Scandalous Risks (50 page)

III

When the tears finally stopped I felt as a patient must feel when he has been prepared for an operation and knows that he is powerless to do anything except wait for the ordeal to be over. I lay lifelessly in bed. Mrs Ashworth offered me a selection of novels but I was unable to read them. I could only listen to her transistor radio and thumb through some magazines.

In the afternoon a letter arrived, delivered by hand. The address on the envelope had been typed in order to preserve the author’s anonymity among the prying eyes at the South Canonry. I could hardly bear to break the seal but I had to know what he had written.

‘My darling,’ I read, ‘just a brief note which you can burn immediately in the ashtray.
Don
’
t worry
about the slip. I said afterwards: "Venetia’s obviously very ill and confused – why should she call me Neville when I specifically told her on holiday in the Hebrides that she could call me Stephen?" Eddie at once said: "Obviously she was almost delirious," and Charles said: "She’s certainly most unwell." So that’s all right. I thought it was rather clever of me to rake up the Hebrides – everyone always sinks into Christian names on holiday, and just because Eddie never actually heard you call me Stephen up there he can’t prove I didn’t invite you to dispense with formality. So my darling,
don
’
t worry
and
get well soon.
Nobody suspects anything. Much, much,
much
love, N.’

Mrs Ashworth burnt the letter in the ashtray and produced a new box of Kleenex. Time dragged on and at intervals she would sit with me and knit. I wanted to ask her more about the man who had wrecked her life before the young Dr Ashworth had arrived on the scene like a white knight, but Iwas unable to frame any question beyond a preliminary enquiry. I did say: ‘That story you told me about the young woman who was almost destroyed by a romance that went wrong – you were the young woman, weren’t you, just as I was Dinkie,’ but when she answered: ‘It’s best to draw a veil over that now,’ I realised that the subject was one which she had no wish to discuss. Yet because I knew she had been through an experience similar to mine I was able to say to her: ‘One of the most baffling aspects of the whole affair is that I feel I never really knew him. I just knew a "persona", a mask. He claimed it was the real him, but I suspect there were acres and acres of the real him that I never traversed at all; I suspect I just saw one corner of a vast field.’

‘Oh, that’s a very common feature of love affairs. Romance and fantasy fence off the cosy corner and leave reality out in the cold beyond the pale.’

‘But what
was
reality here? How do I come to terms with it? How do I sort it all out in my mind when so much is either unknown or a mystery? You talked of twin obsessions running in tandem, but –’

‘– but I was speculating. Yes, I do understand what you mean, but all you can do is concentrate on the facts which are beyond dispute: he was married; the two of you became emotionally involved with each other; he brought you to breakdown. Then you can expand a little on those basic facts with some degree of certainty: he was probably under stress for various reasons – and perhaps you too were under stress in some way, with the result that you each found an escape from your problems in the other; then during this great escape he displayed a passion which could well have been genuine but could also have been part of an elaborate fantasy generated by the journey away from reality. That all sounds very stark, I know, but that’s really all it’s possible to say.’

‘I just feel that if only I knew the whole truth –’

‘My dear, we never know the whole truth about anyone. Only God can ever know the whole truth. All we can do is struggle to grasp that part of the truth which God has made accessible to us and accept that not all mysteries are solvable.’

‘But surely you know the whole truth about the Bishop?’

Mrs Ashworth smiled. Then she said: ‘When I first met Charles long ago in
₁₉₃₇
he seemed very straightforward, a successful young clergyman from a comfortable middle-class home. But the reality behind the glittering image was far more complex, I assure you, than I could ever have imagined, and even now I daresay there are still mysteries in his past which I shall never unravel.’ She hesitated but added: ‘He was a widower when I met him. He’s talked to me about that first marriage, but not in a way that has ever encouraged me to dig deep into what actually happened. I’d like to know more, of course, but I’ve accepted that there’s nothing more he has to say; I’ve accepted that there’s a limit on our knowledge of even those who are closest to us. The older one gets the more one realises how saturated life is in mystery, and the biggest mystery of all, it often seems to me, is the mystery of the human personality.’

