Faithless (49 page)

             
John shrugged. "Let her gun. I've got nothing to hide."

             
"She'll use Ailsa against you if she can."

             
John rubbed his face. "Yep," he said. "I know. But," he said. "Ailsa will eat her for breakfast. Sue's a stupid, half educated Essex trollop. Ailsa will rip her to shreds if she tries anything."

             
"Just be squeaky clean," said Joe.

             
John looked at him suspiciously. "What's she said?"

             
"Just about Ailsa. Spreading gossip."

             
"Why did she tell you?"

             
"Maybe she knows I'm your friend."

             
"So surely she'd know you'd stick by me."

             
"Yes. But as you say, she's not so bright. Maybe she thought I'd be shocked. Maybe she thought I'd tell her something in return. But I don't know anything."

             
"Ok," said John - satisfied with the explanation. "If you hear any more - let me know, will you?"

             
"Of course."

             
"Whatever she's up to. I don't want her to catch me unprepared."

14th October, 1985, London.
The Monday afterwards, John rang Ailsa's home number.  It rang so long he thought it was going to go unanswered but in the end she picked it up. He heard her familiar voice say hello. 

             
"It's me," he said. "How've you been?"

             
"I'm ok."

             
"Why haven't you been to work? The secretaries told me you're sick. They wouldn't say any more."

             
"I've just had a cold. I didn't feel up to it. You shouldn't call me at home in case Duncan answers."

             
"Why didn't you ring me?"

             
"Where? At work? That would look odd."

             
"I've missed you."

             
"I've missed you too."

             
"You don't sound like you've got a cold."

             
"For God's sake John."

             
"What's really the matter?"

             
"I told you. I'm sick."

             
There was a silence then he said. "I want to see you.  I need to talk to you."

             
"I'll be back at work soon."

             
"I can't wait."

             
"You'll have to."

             
"Can I come round?"

             
"No. I'll see you at work. I've told you."

             
"Is Duncan in?"

             
"No. He's out."

             
"I'll come round then."

             
"What if he comes back?"

             
"What if he does?"

             
"I'd rather you didn't come John."

             
"There's something going on. You're not telling me the truth about something. I want to see you. I'll be round in about 30 minutes."

He put the phone down and put on his jacket. At the corner of Euston Road he got a cab and told it to take him to Phillimo
re Gardens. The driver tried to make small talk about dole scroungers and Pakistanis but John didn't listen. He paid the man and walked quickly up to Ailsa's door. He rang the bell. She answered it almost immediately. She opened the door, standing in a long sleeved t-shirt and elegant blue jeans.

             
"What the fuck happened to your face?" he said. Her right eye was bruised and swollen. There was a cut on her nose. She didn't answer. "What the fuck happened to your face?" he said again, his voice raising a tone.

             
"I said you shouldn't come round."

             
"Are you going to tell me what happened to your face?"

             
"Come in. Don't make a scene on the doorstep."

She stepped back to allow him past her. She closed the door and stood with her back against it. He put his hand
up to her face and she winced.

             
"Don't tell me you walked into a door," he said.

             
"Duncan hit me. He always hits me. Not usually so noticeably."

             
"He hits you?"

             
"Come into the kitchen. I don't want to stand here," she said. She walked down the hall. All the marble, onyx and gilt was in its usual place. He saw her bruised face in the antique gold-framed mirror as they walked past. Some Chinese vases stood delicately on a Regency hall table.

             
"Do you want a coffee?" she said. "The kettle's just boiled."

             
He put his hand on her shoulder to turn her round. She gave way and turned to face him.

             
"Oh my God," said John. "This is not acceptable."

             
"That's precisely what it is. I accept it."

             
"Why do you let him do this?"

             
"Because he's bigger and stronger than me? I'm going to have a cigarette."

             
He watched her search in a cupboard for an obviously hidden packet. "He'd hit me for this too," she laughed. "A bit of a vicious circle really." She lit her cigarette and sucked in a plume of smoke. She blew it out and said, "There. That feels better."

             
"So how long has he hit you for? You should go to the doctor. Something might be broken."

             
"I hardly think so. The family doctor doesn't need to know our dirty secrets. I told my mother once and she said that one had to put up with such things, occasional beatings and sex, in return for the jewels." She took another drag of the cigarette. "Funnily enough, he hit me this time because of you."

             
"Because of me?"

