A Rather English Marriage (15 page)

Roy had hoped Mandy was right when she said their shared plight made them equals; but he soon discovered that Reginald took for granted a master/servant relationship from which it was already hard to extricate himself. ‘Don't you take no nonsense from him,' Aggie said. ‘It's all talk. Stand up to him and he won't give you no trouble. He paying you a wage?' ‘No,' Roy had replied, wondering for the first time why not. And Aggie said triumphantly, ‘There you are, then! You're as good as he is - better. I see you polishing his boots this morning, well, he's too big for them as it is.' She looked at Roy sternly and waggled her finger. ‘He's got no call to order you about, so don't you stand for no nonsense. The way he eyes
me
up and down - I've thrown water over cats for less.'

But it wasn't exactly nonsense that Reggie gave him; rather the feeling that a gulf existed between them which could never be breached. The one thing they had in common, the thing that had brought him here, was never mentioned. On the occasions when Roy had ventured to say, ‘You must miss your wife …' the Squadron Leader had looked at him as though he had made a remark in very poor taste.

‘I'll cook myself a bit of tea –'

‘You mean
dinner
, I suppose, not tea?' said Reggie. ‘Or to be exact, more probably
supper?
Tea is sandwiches and cake and things: char and a wad, we used to call it in the crew room … Doesn't matter, I suppose. Sorry. You were saying?'

‘And then nip in to the local for my Guinness. Have a look at the house, see if there's any letters for me. My son might have written.'

‘Where did you say he was?' asked Reginald.

‘I ought to go over and see him next week. It's not far, only over by Ashford. There are trains from here, though it means changing.'

‘You could take the car, if I don't need it,' said Reginald unexpectedly. ‘What day were you thinking of going?'

‘Has to be a Wednesday.'

Roy felt anxious at the idea of handling the big Mercedes, so much more powerful than any vehicle he'd driven since the war, but he wasn't going to rebuff Reginald's first attempt at kindness.

‘That's all right, then. Have to go to London on Tuesday, see my accountant, stockbroker, that sort of thing. Wednesday's free. Just fill her up with petrol for me. Be back in time for dinner?'

‘Bound to be,' said Roy, witholding the ‘sir', but Reggie's mind supplied it.

He was thinking ahead to his evening with Liz. Fellow would have gone to beddy-byes by eleven. If he gave her dinner at the Chandelier Restaurant, just up the road at the Spa Hotel, it would sound perfectly natural to suggest she come in for a nightcap. She hadn't yet seen the house. Bound to be impressed. Might work wonders. ‘Don't wait up,' he said again.

Mary had been quite a good sport about his little flings. He'd get himself into a stew over some girl, some pretty thing he'd seen in the typing pool or at the Motor Show, bit of fluff with good legs or a cracking figure. He was a man, after all, with a man's needs. Then it would all become too much. The girl would start expecting proper presents, want to know why she couldn't ring him up in the office, then at home – in no time at all it would be ‘Oh Reggie darling, if only we could be together
always
…' At that point he'd confess. He'd sit on the floor, head on Mary's knees, blub a bit, she'd go quiet for a few days, he'd promise to turn over a new leaf and after that the girl's name would never be mentioned again.

Mary had been a sensible woman who didn't get things out of proportion, and a good wife to him - which made this
business about the money, her making a mystery of it, such a blow. If she'd
told
him it might have brought them closer. They could have done with something to talk about during the difficult years - besides the dogs, of course. Huntley and Palmer, a pair of bouncy, stupid Dalmatians, had taken the place of children for Mary and had monopolized their morning and evening conversations. The dogs had nicknames (‘Dandy' and ‘Beano'), personalities, preferences, and were talked about in special silly voices. They generated a series of jokes and anecdotes without which the pair of them would have had little but their bridge evenings to fall back on for conversation. If only she'd told him about the money, Reggie thought, he and Mary could have played the stock market together. He reflected, not for the first time, that he'd never understand women. Who was that fellow who said, ‘Why can't a woman be more like a man?' Song from some musical or other. Never spoke a truer word.

‘Well, time for a snifter,' he said. ‘Fetch me some ice, there's a good chap. Don't suppose you'll join me?'

