A Week in Winter: A Novel (9 page)

The room, with the buffet set out on long trestle tables against the further wall, was full of people. It was a typical pub dining room, rather bare and bleak with all the atmosphere left behind in the bar, but the cheerful chatter and clink of glasses was welcoming. Patrick raised his hand in salute to his host but Selina was too busy scanning the crowd to wave hello. In the normal course of events she tended to avoid school gatherings but Janet was the deputy head and her husband had decided to give a party to celebrate her fiftieth birthday. It would have been churlish to refuse the invitation and, anyway, Selina wanted to make a few investigations. She was quite certain that, if Patrick were having an affair, it would be someone connected with school. He had no time for hobbies and it was quite impossible to imagine that he might be having a fling with any of their own friends. No, it must be a colleague with whom he was involved.

Selina submitted to John’s embrace, touched her cheek to Janet’s and accepted a glass of wine.

Patrick glanced at her anxiously. Selina was an expert at making people feel inadequate. The coolness of her embrace, a faint raising of the brows at the first sip of wine, the quick, patronising smile that indicated that she was used to better company—it was a masterly performance. She was smart and well groomed: her light brown hair carefully streaked so that she appeared blonde, her clothes fashionably chic. This evening she was wearing well-cut amber-coloured velvet trousers—the only woman present to
be wearing trousers—with a long matching tunic and she’d wound a long silk scarf about her throat. She looked sexy, if something of a challenge, and she was enjoying the mild sensation she was making amongst this rather drab and dowdy group. Without the injection of her father’s money she would have been unable to make such an impression and this added to the feeling that she was special, out of their league.

Sipping her wine, making no effort to mingle, she looked about her. She knew some of the people present but Janet’s personal friends were strangers and there were a few others whom she did not recognise. None of the women seemed likely to have attracted Patrick’s serious attention, let alone made him risk starting an affair. To begin with she’d wondered once or twice if she’d imagined the whole thing—if it were simply that she’d become oversensitive because of Moorgate—but his reaction to her test had given her cause for real suspicion. He’d often talked of moving out of London, of applying for the headship of a country school. It had always been she who had laughed at his suggestions and refused to consider such a move. Now, with the children grown, it was a perfect opportunity. The sale of their house in Clapham would more than cover the cost of Moorgate, with enough over to give him time to look about for a position in a local school, yet he had clearly been horrified at the suggestion. Why? Personally, she was deeply relieved. She had no desire to live permanently at Moorgate—although she had every intention of buying it if she could—but she’d taken the chance and seen his reaction.

She smiled rather vaguely as Richard Elton came towards her, arms outstretched. Richard was head of the maths department at the local comprehensive school and the only man in the present company for whom she felt inclined to make an effort. It amused her to go along with the pretence that they were madly attracted to each other—if only because she knew it irritated his wife so much. Angela was a welfare worker and a serious and rather intense woman. To Angela, excessive interest in one’s appearance was merely the outward and visible sign of inner poverty, and she regarded Selina with a barely disguised contempt. Nevertheless, it annoyed her to see Richard play-acting so foolishly; kissing Selina’s hand and paying extravagant compliments. It irritated Patrick too—he couldn’t stand Richard—and Selina decided to play up a little so as to restore her own confidence.

When Richard hurried away to find her another drink, Selina glanced about to see whether Patrick had been watching. She saw him at last near
the supper tables. He was standing quite still, slightly behind a group of animated people so that his odd stillness was the more striking, but what made her catch her breath was the expression on his face. He was looking at someone she could not see but his look of longing, a kind of desperate hunger, and his whole attitude of concentrated, unwary love, first frightened her, then unleashed a tide of pure, atavistic rage. The sensation was unnerving yet strangely familiar but Selina was in no mood for self-analysis. Keeping her eyes on his face she began to make her way round to where he stood. He seemed unaware of anything that was happening around him and, as she watched, a young woman emerged from the press of people and approached him.