I meditated on this conversation for some time while the sunshine dwindled into twilight and darkness began to fall. Later the Bishop looked in to see how I was. Later still Mrs Ashworth brought me a mug of cocoa and some more pills. Once again I sank thankfully into oblivion, but the next morning at seven o’clock I was awake, every muscle in my body aching with tension
as
I pictured the postman walking up to the front door of the Deanery with my letter in his hand.

IV

At eight o’clock Mrs Ashworth came to my room with Aysgarth’s reply. All she said was: ‘He’s just delivered this. I heard the car in the drive and thought it might be him. He looked much as usual.’

My fingers were trembling so much that I was unable to open the envelope. Without a word she took it from my hands, ripped open the flap and handed me the folded sheet of paper within. He had written: ‘This breaks my heart. I’m now standing in the worst wasteland I’ve ever known. I can only pray that God will bless you and keep you safe and ultimately grant you the happiness you deserve.’ There was no opening ‘my darling’, no signature, no love sent, only the three bleak sentences which, carefully written in his clear handwriting, suggested a survivor in ruthless control of himself.

I wept with relief.

It was finally over.

Or was it?

V

‘My darling, I feel I’m going stark staring mad. Can you not write
just one word?
Please, please, if you’ve ever loved me at all — which now seems doubtful — send me JUST ONE WORD. N.’

VI

‘Darling Neville, You know how much I love you, but I’m ending our affair because there’s no alternative; if I don’t end it you’ll be ruined. Please try to understand. I’m doing this —
all of it —
so that you can be saved. V.’

VII

‘My darling, I was so utterly appalled by your letter that I nearly passed out. Listen, you
mustn
’
t many him,
you absolutely mustn’t — the very idea that you could be marrying Eddie in order to save me is so horrific that I can’t maintain a noble silence on the subject a second longer, I just can’t, I’d wind up in a lunatic asylum.

‘Darling, Eddie’s dead wrong for you. God knows, no one’s fonder of Eddie than I am — oh, the nightmare of it, the sheer unadulterated
hell
that I should be betrayed by the two people who are closest to me, I feel as if I’ve been disembowelled and abandoned to bleed to death, but never mind that now, I don’t count, what’s it matter if I bleed to death, what have I got to live for, but
you
count,
you
matter, you have
everything
to live for, and I can’t bear that you should throw yourself away like this, CAN’T BEAR IT.

‘The truth is poor Eddie’s a very damaged sort of fellow — it’s the result of his war experiences and losing all his family— and he’s so neurotic, so enslaved by hypochondria and introspection, that he could only wear you down in no time if you married him. HE’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU. I’ve always tried to resign myself to the fact that you would many one day but I wanted you to marry someone who was worthy of you, and he’s not worthy, he’ll never be worthy, and besides — I hate to say this because the images it conjures up are so revolting, but nevertheless it has to be said — how can you conceivably marry a man whom you find physically repulsive? It’s all the most ghastly mistake and it’ll wreck your life. Even if you go into the marriage with the idea of divorcing him eventually, you’ll still have to live through
an
experience which could scar you for ever.

‘Darling, I’ll give you up, I’ll never see you again, I’ll never even write one letter, but please,
please,
PLEASE swear to me by return of post that you’ll break off this absolutely
disastrous
engagement. Always your most devoted and loving N.’

VIII

‘Dear Mr Dean,’ dictated Mrs Ashworth as the tears streamed down my face and the pen shook in my hand, ‘I’m afraid you must take it as settled that Eddie and I will be marrying shortly.

I know this is very difficult for you and I’m sorry. But the sooner you accept the situation the sooner all three of us will begin to recover from this horrific ordeal. Yours sincerely, VENETIA.’

IX

‘My darling, I can’t believe you could have written that letter, and I refuse to take ANYTHING as settled. I’m going to fight to save you from tragedy. Eternal love from your devoted N.’

