Illusions of Happiness (30 page)

She would invite him and his wife Millicent to her Christmas event. She had never done it before and she hoped they would accept. There was a lot to think about: ordering the catering, the music, making sure invitations went out before any others arrived at the homes of her chosen guests. It all helped to occupy her mind to some extent and hardly had she sent them out than replies came flooding back almost by the following post:
‘So enormously happy to accept, my dear.’

Tonight she was giving a small dinner party, a few exclusive friends: Lilian and Howard Greenwood, Elizabeth and Burgess Jennings, Barbara and Stephen Pickford. The Greenwoods and the Jennings knew Anthony and she hoped they wouldn’t bring his name up at the table. She’d had several carefully penned notes of sympathy from some who knew of the break-up. Of course she had never explained the cause and assured them that it had been a mutual decision. On a whim she had telephoned George Foster to ask if he and his wife might care to come and he’d said they would be delighted.

A few minutes later the phone had rung again and it was Foster’s wife, Millicent whom she’d met once or twice. The woman had phoned to ask if they could be so bold as to bring a young man along with them.

‘He lives on his own nearby. He strikes us as being rather lonely,’ Millicent said. ‘His name is Ronald Thurston Jameson – says his parents live mostly abroad, India, but he never sees them – they even missed his recent twenty-first birthday last week – quite unbelievable how thoughtless people can be – says he and his parents don’t get along that well and he’ll be somewhat at a loose end at Christmas.’

Listening to the gabble, Madeleine told her she’d be happy to welcome him; knowing personally just what loneliness felt like.

He proved to be a lively, immensely handsome young man, polite, well spoken, though she wondered why she’d half expected a graceless twenty-one-year-old as she watched him during the evening, talking easily to those he had obviously never met before, drawing them to him, making them laugh with his light and witty conversation. In fact she felt quite proud of him.

As the evening wore on, she found herself watching him, fascinated by the way he’d wave a hand to his almost every word, the wide smile revealing very even, white teeth; amused by the way his dark hair persisted in falling over his brow, without the Brilliantine most men used; the way his brown eyes would flick in her direction, he tilting his head as their eyes met, and she found herself wanting to invite him again. As her dinner guests began to leave, she said she hoped he’d enjoyed the evening. ‘Thank you very much. I most certainly did,’ he said, his manner more mature than she had expected.

‘I’m planning a sizeable Christmas Eve party here,’ she said while the Fosters waited to leave. ‘May I invite you and your . . .?’

‘That would be really wizard,’ he broke in with sudden enthusiasm that betrayed his youth but which sent a tingle through her.

‘And your parents?’ she continued, ‘If they would care to come?’

His smile vanished. ‘My parents have their own interests.’ His tone had grown dark, surprising her. ‘Our paths have never really crossed. They lived in India, me at boarding school here. We’ve nothing in common.’

There was an awkward silence, the Fosters hovering. She was aware of her voice rising higher than it should. ‘Then if you’re not going to be with them or with friends, then do come!’

‘I will,’ he said, and his brown eyes seemed to penetrate hers so that she tingled anew.

The Christmas Eve celebration had gone down well.

‘Thank you so much for a wonderful time’ was the general parting remark as her guests left wearily, around two thirty, with some departing nearer three. ‘We so enjoyed the divine buffet, darling, can hardly wait for your next invite. You will invite us, won’t you?’ Of course she would, she told them.

‘And the music, my dear, was quite perfect – exhilarating. I do believe we’re quite worn out!’

She had engaged a jazz pianist and a saxophone for the evening. Most of the time she’d danced with young Ronald, as he, without a partner, had arrived alone, the Fosters busy with their own family party.

Chatting throughout each dance, though what about she could not recall, she’d been most conscious of Ronald’s hand holding hers so lightly, his other hand warm on her bare flesh, her dress having been cut extremely low at the back, almost to her waist. It was easy to pretend it was Tony’s hand on her back, so long as she didn’t look into his face. Not as tall as Anthony, his lithe body still retained the slimness of youth, his features she suspected would last him well into his later years.

