Emily (14 page)

    They crossed the burn and took the narrow, winding path up to the pine woods. I thought of the pigeonscoming home after a long day to face the music: tomorrow they would be strung up as corpses in the larder, their destination pigeon pie.

    I took more tranquillizers and tried to sleep, but it was impossible. I tried to read, Coco had left some magazines by the bed. I read my horoscope, which was lousy. Rory’s horoscope said he was going to have a good week for romance, blast him, but should be careful of unforeseen danger towards the weekend. I should never have let him go shooting.

    An explosion of guns in the distance made me jump nervously. Then I heard a crunch of wheels on the gravel and looked out of the window again. It was Marina, Miss Machiavelli herself. She parked her blue car in front of the house and switched off the engine, then combed her hair, powdered her nose, and put on more scent - the conniving bitch. God, how I hated her.

    She got out of the car, fragile in a huge sheepskin coat and brown boots, her red-hair streaming in the breeze, and set off down the track the guns had taken.

    No wonder Rory had been so insistent about my staying in bed and keeping out of his way. Drawn by some terrible fascination to see what they were getting up to, I got up, put on an old sheepskin coat of Coco’s and set off after her.

    The guns popped in the distance, like some far-off firework party. It was getting dark, the fir trees beetled darkly, a rabbit scuttled over the dead leaves frightening the life out of me. The sweat was rising on my forehead, my breath coming in great gasps. I ran on, ducking to avoid overhanging branches. There was the ADDERS - PLEASE KEEP OUT sign Buster had put up to frighten off tourists. I could hear voices now; the colour was going out of the woods; in the distance the sea was darkening to gun metal.

    Suddenly I rounded a corner and, to my relief, saw Buster’s gamekeeper, then Marina’s red hair, and the guns strung out in a ring; Buster still wearing that ludicrous veil, Alexei next to him, then Rory, then Hamish, with Marina standing between them, but slightly behind. She was lighting one cigarette from another. I hoped they wouldn’t see me, then I stepped on a twig and she and Rory looked round. He looked absolutely furious. Buster smiled at me, waving and indicating to me to stay quiet. Walter Scott sat beside Rory, quivering with excitement, trying to look grown up. Marina tiptoed back and stood beside me. On closer inspection she didn’t look so hot, her skin pale and mottled, her eyes sunken and bloodshot. Even so, there was plenty of the old dash about her.

    ‘I thought you were at death’s door,’ she said. ‘It’s been quite exciting, Alexei has already tried to shoot a couple of sheep and nearly killed Hamish - I wish he’d tried harder.’

    ‘What are they waiting for?’ I asked.

    ‘The pigeons,’ she said, ‘they’re late back. I had the most cataclysmic row with Hamish last night,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘I ended up throwing most of the silver at him. We started at four o’clock in the morning and went on till just before he came out. This is halftime, I ought to be sucking oranges and thinking what to do in the second half. He said I behaved atrociously last night,’ she went on, her eyes glittering wildly, ‘and that he absolutely refuses to divorce me. Has Rory spoken to you?’ she said, suddenly tense.

    ‘He tried to this morning,’ I hissed, ‘but your dear brother walked in in the middle.’

    ‘The trouble is,’ whispered Marina, ‘that Rory feels frightfully guilty about you because everything’s worked out for him, now he can marry me. If you wentoff with Finn it would make things much easier for everyone.’

    ‘I don’t want to go off with Finn,’ I said, my voice rising. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, riding roughshod over everyone’s lives, don’t you ever think that Hamish and I might have feelings?’

    Marina turned her great headlamp eyes on me: ‘I’d never hang around being a bore to a man who couldn’t stand me - I’ve got too much pride, you obviously haven’t.’

    ‘Shut up you two,’ said Buster.

    We were silent but the whole forest must have heard my heart thudding.

    Then suddenly the pigeons came sailing over into view over the pine tops, and with a deafening crash the guns went off. It was like being in the middle of a thunderstorm, except that the sky was raining pigeons. The deafening fusillade lasted about three minutes.