Selina paused, still some feet away, seeing the warmth in Patrick’s eyes, noting the reluctance with which he let go of the girl’s hands, which he’d held for a few moments in greeting. He glanced about quickly, nervously, but Selina had taken care to remain well screened by people and he clearly believed himself to be unobserved. Moving slowly, she edged herself round so that she was able to see the girl at last. Short, with an eager face and brown hair cut in a bob, she was nothing special; nothing out of the ordinary. She was certainly neither slim nor elegant, although that bright, intelligent look was attractive enough, but surely there was no serious competition unless it was that the girl was probably a good ten years younger than Selina herself. Somehow this made matters worse. That Patrick might be unbalanced by some gorgeous young dolly-bird type was bad enough but to find him behaving like a teenager over a perfectly ordinary young woman was insulting.

They were talking together but now Patrick had lost the look of intent concentration and his glance was anxious. In that brief unguarded moment he’d betrayed himself but now he was alive with fear and his eyes constantly scanned the crowd. It was pleasant to see him start with terror when she spoke, her eyes fixed on the girl’s face.

‘Hello, darling,’ she said lightly. ‘You abandoned me to Richard. I wondered where you were hiding.’ She arched her brows, smiling at the girl. ‘I don’t think we’ve met, have we?’

His stammering awkward clumsiness might have been amusing if it had been anyone else. As it was, however, her fury made her sick to her stomach and it required all her self-control not to scream at them both.

‘This is Mary Jarvis. She’s one of our supply teachers. Didn’t you meet last Christmas at the staff party? I somehow thought you had …’

He was talking for the sake of it and Selina took his arm, feeling it tremble beneath her fingers.

‘I didn’t go to the party.’ Mary’s voice was calm. ‘I couldn’t leave Stuart. My son was paralysed in a car accident, Mrs Stone, and it’s not always easy to find someone who is prepared to watch him for me. Patrick’s been kind enough to arrange for me to teach when Stuart’s at the Care Centre.’

Acid words burned against Selina’s closed lips, though her eyes were icy with dislike, but she remained silent and it was Patrick who hurried into speech.

‘He goes to school for three days a week. Mary says he’s coming on splendidly. It seems that he might be able to use his right hand again …’

He stumbled into an uneasy silence whilst Selina continued to smile, managing to convey an air of faint disbelief that either of them should imagine that she should be the least bit interested in the handicapped son of an undistinguished supply teacher. When the silence had stretched to excruciatingly embarrassing proportions, she took a deep breath, still smiling, and her grip on Patrick’s arm tightened.

‘Well.’ It was a dismissal and Mary bit her lip. ‘So nice to meet you, Margaret. Now.’ She looked at Patrick. ‘Shall we go and find something to eat, darling? You know I can’t cope for too long at these ghastly bun fights.’

She stood beside him, seething with rage, whilst he mechanically piled food on to two plates, sensing his impotent frustration, wishing that she could smash his face into the bowls and platters of food. As he turned to give her one of the plates Janet joined them with a full plate of her own, but Selina caught a glimpse of the misery on his face before he controlled himself and began to talk to his hostess. Richard was approaching once again and it was with some relief that she greeted him, relaxing just a little, letting him talk and joke, pretending to eat some supper whilst she planned a future course of action.

‘Thank God that’s over.’ Selina flung her coat on a chair and filled the kettle. ‘I need some decent coffee. Want some?’

Patrick shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Somehow, now that he had seen his wife and mistress standing side by side, the true ghastly reality of the situation was borne in upon him. Until this moment his time with Mary had been something apart, special, existing in a different world;
he’d managed to compartmentalise his life but now he saw that he could no longer keep them separate. Ever since they’d left the party he’d been waiting for Selina to speak. Fear quaked inside him, his gut churned and he swallowed nervously in a dry throat—but still she had remained silent. He knew that she’d guessed but he did not know, yet, how to react should she accuse him. He must protect Mary, that much was clear in his mind, but how? So he waited.

Making the coffee, Selina willed herself to be controlled. When she spoke again her voice was light—if brittle.

‘Well, I have to say you have my sympathy. Most of your colleagues could bore for England and they were certainly in good form tonight. How
do
you cope with them all day long?’