As her guests began to take their leave, he had lingered. He was still lingering when the last one departed, and what could she do but ask if he would care for a quick nightcap before he too left.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said graciously. ‘That would be nice.’

Now they sat together sipping brandy, he at one end of the sofa, she at the other, neither of them saying much. When it was that he moved to sit closer to her, very much closer to her, she wasn’t sure but somehow the sleeve of his jacket was brushing her bare arm. She should have got up but she didn’t – merely stayed where she was, aware of the warmth of his upper arm through his sleeve. ‘It’s very quiet now, isn’t it,’ he whispered.

‘Yes, it is,’ she whispered back.

She was about to say that it must be time he went, but somehow couldn’t. Strange sensations were beginning to ripple through her body, sensations of expectancy, like little waves, or tiny needles, exquisite, penetrating, running along her spine, through her muscles and playing inside her stomach. She sat without moving and knew he’d picked up the message her body was conveying to him of its own accord. Anthony wasn’t here and she so needed to be made to feel alive again.

It seemed to happen so quickly. As he turned his face to hers, looking for her lips, she found herself offering them and in the silence of the room they sank down on the settee, as he fondled her breast, the low cut décolletage of her flimsy evening dress offering no resistance to his manipulating hand; feeling it urgently travel down over her body to find her eager and willing, moments later having her gasping with the joy of being taken by him, being loved once more.

It wasn’t until it was over that she felt the guilt; visions of Anthony racing through her brain like little attacking demons, making her suddenly leap up from the sofa and flee from the room, leaving him staring after her.

What his expression was she had no idea for she hadn’t been able to bring herself to look back at him. All she heard was his voice trailing after her: ‘What is it Madeleine? What have I done?’

And her reply, high-pitched, sharp, fragmented like shards of glass as she came to a halt the other side of the door: ‘You’d – best – go! I’m sorry – it was a mistake!’

Reaching her bedroom, closing the door behind her, she didn’t hear him leave; he must have let himself out so quietly with no maid to open the door for him. She had no staff, just a woman who came in daily to cook and generally clean and tidy the apartment before going home. For parties she hired temporary staff.

Why was she thinking this when the more important concern was that he would never set foot here again? Not after the way she’d run from the room, crying like someone who’d been raped, making him wonder what on earth had upset her.

How could she have been so damned foolish, allowing a mere twenty-one-year-old to make love to her and her almost eight years older? Yet it had been so wonderful for those brief moments, so overwhelming, making her forget all about Anthony for a short while, and she had been so starved of love all these months.

Questions had begun to plague her: how could she have treated the poor devil like that? He must have been so embarrassed, bewildered, feeling so awful. She’d have to phone him tomorrow morning, apologize. But it may be better if she didn’t – let sleeping dogs lie. Yes, that was best.

Thinking all these things, she ran herself a bath and lay there soaking in the hot water, trying to push away the voices in her brain: Ronald; Anthony – poor Anthony, leaving him like you did, you needed him. But Ronald . . .

He’d made her feel wonderful, for a moment or two she had forgotten the pain of no longer having Anthony to hold her. How could she have treated him like that? Yes, she would phone him tomorrow. She had his telephone number. She would say how sorry she was to do what she did. It would make him feel better. He would understand, might even want to see her again. There came a tinkling excitement in her stomach as that thought touched her.

She went to bed, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, next morning waking to her new resolution. But instead of her telephoning him it was he who telephoned her.

Why she had expected to hear Anthony’s voice as she unhooked the receiver and put it to her ear, she wasn’t sure, but she felt that tingle in her stomach again as the voice, young and light, said: ‘I’m really sorry I offended you last night, Madeleine. I honestly didn’t mean to. It just happened. I hope you’ve forgiven me.’

‘You didn’t do anything for me to forgive,’ she burst out hurriedly. ‘It was me. I should be the one to apologize. I don’t know what came over me. I still don’t.’ She was gabbling. ‘I’ve been so worried that you’d taken offence. You left before I could say sorry for running off like that.’

‘Fine, fine!’ he interrupted. ‘So I’m not in the dog kennel then?’

‘Not at all. I was my—’

‘Then can I see you again? Perhaps this afternoon?’