    Some of the birds escaped unscathed, others came down directly. The guns charged about looking for booty. Dogs circled, cursed by their masters. Alexei stood proudly with two birds in each hand. There were congratulations and verdicts. Walter Scott rushed grinning up to me, his mouth full of feathers.

    ‘Must be some more in here,’ said Buster, disappearing into the undergrowth. A minute later his great red face appeared and he said in a low voice, ‘Rory, come here a minute.’ Rory, followed by Walter Scott, went into the undergrowth.

    There was a pause, then Rory came out, his face ashen in the half light, shaking like a leaf.

    ‘What’s the matter, darling?’ Marina ran forward. ‘What’s happened?’

    ‘It’s Hamish,’ said Rory. ‘There’s been an accident. I’m afraid he’s blown his brains out.’ His face suddenly worked like a small boy about to cry. ‘Don’t look, Marina, it’s horrible.’

    Marina gave a scream and rushed into the wood after Buster. Rory disappeared to the right: next moment I heard the sound of retching.

    Marina emerged a minute later, her eyes mad with hysteria. ‘There you see,’ she screamed at me, ‘Rory killed him, he killed him for me, because he thought Hamish wasn’t going to let me go. Now who do you think Rory loves?’

    ‘Don’t be bloody silly, Marina,’ said Buster, coming out of the copse. ‘Of course Rory didn’t kill him, poor old boy obviously did himself in.’

    Rory, having regained his composure, had returned. ‘I didn’t Marina,’ he said, as she ran forward and collapsed in his arms. ‘I swear I didn’t.’

    ‘Well, it’s my fault then,’ she sobbed. ‘I told Hamish to do it, I told him how much I loathed and hated him, how much he disgusted me. I goaded him into it. Oh, Rory, Rory, I’ll never forgive myself.’

    I turned away. I couldn’t bear the infinitely tender way he was holding her in his arms, stroking her hair, and telling her everything would be all right. Suddenly there was an unearthly wailing: everyone jumped nervously, then we realized it was Hamish’s red setter howling with misery.

    ‘She was the only one,’ said Rory, ‘who gave a damn for the poor old bugger.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

    I CAN’T really remember much of getting back.

    Rory took me home; he was in a terrible state, shaking like a leaf. He came in and poured a stiff whisky and downed it in one gulp.

    ‘Look, I must go to her.’

    I nodded mechanically. ‘Yes, of course you must.’

    ‘I’m frightened this will unhinge her; I feel sort of responsible, do you understand?’

    ‘Yes, I do.’

    ‘Do you want to come too?’

    I looked at him for the last time, taking in the brown fur rug on the sofa, the yellow cushions, the gold of his corduroy jacket, his dark hair and deadly pale face, the smell of turpentine, the utter despair in my heart. I shook my head, ‘I’d rather stay here.’

    ‘I won’t be long,’ he said, and was gone.

    So Hamish had loved Marina after all. What was it that Marina had said that afternoon - that she’d never hang around being a bore to a man who couldn’t stand her.

    So the game had ended that never should have begun. I’m not a noble character, but I know when I’m licked.

    For the second time in two months I packed my suitcase. I had no thought of going to Finn. Finn fancied me, but he didn’t really love me. Not as Rory understood love. And now I couldn’t have Rory, I didn’t want second best.

    I left a note.

    ‘Darling, Hamish has set you and Marina free, now I’m going to do the same. Please be happy and don’t try and find me.

    Emily.’

    Mist swathed the Irasa hills, the lochs lay about them like steel and silver medallions in the moonlight. A small, chill wind whispered among the heather. I walked the narrow track that twisted down the hill to the ferry. I caught the last boat of the day. There was scarcely anyone on it. I stood on deck, and watched the castle and everything I loved in the world getting dimmer and dimmer until they vanished in a mist of tears.

    I shall never remember how I got through the next ten days. I went to ground in a shabby London hotel bedroom. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I just lay dry-eyed on my bed like a wounded animal, shocked by incredulous grief and horror.