Patrick remained silent. He was used to this kind of thing and had long since become inured to it. Selina had only ever managed to tolerate his colleagues and he’d given up attempting to defend them. She was sipping her coffee now, leaning against the sink, but he would not meet her eyes. He pretended to be looking through some papers, glancing at the telephone bill, waiting for the blow. She laughed and he could imagine the accompanying shrug.

‘You’ve got into a rut, darling. I really believe that you don’t even notice it any more. I tell you what, though. This evening has really convinced me that Moorgate is the place for us. It’s our last chance to break away from this mediocrity. Surely you can see my point?’ She paused. ‘No? OK. Well, give me one good reason for staying here.’

Patrick shifted his weight, putting down the bills and letters, turning, bracing himself to look at her at last. It was impossible: impossible to meet her eyes, to exchange any kind of glance with her. It was as if she had become a stranger—and, what’s more, a frightening stranger. He felt ill at ease, embarrassed and, in that moment, he realised that he would be unable to share a bed with her. The mere thought of performing the familiar, intimate actions of simply undressing or cleaning his teeth, whilst she padded around in close proximity, filled him with revulsion. In his present mood he might as well strip in public. The comfortable indifference brought about by thirty years of marriage had been stripped away in a moment and he was seized by panic.

‘I really don’t want to discuss it now,’ he mumbled. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t feel too good. I feel rather sick. Perhaps it was that salmon. The sauce was very rich.’

‘Perhaps.’ She’d put her mug on the draining board and had folded her arms under her breasts. ‘Or perhaps it might be something else altogether.’

He refused to rise to the bait. ‘Possibly. There are the usual Christmas term bugs going round at school. I think I’ll sleep in the spare room so that I don’t disturb you if I have to get up in the night.’

‘Oh, nonsense. I don’t mind being disturbed, you know that.’ She sounded amused. ‘Much better to be in your own bed if you don’t feel well. The spare isn’t made up and it’s far too late to fiddle about finding sheets. Come on. Let’s go up. The sooner you’re in bed the better. Thank God we haven’t got to worry about Polonius any more.’

He climbed the stairs racked with self-disgust, emasculated by fear. He knew that any kind of resistance would be equivalent to declaring war; knew that Selina was waiting for precisely that to happen. She followed him into the bedroom, watched him whilst he undressed.

‘You’re shivering, poor darling.’

He felt her hand on his back and shrank away from her, seizing his pyjamas, struggling into them, hearing her chuckle. He leaped beneath the bedclothes, hauling them up, rolling away to his own side of the bed whilst she took off her clothes. Hugging himself, eyes clenched shut, he felt her climb in beside him, felt her arm slide over him and knew with a sick shock that she was naked. So this was to be the test. Well, they’d made love since Mary, so why not tonight? If it lulled her suspicions, gave him a breathing space, why not? He knew the answer almost before his brain had formulated the question. Tonight it would be impossible to feign affection, let alone passion; tonight, he knew, his body simply would not respond. He caught her roving hand and held it fast, rolling on to his back, pretending rueful disappointment.

‘Sorry, love,’ he said apologetically, feeling her stiffen into immobility. ‘It’s simply not on, tonight. Too much of everything, I think. Damn! I need the loo. Hope I shan’t be long.’

He swung his legs out of bed and hurried out, leaving Selina staring into the darkness.

Maudie woke suddenly and lay quite still, listening. Presently she relaxed, smiling to herself. The noise which rumbled along the passage and echoed round the walls was merely Polonius snoring. Knowing that sleep had now deserted her, she struggled up in bed and switched on the light.
Half past one. Maudie sighed and muttered various oaths which were not complimentary. Polonius had ceased to whine and scratch at the kitchen door at night but his snoring was almost worse. Packing herself about with pillows she recalled how often a sharp jab in the ribs had been the answer to Hector’s snoring. He’d rarely woken up but had automatically turned on to his side and continued to sleep peacefully. She doubted that Polonius would respond so obligingly.

Settling a silk shawl round her shoulders, Maudie picked up the Walkman which Posy had bought for her and fitted the earphones on her head, thinking about the conversation she’d had earlier with Mr Cruikshank.