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice level. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Then we can both apologize face to face,’ he said brightly, sounding so young, so vital.

‘Yes,’ she breathed, not quite knowing how else to answer.

‘Then shall I see you around five o’clock? I have to be somewhere during most of the day. Maybe we could have dinner out together somewhere?’

‘That would be lovely!’ she exclaimed, feeling suddenly like some young girl herself.

‘The only trouble is, at the moment I haven’t got the wherewithal,’ he was saying. ‘My parents provide me with a monthly allowance but it hasn’t arrived yet.’

‘No bother,’ she cried eagerly. ‘I’ll stand us dinner somewhere really special.’

‘Thanks so much, Madeleine,’ came his voice, a little subdued as if he felt a weight of guilt. ‘I’ll repay you the moment my allowance arrives. See you around five o’clock then.’

The phone clicked off, leaving her gazing at it before putting it back on its hook. Five o’clock was far too early to go out to dinner. What would they do in the meantime? But she already knew. They’d sit together and talk as they had done last night, and then . . . This time she wouldn’t suffer the qualms she’d had last night. She recalled now how expert he’d been for one his age. This time she would forget Anthony. Her being in this situation was his fault.

From now on she would lead her own life. From now on she meant to enjoy it to the full. Sod Anthony!

‘I can’t go in this thing!’ Ronald was saying in a peeved tone.

Standing at the door to her bedroom, he was holding out the evening jacket for her to scrutinize. Since last year’s Christmas party, he’d worn it several times to different evening events. Now she looked over to him as he hovered, his handsome young face flushed from his hot bath – loving the water to be as near to scalding as skin could bear – but looking ever so slightly peeved, and a pang of love swept over her as Madeleine threw him a smile.

‘Why ever not, darling? What’s wrong with the jacket?’

‘Well . . . look at it!’

Only half dressed herself, still in her slip, she had no qualms about him seeing her like this, not after his living with her these past three years. Tomorrow night was New Year’s Eve. They’d be off to a huge party to dance away the hours through to 1929, returning home to make love and sleep in each other’s arms until mid-morning. Nineteen twenty-nine in two days’ time!

Where had those last three years gone, such fabulous years, she and Ronald now an item. It didn’t matter he was almost eight years younger than she. Everyone accepted it or maybe they kept their views to themselves but he had made her feel twenty-one again; not as she’d felt when she’d been twenty-one and married to staid old James, nearly three times her age, feeling guilty every time she threw a party, and his reminding her that England was at war, men dying, women made widows – not an appropriate time to hold parties. She had felt young again when she and Anthony had got together behind James’s back and later after James’s death. But that was then. Now she was with Ronald – lovely, young and vibrant Ronald.

He moved further into the bedroom, holding out the jacket for her to see. ‘Look, both elbows are becoming so rubbed it won’t take long for everyone to notice. Shouldn’t my new evening suit be ready by now? We ought to have ordered it earlier. I’ll look like a pauper in this.’

‘Where’s your other one?’ she asked, coming over to examine the sleeves. ‘The one I bought for you a couple of months ago?’

She didn’t mind buying him things. She loved buying him things, seeing his young face light up, to immediately grow solemn as he apologized for not being able to afford whatever it was himself. All he had was that poor apology of an inheritance his parents had so niggardly provided when he had turned twenty-one – not enough for a flea to live on. She bought him things because she loved him. She’d buy him the moon if she could.

‘The lapel got stained with that caviar, you remember. And we forgot to have it cleaned. But I can’t go in this one.’

‘No, you can’t.’ She thought a while. ‘Then we’ll go right now and gee them up – tell them we’ll cancel it if it’s not ready by tomorrow morning.’

It was wonderful to see his glum face brighten as he came towards her, letting the jacket fall to the floor.

‘You’re so good to me. Honestly I don’t deserve you,’ he said, like some young kid.

Then far from a young kid, he took her in his arms, holding her to him, pressing his lips to hers as he eased her backwards against the edge of the bed to lower her body on to it, his own holding her there, moments later to have her gasping beneath his expert love-making.