    I toyed with the idea of going to see my parents, or ringing up Nina, but I couldn’t bear the expressions of sympathy, then the whispering, and later, the ‘I told you so’s’, and ‘We always knew he was a bad lot’, and much later - the ‘Pull yourself togethers’. Sooner or later I knew I would have to face up to life, but I hadn’t got the courage to get in touch with them yet, nor could I face the bitter disappointment I would feel if Rory hadn’t rung them and tried to contact me.

    But why should he contact me? He must be blissfully happy now with Marina. The idea of them together rose black and churning. Sometimes I thought I was going mad. Even my unconscious played tricks on me. Every night I dreamed of Rory and woke up in tears. In the street I saw lean, dark, tall men and, heart thumping,would charge forward, shrinking away m horror when i realized it wasn’t him.

    I hoped I would find it easier as the days went by, but it got much worse. What I hadn’t anticipated was going slap into the infinitely bosky lushness of a late London spring. Everything was far further on than it was in Scotland. Outside my bedroom window the new lime green leaves of the plane trees swung like little cherubs’ wings, ice-cream pink cherry trees were dropping their blossom on the long grass. Huge velvety purple irises and bluebells filled the Chelsea gardens. Everywhere, too, there was an atmosphere of sexiness, of sap rising, of pretty girls walking the streets in their new summer dresses, of men whistling at them, of lovers entwined in the park, everything geared to ram home my loss to me.

    ‘He’s gone, he’s gone, and when thou knowest this thou knowest how dry a cinder this world is.’

    The day of the opening of Rory’s exhibition came and went. With heroic self-control, I stuck to the hotel and didn’t hang around in the coffee bar opposite in the hope of getting a glimpse of him. I couldn’t face the anguish of seeing him with Marina.

    But next- morning I dragged myself up and went out and bought the papers, and crept back to the hotel to read them. The reviews were very mixed: some of the critics loathed the paintings, some adored them, but everyone agreed that a da7.zling new talent had arrived. There were also several pictures of Rory looking sulky and arrogant, and impossibly handsome. The Nureyev of the Art world, the gossip columns called him.

    I cried half the morning, trying to decide what to do; then the manager presented me with my weekly bill, and I realized I could only just pay it. Next week I should have to get a job.

    I had a bath and washed my hair. I looked frightful, like one of those women that wait for the bodies at the pit head - even make-up didn’t help much. I can’t even make any money as a tart now, I said dismally - I’d have to pay
them.

    When I got to Bond Street, I felt giddy. It struck me I hadn’t eaten for days. I went into a coffee bar and ordered an omelette, but when it arrived I took one bite and thought I was going to throw up. Chucking down a pound I fled into the street. Four doors down, I went up the steps of the agency that used to find me work in the old days. How well I remembered that grey-carpeted, grey-walled, potted-plant world that I hoped I’d abandoned for ever. I started to sweat and tremble.

    Audrey Kennaway, the principal, agreed to see me. She greeted me in an immaculate, utterly awful primrose yellow dress and jacket. Her heavily made-up eyes swept over me.

    ‘Well, Emily,’ she said in cooing tones, ‘it’s nice to see you. How are you enjoying your new jet set life? Are you on your way to Newmarket or the Cannes Film Festival?’

    ‘Actually, neither, I’m looking for a job,’ I blurted out.

    ‘A job?’ She raised eyebrows plucked to the edge of extinction. ‘Surely not, but I thought your handsome husband was doing so well, he had such a success in the papers this morning.’ Her red-nailed fingers drummed on the table.

    ‘That’s all over,’ I muttered. ‘It didn’t work out.’

    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. I’m not surprised, I could see her thinking, she’s let herself go so much. Her manner had become distinctly chillier.

    ‘There’s not a lot of work about at the moment, people are laying off staff everywhere,’ she went on.

    ‘Oh dear,’ I said feebly. ‘In my day, they were always laying on them.’