‘No,' answered Roy.

‘… sir,' Reginald muttered as the little man left the room. Teaching him his place was taking longer than he'd expected, but the fellow could cook, no doubt about that, and meals appeared on time. The vicar was right, Reginald reflected: he did prefer knowing there was someone in the house apart from himself.

The Equestrian Bar at the Spa Hotel was crowded by seven o'clock. Reggie greeted the barman, who responded by saying, ‘Your usual, Squadron Leader?', and seated himself on one of the white wicker chairs with scrolled arms, from which he could keep an eye on the door. The bar lived up to its name with sporting prints and a prancing bronze horse displayed against one wall. The carpet was turf green. All around him men were putting off going home, rattling the change in their pockets with guttural sounds and coughs of laughter. ‘Yah, yah,' they agreed, or ‘Christ's
sake
, man,' they objected. They
were relaxed, expansive, conspiratorial. The atmosphere was layered with cigarette smoke and snatches of conversation.

‘He has a personality problem, old Graham …' was strung above the insistent bass throb of sporting talk. ‘He's been the best defender I've seen for a long long time …' From the next table a woman's voice, shrill and fast in the attempt to make herself heard, asked, ‘Is he going to be a pain?' and then reassured, ‘Oh no, Robert – you'll be
great
! Just don't take any crap from him.' ‘Nothing but a bullshitter. Arsehole, really. Don't know why I bother,' came from over to his left. Reginald kept an ear on the cacophony and an eye on the door. He stretched his legs comfortably. Pity there was no one here he knew. Liz was a humdinger and he would have liked to show her off. He pulled on his cigarette and cradled the Glenmorangie. Pace yourself, Reggie, he thought, pace yourself. Don't want any disasters tonight. The bad boy twitched obediently.

Liz Franks stood in the doorway and surveyed the room. She wore a brilliant-green silk dress, sharply angled at shoulders and waist, over which was draped a flimsy matching jacket. Her good legs were elongated by high heels; her hair a confection of gold and bronze highlights. Her face, not young, was burnished to a gloss so that her cheekbones and eyelids caught the light. More brilliance was refracted from the chunky jewellery she wore. Liz had made an effort. Reggie, oblivious to the details, knew only that she was the best-looking woman in the place, and she was waiting for him. He stood up, twitched his waistcoat and strode forward to claim her.

The damask tablecloth was littered with the debris of their meal. Reggie cradled a brandy and Liz held a tiny coffee cup between both hands as she leaned forward, her breasts pressed together into a cleavage, looking promisingly into his eyes. They had shared two bottles of wine, and Liz, at the wine-waiter's suggestion, had accepted a glass of Beaumes-de-Venise with her pudding. Her eyes were glittering; her half-open lips
gleamed. Reggie knew the signals. ‘How about…?' he began, just as a hovering waiter stepped forward. Without glancing at the bill, Reggie slapped a gold credit card on top of it. ‘How about a nightcap? I'm only round the corner.'

‘You're very sweet, but I've got my car here.'

Reggie closed his hand over hers. ‘You're very sweet too, Liz.'

‘Bless you. I'd love to, but -'

‘I've been very lonely, you know, in the last six months. Haven't had an evening like this in a long time. Meeting you has been the best thing that's happened to me since …'

The waiter, with practised timing, laid the plate bearing Reggie's credit-card slip in front of him. Liz watched as he added 10 per cent to the unnoticed 121/2 per cent service he had already been charged, scrawled his signature and tucked the card back into his wallet. As the waiter sketched a bow, raised an eyebrow to indicate coffee and wheeled smoothly away, Reggie looked across at her and pleaded: ‘Say yes. Say you'll say yes. Or haven't you enjoyed this evening?'

‘Of course I have. You
know
I have,' said Liz, thinking, Oh Gawd, what am I letting myself in for? ‘All right, Reggie dear. Yes. But only on condition we go there in
my
car.'

‘Absolutely. Jolly good idea. Ready to scramble. Chocks away.'

The low-slung red sports car crackled to a halt on the gravel and Reggie levered himself out and climbed the stone steps to the front door, lit from above by a five-sided brass lantern. Liz took a step backwards and surveyed the balustraded portico flanked by tall sash windows against a looming façade. He wasn't kidding, she thought.

