Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (50 page)

In the morning, they were both awkward, embarrassed; she sent him into the shower – ‘No, no, you first, I’ll make coffee—’

‘Please don’t,’ he said, ‘your coffee is deeply revolting, I’ll do it.’

He left quickly (having made some very good coffee), saying he must go home to change, that he would see her in the office, thanking her for the use of her sofa. He clearly couldn’t wait to get out of the place, regretted horribly what had happened. She had ruined, with her own stupidity and crassness, what had been a perfect friendship. He was no doubt telling Mike about it even now, and Mike would be shocked, horrified, even. In fact she couldn’t face the thought of seeing either of them. God, she was an idiot; Izzie sat down on her bed, put her aching head into her hands and burst into tears.

Two weeks before the wedding, Barty came home one evening to find Charlie looking distraught.

‘What on earth’s the matter, is it the lease?’

He had had endless trouble with the lease on the Park Avenue premises.

‘No, no, it’s – not that. It’s Sally. She’s very ill.’

‘Sally? Oh God, Charlie, I’m sorry. What’s wrong?’

‘She’s had a stroke. She’s in a state hospital. Down in Brooklyn. But – a friend has contacted me. Apparently it’s a wretched place, she’s terribly disorientated and upset. I just wondered—’

Barty knew what he was wondering; and found it less enraging than usual.

‘Charlie, of course.’

‘Of course what?’

His eyes were innocently puzzled.

‘Of course she must be moved to a private hospital. Immediately.’

‘Oh darling! You’re so sweet. I didn’t mean that.’

‘Well I do,’ she said briskly, resisting the temptation to say that she knew perfectly well that he had meant it, ‘so make the necessary arrangements. All right?’

‘All right darling. I’m so sorry to keep taking and taking from you. One day, when this new business of mine takes off – which it will – I’ll make it all up to you.’

‘You don’t have to,’ she said, kissing him with something of an effort, ‘and I’m just grateful that I can do something for her, when she’s been so good to you and Cathy. Do you think we should go and visit her?’

‘I will,’ he said quickly, ‘see how bad she is. If she’s up to visitors, then yes, I’m sure she’d love to meet you.’

Barty thought of the unanswered letter to Sally Norton and felt less sure.

Charlie found a private hospital in Brooklyn near the Heights that could take Sally; she was moved in the same day. Charlie supervised the move; he came home looking very sober.

‘She’s in a bad way, poor woman. It’s a very serious stroke, her speech is severely affected, as is the use of her legs and one arm. The doctor isn’t sure what the prognosis is. And she’s very confused, so there really is no point your visiting her. I’ll go again in a day or two, see how she’s getting on.’

‘All right Charlie. But I’m very happy to go if there’s any point. I know a bit about it because of when Wol had his stroke. The thing is, they can hear and know what’s going on far better than we realise.’

‘I’ll see what the doctor thinks.’

The doctor said there was absolutely no point in a stranger visiting Sally Norton.

‘Apparently it might even be disturbing, but he thought I should continue to visit, she might benefit from the stimulation.’

Charlie left early to visit Sally most mornings; he said she was best first thing, and then he could get on with the day. As the day seemed to consist largely of looking at increasingly expensive vintage cars, Barty wondered at the necessity of this . . .

At the end of the first week he had gone off as usual, and Barty had stayed behind in the house to do some financial housekeeping. The idea that Charlie might take this over had proved hopeless; she had very quickly learned it amounted to financial suicide. Not only was he hopelessly extravagant, he was also totally inefficient, left bills unpaid, ignored any official-looking letters, and ran up absurd bills gathering interest at stores.

She was halfway through that week’s pile – God, the hospital was expensive – when the phone rang.

‘Mrs Patterson?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is the Mount Pleasant Hospital, Mrs Patterson. We have your mother-in-law here.’

‘Of course.’

Could this mean Sally had died? Such phone calls often did.

‘Mrs Patterson, I wonder if it might be possible for either you or your husband to come in to the hospital?’

‘Come in – but I thought – ’ Oh God. Not again, please not again.

‘Yes. We did explain to your husband when he first came to see us that we would need some more nightdresses for her as soon as possible, and anyway, the doctor would like to see one of you.’

‘Yes. Of course. Well – yes. I could come down today, if that would help.’

‘That would be wonderful, Mrs Patterson. I’m so very sorry to trouble you.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Barty, ‘but – well – are you quite sure my husband hasn’t been in at all?’