             
"Well, he doesn't know it's you. He accused me of having an affair. I told him he could hardly blame me as he was such a cunt and that's when he punched me. Quite a good punch too. He was middleweight champion at Pangbourne."

             
"I'll fucking kill him."

             
"I wouldn't be so sure. Anyway, I don't want you to." She put down her cigarette and came over to him. She put her arms round him and rested her head on his shoulder. He felt her begin to sob. " It's all such a damned mess."

             
He held her tight. "Come away with me," he said. "Come now."

             
She pulled back and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her designer t-shirt. She examined it. "Damn, I've got mascara on the bloody thing."

             
"Come away with me." He repeated. "I can't have you live here with him."

             
She shook her head. "I can't leave."

             
"You can. You just won't."

             
She shrugged. Her eyes filled up again. She turned away.

             
"Ailsa," he said, "I came here to end it."

             
"So do it."

             
"But I can't leave you like this. With him."

             
"You're so noble."

             
"I love you."

             
She laughed sarcastically. "But that has its price. Are you willing to lose your wife and children?"

             
"For you?"

             
"I'm a lot more of a mess than you think."

             
"I just want to be with you."

             
"I thought you were going to end it."

             
He didn't speak.

             
She stroked his cheek. "You're such a romantic. You always believe you can make things better."

             
"You can't stay with him."

             
"Where would I go?"

             
"I wanted you to come with me."

             
"I'm rather high maintenance."

             
"Your marriage is a lie."

             
She pulled away. "I'm an accomplished liar."

             
While he watched, she went over and made two cups of instant coffee. She went to the fridge and got out the milk. She put his cup on the side which he left untouched. She calmly drank hers.              

             
He was angry. "So what now? - you accept the beatings.  For what? For the money? For the security?"

             
She shrugged.

             
"Maybe you're your mother's daughter after all. I started off thinking that you wouldn't leave him because you didn't care enough about me. Now I know it's because you have no courage."

             
"Maybe you're right. Just walk away."

             
"I can't leave this," he said. He turned and went out of the kitchen. Ailsa followed him, panicked by this unpredicted move. He leapt up the stairs two at a time and went to the master bedroom. There the elegant bed lay in the centre of the elegant room. Her dressing table was covered with make up and mirrors and perfume bottles. The bed wasn't made. John went over to Duncan's side. There was a book open face down - something about Nelson. On the bedside table were two of Duncan's business cards. He picked them up. Still without talking to Ailsa who was standing by the door watching him, he went over to the chest of drawers. On it was a wedding photograph of Ailsa and Duncan, him in a kilt, she in an expensive white wedding gown. They were smiling. There was another photograph of Duncan in dress naval uniform meeting the queen. He took this photograph from its frame, ripped off the Queen and put the rest in his pocket. "I'd know him anyway," he said.

             
"What are you going to do?"

             
"I'm going to have a chat with him about him beating his wife."

             
Ailsa caught at his arm as he walked out of the room. "Please John, don't. You're behaving like a maniac. Don't do this. You'll ruin my life."

             
He made his way down the stairs and opened the front door. "I'll come back for you," he shouted.

He walked down to Kensington High Street and got another cab - this time to Whitehall. It dropped him outside the Ministry of Defence Main Building. He flashed his MI5 pass to get into the building and walked up to the reception desk.

             
"I'm here to see Commander Duncan McInnes please."

             
"Certainly, sir. Who should I say is calling?"

             
"My name's John Gilroy. I'm a colleague of his wife's. It's quite important. I need to see him in person."

             
The receptionist's expression changed as if she realised something was untoward but John heard her put the call through. Initially it seemed to go to Duncan's secretary. The receptionist looked up and said, "Can I ask what exactly you need to see Commander McInnes for?"

             
"Just tell him it's about his wife's eye."

             
She looked puzzled but put the message through.

             
"He's coming down, sir," she said finally.

             
"Tell him I'll wait for him outside."

Around five minutes later, the tall, handsome figure of Duncan McInnes emerged from the MOD doorway. John lo
oked up and smiled at him. He came towards John.

             
"What the hell do you want?" he said in his patrician accent.

             
John waited until Duncan got close. Still smiling he punched him hard in the face, sending him reeling.  "Don't you fucking hit your wife again," he said.

             
Duncan put his hand up to his damaged face. "So you're the bastard who's been shagging her?"