    Audrey Kennaway smiled coolly.

    ‘You’ll have to smarten yourself up a bit,’ she said.

    ‘I know, I know,’ I said. ‘I haven’t been very well. I used to type a bit, do you remember?’ I went on. ‘And when I was thin, you sometimes got me television commercials or a bit of modelling. I’m much thinner than that now.’

    ‘I don’t think I could find you anything in that field at the moment. Let’s see if there’s any filing clerk work.’ Her long red talons started moving through the cards in a box on her desk. I felt great tears filling my eyes. I struggled to control myself for a minute, then leapt to my feet.

    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I couldn’t do a filing job. I can’t even file my nails without setting my teeth on edge. It’s a mistake for me to have come here. You’re quite right, I couldn’t hold a job down at the moment. I can’t hold down anything.’ Bursting into tears, I fled out of the office, down the stairs into the sunshine. Two streets away was Rory’s gallery. Gradually, as though pulled by some invisible hand, I was drawn towards it. I went into a chemist to buy some dark glasses with my last pound. They weren’t much help, they hid my red eyes but the tears kept trickling underneath. Slowly I edged down Grafton Street. No. 212, here it was; my knees were knocking together, my throat dry.

    There was one of Rory’s paintings of the Irasa coast in the window. Two fat women were looking at it.

    ‘I don’t go for this modern stuff,’ said one.

    I entered the gallery, my heart pounding. Then, with a thud of disappointment, I realized Rory wasn’t there. I looked around, the paintings looked superb, and so many already had red ‘sold’ stickers on them. By the desk an American was writing out a cheque to a chinless wonder.

    I wandered round the room, proud yet bitterly resentful that people should be able to buy something that was so much a part of Rory.

    The chinless wonder, having ditched the American, wandered over.

    ‘Can I help?’ he said.

    ‘I was just looking round,’ I said. ‘You seem to have sold a lot.

    ‘We did awfully well yesterday, and we sold four more this morning - not, I may add,’ he whispered darkly, ‘through any assistance on the artist’s part.’

    ‘What do you mean?’ I said, startled.

    The chinless wonder smoothed his pale gold hair.

    ‘Well, he’s talented, I admit, but quite frankly, he’s an ugly customer. Doesn’t give a damn about the show being a success.’

    He put stickers on two more paintings.

    ‘Always thought the fellow was pretty cold-blooded,’ he went on. ‘Didn’t seem to care about anything, but he’s certainly cut up at the moment. Apparently his wife’s left him. Can’t say I blame her. Only been married six months. He’s absolutely devastated. I mean, he was a dead loss at the private view on Thursday. I’d lined up a host of press boys to meet him, and he wouldn’t speak to any of them. Just hung around the door, hoping she might turn up.’

    I leant against the wall for support.

    ‘D-did you say his wife has just left him?’ I said slowly. ‘Are you sure it’s his wife he’s cut up about?’

    ‘Certain,’ said the chinless wonder. ‘I’ll show you a picture of her.’

    We moved into a second room, where I steeled myselfto confront one of Rory’s beautiful voluptuous nude paintings of Marina.

    ‘There she is,’ he said, pointing to a small oil opposite the window. I felt my knees go weak, my throat dry - because it was a painting of me in jeans and an old sweater, looking incredibly sad. I never knew that Rory had painted it. Tears stung my eyelids.

    ‘Are you sure that’s the one?’ I whispered.

    ‘That’s her,’ said the chinless wonder. ‘I mean it’s a great painting, but she’s not a patch on that gorgeous redhead he was always painting in the nude. Still, I suppose there’s no accounting for tastes. I say, are you feeling all right? Would you like to sit down?’

    Then he looked at the painting - and at me.

    ‘I say,’ he said, absolutely appalled, ‘how frightfully rude of me. That painting - it’s you, isn’t it? I really didn’t mean to be rude.’

    ‘You haven’t been,’ I said, half laughing, half crying. ‘It’s the nicest, nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me in my life. Do you possibly know where he’s staying?’