No Love Lost (21 page)

‘It'll only be breakfast for one, Mrs Veal,' I said, ‘and I shan't want anything much. The Headmaster rang up late last night. He's been detained in London.'

She paused without looking round. I could see her little figure foreshortened on the stairs below me. Presently she turned and peered up.

‘What yer going to do for ‘is dinner?'

‘What? Oh, I'll think of something. We'll probably go into the town. I don't know when he's coming home, you see. I expect he'll ring again.'

‘I see.' She sounded very dubious. ‘Don't know when 'e's coming.' She nodded as if it was a lesson she had learned and I suddenly realized that she must have had a word or so with the Williamses already. I went back to my bedroom and began to dress. I felt trapped again, back in the atmosphere of gossip and commiseration. I was very conscious of being a bad liar, too, and I was furious with Victor for putting me in a position when these white lies seemed so necessary.

I was in the little dining-room when Mrs Veal returned. She came steaming up the stairs with a laden tray which she placed proudly on the table before me.

‘She done the lot, Mrs Williams did. Wouldn't even look at me brown loaf. Said she was only too pleased,' she announced breathlessly as she prepared to whip off the white napkin with which the offering was covered. ‘She's a real good woman, a real good woman, in spite of 'er being under the doctor with 'er legs. Nothink is too much trouble. Is it yer birthday?'

The sudden question bewildered me. ‘Birthday?'

‘Yes, well, as I said, you never said nothink to me about it, but we wondered if it was yer birthday because of the present, you see.' She removed the covering and displayed a pyramid of stiff white florist's paper amid the breakfast things. ‘The doctor brought it,' she rattled on, ‘the young one with the eyes. You know. 'E's doing the job while the old gentleman, ‘oo is a bit past it, is on ‘is ‘olidays. He never took an 'oliday before 'e was on the Government, so it shows yer, don't it?'

I laughed. She was doing me good. She was what I needed, a human voice. It occurred to me that if I'd met her before my ignorance of the real and inner life of Tinworth would not be nearly so abysmal. All the same I was shaken by the flowers. It wasn't like Andy to do anything so graceful. I took off the wrappings and smiled. It was a little clump of speckled blue flowers in a small ornamental bowl. I'd seen some like it in the good florist's next the cinema. It was a line they were selling that month and it looked like Andy, charming and unpretentious and somehow solid. The envelope which the florist provided to hold the card was stuck down and I tore it open unsuspecting. The message was scribbled in the handwriting I had once known so very well.

Clearing out today. Fixed it with the local man. All the best, Andy
.

I sat staring at it until I became aware that the colour was pouring up my neck and into my face. It was dismay, and yet I had not once permitted myself to hope that our good-byes had not been final. How strange it was, I thought suddenly, that one's body seems to go on living a life of its own, feeling emotions and reacting to them however strictly one makes one's mind behave.

I glanced up to find Mrs Veal watching me with unveiled curiosity.
There was nothing of the ghoul about her. She was perfectly friendly and quite clearly on my side, but she liked to know what was going on.

‘It suits yer, that bit o' colour in yer face,' she remarked disconcertingly. ‘Now you've got it you look better-looking, more like you did when you first come. It's the bit of a curl, I suppose. It's wonderful what it does for yer. That young doctor's goin' away.'

‘Oh, is he?' I said in an ineffectual attempt to sound casual.

‘So Mrs Williams told me. She's ever so sorry. 'E come round early to take a last look at 'er legs. Nice of ‘im, wasn't it? Some wouldn't, that they wouldn't, not today. 'E said 'e was off. Couldn't stick it, 'e said. Known 'im long, 'ave yer?'

It was one of those direct questions which cannot be sidetracked, so I said we were both on the same hospital staff before I was married.

‘Oh, I see.' It was obvious that she did, too, the whole story. I could see it in the wisdom of her old grey eyes. ‘Oh well,' she said, giving me a friendly little grimace, ‘it's just as well, ain't it? I mean people are always ready to talk in a place like this. You mayn't believe it but you'd be surprised. It's not like London. Make up anything, they will,
and
say it. So it's just as well 'e's gorn. Per'aps 'e saw it ‘isself. Nice of 'im to send the flowers, wasn't it? I'll put 'em on the side. There, don't they look pretty?'