‘No, he hasn’t been in. Not since the first day, that is. She’s only had one visitor so far, a neighbour. I’m sure she’ll be very glad to see you.’

‘But I thought – well, yes, I expect she would. I’ll be down within the hour.’

And all the way down to the city, driving herself through the crawling traffic, over Brooklyn Bridge into the stylish splendour of the Heights, she felt almost too frightened to think that perhaps here were more lies to be uncovered, more secrets to be revealed – and more misery to be confronted. The whirling sense of disorientation took hold of her again, the feeling that she could not be sure of where she was, even of who she was; as she walked into the hospital, she felt most dreadfully frightened.

Sally Norton was on the third floor; a nurse led Barty along the corridor to her room.

‘She’s rather tired, not too long, please, Mrs Patterson.’

‘How – how is she?’

‘Oh – not too bad. It’s her right side that’s affected, as I expect your husband will have told you.’

‘Yes, he said it was very serious. And that her speech was affected as well.’

‘Well – ’ the nurse looked puzzled ‘ – not really. She can certainly make herself understood.’ She smiled at Barty.

Another lie then; Barty closed her eyes briefly.

She followed the nurse into the room; Sally Norton lay in the bed with her eyes closed. The nurse picked up her hand gently, stroked it.

‘Mrs Norton. You have a visitor.’

The eyes that looked at Barty were very blue and very large: Cathy’s eyes and Meg’s eyes.

‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Who is it?’

Her speech was slurred, but perfectly comprehensible.

‘It’s Barty, Sally. May I call you that? Barty Patterson. Married to Charlie—’

Sally Norton’s sleepy face became alert, sharp, then contorted with rage.

‘Well, you can get out again,’ she said, ‘right out. I don’t want to see you, don’t want you here—’

‘Mrs Norton!’ The nurse sounded embarrassed. ‘Mrs Patterson has brought you some lovely flowers, look, of course you want to see her—’

‘It’s all right,’ said Barty quietly, ‘I knew she was confused. I—’

‘I’m not confused,’ said Sally Norton, ‘did he tell you that? Did Charlie tell you that?’

‘Well—’

‘Look just get out of here.’ The voice was no longer angry, nor was the face, both of them just infinitely weary. ‘Go away, stay away—’

She started to weep, silently, great tears rolling down her face; she tried to raise a hand to wipe them, missed the face, hit the pillow. It was an oddly sad sight; the nurse reached for a tissue, wiped her eyes gently.

‘There, Mrs Norton, there, there. That’s better. Now you don’t really want Mrs Patterson to go, do you?’

‘I do. I do.’ She began to grow agitated again, raising and lowering her hand rather feebly, ‘I want her out of here—’

‘I’d better go,’ said Barty in a low voice to the nurse. ‘I’m obviously upsetting her. It’s all right, I understand, my – my guardian had a stroke, I know how difficult it is—’

‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Patterson. Look – I’ll try and calm her down, maybe you could wait for a while, see the doctor then try again—’

‘Yes, all right. I’ve brought some of the things you asked for, some nightdresses and toilet things, and some books she might like and—’ She felt dreadful suddenly; she had to get out of this room, away from all this. She walked quickly down the corridor, took a chair by the nursing station, sat there, her eyes fixed on a picture of a flock of birds flying through clouds above the desk. Concentrate on that, Barty, don’t think about the rest.

A woman pushed through the door from the corridor; she was quite old, shabbily dressed, carrying a plastic bag. She walked down the corridor, towards Sally’s room, disappeared into it; after a very short time she came out again, escorted by the nurse. She led her over to Barty.

‘Mrs Patterson, this is Mrs Dixon. She’s a friend of Mrs Norton. I – I thought perhaps you should meet her. I’m afraid Mrs Norton is rather upset now, still not ready for visitors. Mrs Dixon, this is Mrs—’

‘Yeah, I heard who you were.’ Mrs Dixon looked at Barty rather intently, as if she was studying a rare species of animal. ‘You don’t look like I thought you would.’

‘How – how was that?’ asked Barty.

‘Flashy. Fine clothes. Thought you was rich.’

Barty felt a sudden and disproportionate sense of relief that at least she wasn’t flashy.

‘I – I see,’ she said.

There was a silence; she and Mrs Dixon looked at one another. ‘You could buy me a cup of tea, if you like,’ she said, ‘till she calms down. She gets like this, it ain’t just you.’

