and finches revving up for another day.

  As she hurried towards the basin there was a stirring by the bath as Humble and Cringe half-rose in welcome. In the bath Henry lay in steaming water, an open book blocking his view of the intruder. He said, ‘Not now, Trask, please.’

  Antonia said, ‘It’s me,’ and froze.

  ‘What do you want?’ Henry lowered the book.

  ‘I was looking for a bathroom. Barbara has bagged ours. She’s so selfish. I’ve got to wash. My face is smeared with blood. I feel unclean. I can’t bear it, I simply cannot.’ Antonia’s voice rose by several decibels. She was almost hysterical with disgust.

  ‘Wash it in the basin.’ Henry made no attempt to move.

  ‘May I?’

  ‘Of course.’ Henry laid his book on a chair beside the bath and sank back in the water.

  Antonia said, ‘Oh! Right, I will. Thanks.’ She ran the taps in the basin and, using both hands, splashed her face repeatedly.

  Henry said, ‘Now you will feel better. Use my towel.’

  Drying her face, Antonia said, ‘I am sorry to butt in on you.’

  Henry said, ‘That’s all right.’

  Antonia said, ‘I felt if I went and used Matthew’s bathroom he would—er—he would start up all over again. We’ve had a row.’

  Henry said, ‘Yes.’

  Antonia said, ‘You have a lot of bathrooms for such an old-fashioned house.’

  Henry said, ‘My father had a thing about bathrooms. I suspect it was a guilt-induced desire to cleanse his sins. It’s a usual form of mania; my mother approved of the plumbing so, although she kept him in check otherwise, she connived at the bathrooms. She used to say, there is no greater frustration than getting locked out of a bathroom.’

  Antonia said, ‘How I agree. I could have murdered Barbara just now and she’s my best friend. She soaks for absolute hours.’

  Henry said, ‘So do I.’

  Antonia said, ‘With blood caking my face, feathers jarring against my teeth, I thought I’d go mad.’

  Henry said, ‘I am sick of that subject. Sit down.’

  Antonia gaped at his lack of feeling, but sat obediently on the chair. She had not seen a man in a bath before and was at a loss as to how to behave. She said, ‘Why didn’t you bash your wife for killing it?’

  Henry said, ‘I try not to do what she wants me to do. To have hit her would have made her evening.’

  Antonia said, ‘How convoluted,’ and tried not to look at Henry’s penis swaying up like a periscope in the warm water. Modestly she drew the bedspread tighter round her shoulders.

  Henry said, ‘Shan’t be long now, but as you are here, will you turn on the hot tap?’

  Antonia complied.

  Henry whooshed the water round, then, holding his nose, ducked under until he was completely submerged. When he did this Humble and Cringe stood up and looked anxiously into the bath. As Henry came up, Antonia said, ‘They were afraid you would drown.’

  Henry said, ‘Pass me my towel,’ and, getting out of the bath, said, ‘It’s all yours.’ He pulled the plug, wrapped the towel round his waist and left the room, followed by the dogs.

  When the water had gurgled away Antonia replaced the plug and turned on the taps, bending over the bath to stir hot water in with cold; she felt her head swim. She realized that she was intoxicated, had been so for some time, and that in that state she had insulted her lover publicly.

  EIGHTEEN

  MATTHEW AND JAMES MET in the kitchen. The door and windows were open to the yard; they heard Pilar’s voice and the clucking of hens.

  James said, ‘D’you suppose we are to find our own breakfast?’ He sniffed doubtfully towards the stove. ‘Aha! Coffee,’ he said, relieved, ‘and hot milk.’ He lifted the coffee pot. ‘For you?’ he offered.

  ‘Black,’ said Matthew. ‘No sugar.’

  ‘Like that. I see,’ said James, ‘didn’t overdo it. I’m pretty perky. I wonder where our girls are? Still asleep, no doubt.’ He answered his own question. ‘The girls, I said, my Barbara and your Antonia.’

  Matthew grunted and, picking up a cup, held it while James poured coffee.

  Had it been imagination or had the girls behaved a bit oddly with Henry last night? There goes my fertile imagination, James told himself; I must not let it rip. Henry was host; they were obliged to play up to him. ‘Your hands are shaking,’ he said to Matthew.