X

‘My dear Stephen, Venetia has asked me to reply to your last letter. I assure you that it is indeed settled that she is to marry Eddie, and Charles and I both think that your correspondence with her should now cease. Yours sincerely, LYLE.’

XI

‘... so unable to stand the suspense any longer I turned up at the Deanery,’ wrote Eddie. ‘Didn showed me straight into his study. It was a shock for him but he recovered quickly and was perfectly civil. He looked tired but sober. Certainly there was no whisky in sight. I told him of my intention to work in London and said I planned to many you next month at St Margaret’s Westminster. He nodded and said would I like him to write to the Bishop of London, but I said no, that was all right, Charles had already offered to pull strings on my behalf. That reply produced a deafening silence but I raced on and asked if he wanted me to resign the canonry straight away or whether he was content for me to stay on until the wedding.

‘Then he became very proud, very grand, and said that was nothing to do with him, that was something I should discuss with the Bishop, he had no strong feelings on the subject, as far as he was concerned I could do exactly as I liked. So I said I didn’t want to leave the Cathedral in the lurch by a sudden resignation and it might also be a good thing, from the point of view of avoiding gossip, if I stayed on until my marriage. Then I added that after the wedding we’d be renting a flat in London until I got the house which will go with my new job. I thought perhaps I should make it clear that we shan’t be returning to the Starbridge diocese, even temporarily.

‘He said politely: "Quite. I wish you every happiness," and suddenly I couldn’t bear it, I just had to say: "Stephen I’m so very sorry, but believe me, whatever happens either now or in the future, you’ll always be the hero who saved me from despair in that POW camp and looked after me later as if I were your own son."

‘He just sighed. Then he said in an exasperated voice: "You’ll never be an Englishman, will you, Eddie? Englishmen just don’t make that kind of remark," and I laughed – I think he did mean me to laugh, don’t you? – and thanked him for seeing me and that was the end of the conversation. But he seemed well in control of himself and I think he’s going to be all right ...’

XII

‘My dear Venetia, Eddie has just been here and, as you would say, "slobbered all over me". Why can’t foreigners behave properly? However, I accept that he meant well. I also accept that I’ve lost my Great Prize and that our correspondence must inevitably end.

‘I won’t ask you to thank Lyle for her letter. What an old battle-axe that woman’s turned into! She has a real talent for wielding what Eddie, with his Nazi memories, would call "the long knife". I could tell you a thing or two about her. But I won’t. I may be just a Yorkshire draper’s son but I trust I know when and how to behave like a gentleman.

‘I went to see that old pirate Jon Darrow today. Thought I really ought to look in on the old boy as he was asking after me so persistently. I must say, old age has improved him; he’s quieter now, more sedate. We had a little chat about this and that, talked about the past, just as one inevitably does with the elderly. By the way, I think he secretly took a fancy to you at the Starbridge Playhouse! "A most interesting girl!" he said,eyes gleaming. Funny old pirate. I promised I’d drop in on him again soon – and in fact I think I might drop in on him regularly for a while. He seemed so pathetically glad to receive a visitor, and one really does have a Christian duty to be kind to old people.

‘I hope you’re now completely recovered from the flu. Primrose has just succumbed – there’s certainly a lot of it about – and has returned from her flat to her old room at the Deanery in order to be properly cosseted. Perhaps you might look in on her before you leave for London to make the wedding arrangements. It would be prudent, I think, if you made some small gesture towards renewing that friendship, because Primrose continues to wonder why you dropped her so abruptly and she needs the chance to write off your withdrawal as a mere temporary aberration resulting from Eddie’s courtship.

‘In sending you my best regards I hope I may sign myself your well-wisher, STEPHEN AYSGARTH.’

XIII

Arriving at the Deanery clutching a box of chocolates and the latest edition of
Punch, I was
admitted by Dido’s companion-housekeeper Miss Carp and ushered upstairs to Primrose’s room. Lying wanly in bed Primrose opened her eyes as I put my head around the door.

‘Receiving callers, Prim?’