‘Oh – oh, I see,’ said Barty. ‘Yes, tea would be nice. Where can we go?’

‘There’s a cafeteria,’ said the nurse, ‘on the ground floor. You can get tea, coffee, it’s quite nice—’ She sounded relieved, was clearly eager to get rid of them.

‘Fine,’ said Barty. ‘Come along, then, Mrs Dixon.’

They sat at a small table in the cafeteria; Mrs Dixon stared at her, clutching her plastic bag.

‘Never met her, have you?’

‘No,’ said Barty, ‘I haven’t. I did try, of course, I asked her to the wedding, and I wrote to her, but—’

‘She’d never meet you. Never want to.’

‘Oh,’ said Barty, ‘oh, I see.’

‘Nothing personal, of course.’

‘No?’

‘Not really. Just that you married him. Charlie.’

‘Did they – do they – not get on?’

‘Get on! That’s mighty fine! Sally get on with
him
! I don’t think so.’

Her tone was derisive; she slurped at her tea.

‘But – Mrs Dixon, you must forgive me, but I don’t understand. Can you tell me why not?’

‘Why not? You askin’ me why not? That’s very fine. Well, I s’pose he maybe won’t have told you all of it.’

‘All of what?’

‘The way he treated her.’

‘Who? Sally?’

‘Sally? No, I’m not talkin’ about Sally; I’m talkin’ about Meg. The way she died.’

‘I’m sorry.’ The dizziness was getting worse. ‘You’ll have to tell me. She died – she died of cancer, didn’t she?’

Mrs Dixon put her cup down, stared at her.

‘My. You really don’t know much, do ya? Cancer! Is that what he told ya? Well I s’pose it’s prettier. In a way.’

‘Prettier than what?’

‘The truth. She didn’t die of cancer, Mrs Patterson, she died of a heart attack. Brought on by alcoholic poisoning. She was an alcoholic, that’s what killed her. Poor soul.’

There was a long silence; Barty felt as if she was sitting inside it, inside its shell; outside it, all around it, people chatted and clinked their teaspoons and scraped their chairs, but they were remote, distant from her. Finally she spoke.

‘Mrs Dixon – ’ she took a deep breath ‘ – could you tell me everything please? Because I do rather need to know.’

‘If – if that’s what you want. But – Mrs Patterson – well, forgive me, this is your husband we’re talking about. You sure you want to hear it?’

‘I do, yes.’

‘Meg married him when she was real young, not quite twenty. I didn’t know her then, or Sally, come to that. Meg was the only child, her parents wanted to do well for her, sent her to some snooty secretarial college they couldn’t really afford, all that stuff. Paid off, though. She was working as a private secretary to some big-shot businessman when she met Charlie. She was kind of impressed by him, Sally said. They all were, all three of ’em. He was so charming, and he seemed well off, talked big. He had a job in some New York real estate firm, had a big future, he told her. They were two of a kind, maybe, him and Meg, both seeming a bit better than what they were.’

She stopped. ‘This sounds very rude, Mrs Patterson. Are you sure you want to hear all this?’

‘I’m – quite sure,’ said Barty quietly.

‘Doesn’t seem right somehow, I mean, me tellin’ you.’

‘Someone has to.’

‘OK. Well, she liked a good time, Meg did, she was a party girl, not in any kind of a bad way, just liked to go out a lot, have fun. And drink; she did drink, even then. Too much, Sally said, but she used to say it didn’t matter, she could handle it, how could anyone have a good time without it. Turned out her dad liked his drink, and her grandpa, he was a real drunk. It runs in families, drinkin’ does, everyone knows that. Anyway, Charlie didn’t earn that much, he was on commission, but Meg was on a good wage. They moved into a real nice apartment in Gramercy, more than they could afford, really, but Charlie said it was an investment, he had to entertain clients, all that stuff. Meg liked that, of course; any excuse for a party. Anyway, after a bit, Charlie decided to set up on his own, said that was the only way you got rich, not by working for other people, so he gave up his job, took a small office. Idea was Meg would keep ’em. They were in real debt right from then, Sally said, living beyond their means.’

‘Were they – were they happy?’

‘Sally says yes, at first. And they were a lovely looking couple, well, you’ll have seen pictures, she was a beautiful girl, and he was quite handsome, in his way. Still is, I dare say. But – Meg started drinking more. The worry, Sally says. And then she lost her job.’