‘Very,' I agreed faintly. ‘I – er, I don't know what they are, do you?'

‘Nemo-phila,' said the amazing woman calmly. ‘They grow a lot of 'em round 'ere, for seed. They mean “
May success crown your wishes
”. That's surprised yer, ain't it?'

‘It staggers me.'

She laughed. ‘I used to work in a card factory when I was a girl. Birthday cards we used to make, very elaborate. We were give the cards, see, with the motters and a pictcher on 'em, and then we ‘ad to stick on the right pressed flower. There was lots of 'em. “
Thoughts I bring you
” – that was pansies, and oh, I don't know what else. Come on, drink yer coffee. So there you are, “
Success crown your wishes
”, that's what 'e sent you.' She
hesitated, honesty getting the better of her romanticism. ‘I don't really suppose 'e knew.'

‘Perhaps not.'

‘Still it was very nice of ‘im. You'll remember 'im gratefully.'

‘I shall, very.'

I thought she was going to leave me at last but she still hovered.

‘Oh, and there's this,' she said, planking a crumpled piece of paper on the cloth before me. ‘Williams give me this to bring over. If the master wasn't 'ere, 'e said, perhaps you'd look after it. It's the receipt for the luggage, see?'

‘The …?' I checked my exclamation and took up the paper. It was not easy to decipher. My hand seemed to be shaking so much that I could hardly see it. Mrs Veal explained. Her fund of information seemed to be inexhaustible.

‘It's the master's climbing-luggage, the 'eavy stuff that's kep' in the locker room. It's gorn to Switzerland to be ready for ‘im. It's sent every year. Williams always sees to it. 'E told Williams to get it off for 'im and Williams did, yesterday.'

‘When was Williams told?' For the life of me I could not keep the revealing sharpness out of my voice.

‘Oh, I don't know, dear, I mean madam. Sometime in the term, I expec'. Didn't the master tell yer?'

‘I expect he forgot.'

‘Yers, well, they are forgetful, aren't they, men are. Can't 'elp themselves. So bloomin' conceited they don't know if they're goin' or comin' 'alf the time. Still, it'll be a weight off your mind, won't it, to know it's safely sent? You're goin' with 'im this time, are yer? When you settin' off?'

‘Soon. I'm not quite sure, exactly.'

She clicked her tongue against her teeth with tolerant commiseration. ‘Keep us on the ‘op, don't they, all the time? Well, I'll get on.' She went out at last and left me with the receipt. I folded it carefully and tucked it into the little Chinese vase on the mantelshelf. The whole incident had alarmed me. If Victor had made this arrangement without telling me, what others might he have fixed? For one wild moment it went through my mind he might have just gone off on his trip already, calling in
somewhere on the way to see the lady of the note. Perhaps I should get a letter sometime during the day telling me what he'd decided and enclosing a little money for me to carry on with. It seemed incredible, but only because I envisaged it happening to
me
. I had heard of husbands who behaved like that, and what was worse, I knew that if I simply related the fact to some disinterested person – a lawyer for instance – it was by no means certain that he would be sympathetic. How was he to know that it was not merely some phase in a private sex war between us? There would be only my word for it. At that moment I could see, as never before, that the way Victor treated me was my business, and the only person on earth who could do anything about it was myself.

If Victor had behaved like this I'd have to go after him. I went into his room and tried to discover which of his clothes were missing. A more experienced wife would have thought of this before, of course, but once again I was at a disadvantage. Victor's personal affairs had been under control for years before I had appeared on the scene. There was a sort of resident batman, a school valet, who had made it part of his work to look after Victor's clothes and to attend to his mending and laundry, so I had never been permitted to interfere. The man came in every so often, and must now have gone off on holiday with everyone else. I went through the wardrobe and chest, but apart from the fact that I recognized some of the items they might have belonged to a stranger. I simply couldn't tell if a modest holiday outfit had been packed and taken away. The bed was made up with clean sheets and there were no soiled pyjamas about, but on the other hand there seemed a good stock of clean pairs in the drawer. The bathroom was more revealing. His shaving things were there in the toilet cupboard. I realized he might well possess a small travelling outfit, but I had never seen one and I felt mildly comforted. I thought perhaps after all he intended to come back and explain before going abroad. He wasn't going to behave quite so disgustingly. All the same, it was not conclusive evidence, by any means, and after a while I got nervy again and went down to his study.