‘Venetia! Good heavens, I
am
honoured.’ She hauled herself up on the pillows and gave me a chilly smile. Her lank brown hair, frizzy at the ends, fell in strands towards her shoulders and her pink nightdress, possibly one of Dorothy Perkins’ more unfortunate products, clung limply to her flat chest.

Leaving my offerings on the bed I enquired: ‘Feeling ghastly?’

‘Yes, but better than yesterday. Oh,
Punch!
How nice – thanks ... Well, I suppose I ought to congratulate you, oughtn’t I? We’ve all seen the announcement in today’s
Times.
’

‘
Please don’t feel obliged to congratulate me if you don’t want to, Primrose.’

Well, to be quite frank, Father and I think it’s a very big mistake. We think you could do better for yourself.’

I was just wondering whether I should give up and walk out when the door behind me was swept wide open and Dido streamed into the room. It at once occurred to me that she had crept along the corridor to eavesdrop as soon as Miss Carp had informed her of my arrival.

‘What utter nonsense, Primrose!’ she exclaimed. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, sulking away so ungraciously in bed just because Venetia’s getting married and you’re still lying on the shelf!’ And before this brutal remark could draw forth a stinging retort she added crisply: ‘Venetia, how very kind of you to call on poor Primrose – I always did say you were a nice girl
au
fond,
even though the
fond
was so seldom on display – and my dear! Too, too lovely about your engagement,
I
’
m
thrilled for you both! Take no notice of Primrose’s sour grapes, because I assure you, my dear, that far from disapproving of your engagement Stephen told me last night – and of course he always tells me everything – that in his opinion marriage would be the making of both you
and
dear Eddie!’

‘He doesn’t tell you a damn thing!’ said Primrose incensed.
‘
l
’
m
the one he confides in, and he told me this morning –’

Well, obviously when he saw you were so
devoured
by jealousy he pretended to disapprove of the engagement so that you wouldn’t feel quite such a failure!’

My voice said politely: ‘I think I ought to be going now,’ but when I turned towards the door I found that Aysgarth himself was standing on the threshold.

‘Oh, there you are, darling!’ cried Dido radiantly as I flinched and stopped dead in my tracks. ‘Come on in and join the party! Primrose, silly girl, is refusing to believe you’re in favour of Venetia’s marriage – do tell her you’re all for it!’

‘I certainly wish Venetia every happiness.’ He gave me a smile which was no more than a subtle upturning of his thin mouth. His blue eyes were expressionless.

‘Father,’ said Primrose, now pale with rage, ‘you distinctly said to me –’

‘Oh, dear,
dear
child,’ said Dido in a voice which vibrated with exasperation, ‘when are you ever going to abandon this pathetic illusion that you’re in your father’s confidence?’

‘Darling,’ said Aysgarth quietly to her. ‘Please.’

‘Father never lies to me, and he said –’

‘Never lies to you? My God, that’s a laugh! If you only knew the half of what’s been going on in his life lately —’

Aysgarth and I spoke at the same moment. He said strongly: ‘Didn, that’s enough!’ while I exclaimed with a dreadful false brightness: ‘Well, I simply
must
be going!’

‘Your trouble, Dido,’ cried Primrose, outshouting us both, ‘is that you’re the one who’s "devoured" by jealousy because I’m in his confidence and you’re not! Why, he said to me only the other day: "Primrose," he said, "of course I know you’ll many eventually, but how am I going to bear it when you go away and I have no one to talk to?" And that’s why you’re quite wrong in thinking
I
’
m
jealous of Venetia — I don’t want to get married, I’m never going to get married, I’ve made up my mind that I’m going to stay with Father and be a comfort to him in his marital hell!’

‘Primrose, be quiet!’ said Aysgarth violently, but the scene was now quite out of control and as I stood paralysed with horror Dido, throwing all self-restraint to the winds, tossed the lighted match into the keg of dynamite which we had all been circling for so long.