Inside, under the glare of artificial light, he looked rumpled, red-faced and much older. I dare say I could do with a spot of Polyfilla myself, she thought, and was relieved when Reggie asked, ‘Shall I show you the geography?' By the time she returned, he had softened the light in the drawing-room and tried clumsily to put his arms around her as she entered, a move which Liz sidestepped. She ignored his pat on the sofa
and sat down in a winged armchair beside the fire, so that it would be awkward for him to sidle close to her.

‘What's your poison?' he asked. ‘Scotch? Or there's some rather decent brandy.'

‘A small brandy - and I do mean small. I've got to drive home. Lovely house. I love this room. Are you all by yourself here?'

‘More or less - for the time being,' said Reginald evasively.

‘Stop me if I'm being too curious, but do tell me about your wife. How long ago did she die?'

As he chuntered on, boastful and maudlin, Liz reflected that this indeed was a house worth marrying. Reggie would drop into her lap like ripe fruit, if that was what she wanted. Divorce had left her with a small house, a flashy car and two grown-up, but still troublesome, offspring who lived away from home. It was hard work running the dress shop, and she was sick of flattering the overweight middle-aged women with too much money and too few distractions who were her customers. Marriage to Reggie would be leisurely and secure, and she had no doubt that she could cope with him. To give him credit, he had not moaned about his health, but he looked dangerously flushed and had a smoker's cough. High blood pressure, bad lungs: she calculated that he'd be lucky to last another five years. By then she'd still be comfortably this side of sixty, and could afford to go off and be a rich widow in the sun. Mellowed by drink and this train of thought, she allowed Reggie to take her hands and lift her to her feet; allowed herself to be kissed.

The kiss was better than she had expected. Reginald took his time, didn't paw at her dress, kissed her gently, then not so gently. He smelled clean and expensive. He reached behind him and switched off the table lamp, so that the room danced in firelight.

‘Come and sit down,' Reginald murmured. He led her to one of the sofas and laid his hand against her cheek with disarming gentleness. ‘You're a very, very lovely girl.'

They kissed again, and she leaned back against the sofa and
allowed him to stroke her breasts through the green silk of her dress. She could smell her own perfume, higher and sweeter than his. Reginald's breathing quickened.

‘Liz,' he murmured. ‘Oh darling, you're so exciting …'

‘Dear Reggie,' she said. ‘Oh don't. I never meant …'

He sat away from her. ‘I want to make love to you,' he said. ‘I do, very badly, want to make love to you.' A wisp of hair stood up at the side of his head and his tie was crooked. He was perspiring slightly, and she could see flecks of gum at the corners of his bloodshot eyes.

‘Oh Reggie, I don't know, it's much too soon. We hardly know each other.'

His shoulders slumped, and she felt a gust of pity.

‘Kiss me again,' she said, closing her eyes.

She allowed herself to be led into the marble-floored hallway and was just turning towards the stairs when from above she heard the sound of a lavatory flushing. She stiffened against his guiding hand. ‘Who's that?' she whispered. ‘I thought you said you lived alone.'

Reginald cursed, but silently, Roy Southgate: his timing, his bladder, his all-too-intrusive presence. ‘Don't worry about him, darling. It's only Southgate, my manservant. Come along … let's go upstairs.'

She heard a door open and close, footsteps, then another door. ‘No. No, I can't. Sorry, Reggie, but really not. I shouldn't have come back, it wasn't fair on you.' She glanced at the long-case clock. ‘Do you realize it's after one? I have an early start tomorrow. No, Reggie dear, let me go.'

What could he do but let her go? He stood silhouetted in the open doorway, framed by two stone pillars, the stairway she had still not climbed curving upwards behind him, and waved.

‘Phone me!' she called, as she swung the car around. ‘Promise?'

Reggie nodded and gave her the thumbs-up. His shoulders collapsed the moment she was out of sight and he turned and slammed the front door. ‘Fuck him!' he said. ‘Fuck the
miserable bleeder! Home and dry and he went and fucked it!' For a moment he was tempted to charge into Roy's room, but instead he extinguished the lights and hauled himself up the stairs.