It was just as I'd last seen it, very bare and shiny. The clean
sheet of blotting paper in the folder on the desk made the gleaming expanse of mahogany look even more deserted. I opened the drawers tentatively. They were all very tidy, papers pinned neatly together, letters in spring clips, folders tidily stacked. The school servants were very good, I reflected idly. The polish on every wooden surface was perfect. My finger marks seemed to show wherever I put them. I'd have rubbed them off after me but I hadn't a duster, and I recollected that the place was to be left for a couple of months.

Here again, as in the bedroom, I could tell so little because I knew so little. We never sat in the study and there were very few occasions when I had even entered it. It was Victor's workroom. I had only seen the desk drawers open half a dozen times. I did not go through the papers; I could not bear to. The notion of finding a bundle of incriminating letters from some wretched local girl filled me with such distaste that I was astonished at myself, and I suddenly realized how lucky I was. I realized some women must find themselves in just this same position but with one vital difference. If I had ever loved Victor, then I should have tasted bitterness. As it was, I was hurt and even outraged, and what pride I had was suffering badly, but I was not annihilated. It was my ideals and beliefs and conventions which were crushed, but not the basic me. He had not touched that because it had never belonged to him. And then I thought that if I'd loved him this would never have happened quite like this. I'd have known more about him. We were both to blame. A marriage without love is not marriage. We were playing at it, Victor and I. We were not married at all and it had taken me six months to find out.

I closed the last drawer and stood back. There was only one thing missing that I remembered seeing there before and that was a revolver. It was a big army thing in a service holster. It had lain in the back of the middle drawer and I had seen it there one day in the winter when I had taken Victor some typing he had asked me to do for him. He had opened the drawer to get a clip for the sheets and I had seen the gun and commented on it. He told me that he kept it as a souvenir of the war, and that he had a licence for it, and I said that with so many children
about it was dangerous and that he ought to keep it in the safe. Now that it had gone I assumed that he had agreed with me, and I was glad to have had some little influence over him, however small.

I looked round the room again but there was nothing left about, not even a newspaper. The only thing in the least untidy was the charred sheet in the empty grate, a single oblong, quite large. I only noticed it idly and I had no time to consider it or the odd little incident which had put it there, for just then the telephone bell sounded from the deserted secretary's room just across the hall. I caught my breath. This was it. Now I should hear some sort of explanation and I knew I must take myself in hand and be as firm and ruthless as he.

But when I took up the receiver it was not Victor but a much slower, deeper voice which greeted me. I must have been in hypersensitive mood that morning, for although it was the first time that ever I heard it, yet it made me vaguely uneasy from the start. I can only say it sounded friendly but sly, like an uncle asking trick questions.

‘Would that be Buchanan House? I wonder if I could speak to the Headmaster, Mr Lane. It's the police here as a matter of fact. Superintendent South. Just put me through to him, will you?'

‘I'm sorry,' I said, ‘he's out.'

‘Oh. And when are you expecting him back?'

‘I'm afraid I don't know.'

‘I see.' The avuncular voice sounded dubious. ‘Would that be Mrs Lane by any chance?'

‘Yes. Can I help you?'

‘Well, I don't know, Mrs Lane. It's a little difficult. It's an enquiry from the Metropolitan Police, Northern Division, about a John O'Farrell Rorke.'

‘Oh dear,' I said involuntarily.

‘Pardon?'

‘Nothing. What's happened to him?'

‘Well, he seems to have been involved in an accident and quite a nasty one. He's in the Watling Street Hospital with multiple injuries, but he seems to have been inebriated at the time
and the driver of the bus which ran him down has got a story which has got to be confirmed. Meanwhile, the police want details of any relatives he may have. He's unconscious and the only address they have is the school's. They got that from a couple of envelopes in his pocket.'