  Matthew said, ‘Belt up,’ and sat at the table holding his cup with both hands. ‘God, I needed that,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t have had that night-cap.’

  ‘You should drink a glass of water and swallow two aspirin last thing after a party,’ advised James. ‘I do.’

  Matthew made no reply.

  ‘Good morning. Lovely day.’ Pilar bustled in from the yard. ‘Fresh,’ she said, holding up a colander full of eggs. ‘Still warm from the hen. Who would like omelette or eggs and bacon, our own pig?’

  Flinching, Matthew said, ‘No thanks.’

  James said, ‘Super! Eggs and bacon, splendid.’ He sat at the table.

  Matthew said, ‘Dry toast,’ adding, ‘please.’

  Pilar pursed her lips and replenished Matthew’s cup, murmuring, ‘Aspirin,’ as she placed a tactful bottle to hand. ‘Take two now, two later,’ she said gently.

  With his back to the light Matthew muttered, ‘Thanks.’

  Pilar urged: ‘Go on, swallow.’

  ‘What I need is Fernet Branca,’ said Matthew, but catching Pilar’s eye popped the pills in his mouth.

  Pilar said, ‘Well done,’ and set to work on James’s breakfast.

  At the first hint of bacon fat Matthew took his cup and moved to the open door.

  ‘In a moment, dry toast,’ Pilar called after him.

  Watching Pilar turn the bacon in the pan and break in eggs, James thought, Valerie taught me the aspirin trick. Full of handy tips, that girl. One would not want Barbara to be so experienced. One would wish to be the one to inform Barbara; a wife should learn from her husband. He cast his mind back, trying to remember how Valerie had got on with Henry.

  Pilar said, ‘Love
ly day for a swim or a ride.’ She flipped the bacon rashers over. ‘Or a long walk,’ she suggested, ‘if you cannot ride?’

  ‘Of course I can ride,’ said James huffily. This is like riding, Valerie had said, and the other way up, she had said, Ride me, ride me. Oh Lord, how would it be with Barbara? ‘Oh, thanks,’ he said as Pilar dished up the bacon and eggs. ‘Delicious.’

  Matthew turned his back and accustomed his eyes to the sunlight.

  ‘Hullo, hullo, hullo.’ Antonia came rushing into the kitchen, followed by Barbara. ‘Good morning, everybody. What a gorgeous day! Oh, lovely smell of coffee. Any for us?’

  Barbara bent to kiss James’s cheek which bulged with bacon. ‘Morning, greedy.’

  Antonia sidled up to Matthew, putting her arm around his neck. ‘Oh, Matthew, darling, I was terrible to you last night. Will you forgive me? Say you will. I haven’t slept a wink, tossing all night in an agony of self-reproach and remorse.’

  ‘You look very well on it.’ Matthew drew away.

  ‘Darling, please, darling.’ Antonia swayed closer.

  ‘You were overwrought,’ said Matthew, responding to her soft pressure.

  ‘I was,’ Antonia admitted. ‘I was indeed.’

  James, with his mouth full of egg, said, ‘Jolly plucky, the way you leapt on the table and tackled that—’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Pilar broke in. ‘Today is today and beautiful.’

  ‘Quite right, Pilar. I would like to spend all day alone with you,’ Antonia whispered in Matthew’s ear and nuzzled his neck. ‘Darling.’

  Matthew felt a rush of pleasurable emotion. His eyes filled and he heard himself exclaim, ‘I believe I could manage some breakfast after all, Pilar. Perhaps a little crisp bacon with tomato?’

  Pilar repeated, ‘Tomato, crisp bacon with dry toast.’

  With her fiancé’s arm round her waist, Antonia thought, Phew! That’s over, and with her father in mind renewed her resolution regarding alcohol and cross words.

  Barbara had not spoken during this exchange, but put bread in the toaster, helped herself to coffee and ranged butter and marmalade by her plate. She now announced: ‘The first thing I must do this morning is visit Margaret. She must be feeling dreadful, poor woman, after last night.’ She enjoyed the surprised silence she caused, a silence broken only by the clatter of toast leaping in the toaster.