‘My poor pet!’ she said to Primrose in her most withering voice. ‘You’ve been grossly deceived! He’s just been playing a rôle for you, the rôle of the doting father, but in fact he’s long past caring what you do with yourself. He’s too busy doting elsewhere — as Venetia will be the first to testify!’

Primrose said blankly: ‘Venetia?’ at the exact same moment as Aysgarth whispered: ‘That’s enough — that’s enough, I tell you —’

‘You see?’ said Dido to Primrose. ‘You know nothing — nothing, nothing, nothing! But Venetia could tell you things you could never in your wildest dreams imagine, Venetia could tell you –’

I said in a loud voice: ‘I’m going!’ but quick as a flash Dido barred my path to the door.

‘Oh no, you’re not!’ she said. ‘I’ve
had
it with this girl, mooning over her father as if he were her lover and making my life hell for year after year, and this is it, this is where I refuse to tolerate her behaviour a second longer, this is where I draw the line.’ She spun to face Primrose. ‘Venetia’s your father’s little piece of nonsense. Not his mistress – she’s still
vireo intacta
–
but his trivial little plaything which he uses for relaxation during his leisure hours. It’s been going on for some months. He takes her out on his afternoon off and they drive to some deserted spot – Castle Brigga, isn’t it, Venetia dear? – and there they indulge in their amusing little sex-games –’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Primrose. She was now ashen. ‘That’s the foulest lie I’ve ever heard.’ She looked at her father. ‘Why don’t you deny it?’ she said in a shaking voice. ‘Why are you just standing there? Why don’t you say it’s a lie?’

‘Because it’s the truth,’ said Dido. She jerked my arm. ‘It’s all true, isn’t it, Venetia? My God, look at you! I suppose you thought I didn’t know anything about it! I suppose you thought I’d never heard of Castle Brigga! Who told her, you’re thinking, who told her – and how does she know I’m still a virgin? Well, my dear, this is where you get your big surprise, the surprise you’ll remember all your life, because
STEPHEN TELLS ME EVERYTHING.
He always has and he always will – and do you you know where he tells me everything, Venetia? In bed! And after sex! I suppose you thought, silly, ignorant girl, that you had him all to yourself; I suppose you thought you knew him through and through – but you were wrong. You never knew
Stephen
at all. You just knew a masked actor who indulged in some shallow play-acting, but I know
Stephen
and
Stephen
makes love only to
me.
He’s always promised that there was one act he’d never do with anyone else, and that promise was given because he’s dedicated his whole life to making me feel cherished and fulfilled. So what do I care about his little weaknesses?

What do I care about all the drink and the masked actor who amuses himself with young girls? All that matters is that
he
’
s
mine
and
he loves me
and I love him a thousand times better than
any other woman ever could!
’
And turning her back on me abruptly she marched out with her head held high.

The door banged.

There was a silence.

I remember Primrose, blue eyes huge in her white shocked face. I remember Aysgarth, grey and drawn, the suffering etched deep in the heavy lines about his mouth. I remember the copy of
Punch
on the bed and the unopened box of chocolates and the curtains fluttering lightly in the breeze from the open window.

At last Aysgarth said unevenly to Primrose – not to me, but to Primrose, it was Primrose he turned to first: ‘It’s not true, I give you my word.’

‘Of course it couldn’t possibly be true,’ said Primrose stiff-lipped. ‘Not possibly.’ She was unable to look at either of us.

Then Aysgarth turned to me and said: ‘I apologise, Venetia, for all her lies. She’s had a fixation about Castle Brigga ever since she discovered that I’d circled it on the Ordnance Survey map. I’d planned to take Pip there one day for an outing.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘Yes.’

The silence closed in on us again, and suddenly I saw the full dimensions of the destruction that had been wrought. Neither Primrose nor I could know for certain whether or not he spoke the truth. We would want to believe him, but the more we tried the more clearly we would remember Dido, fearlessly outspoken, shrewd about personal relationships, passionately devoted to her husband, voicing the horrors which we could never be sure were false. She had told the truth to Primrose about my affair with Aysgarth. How could I ever convince myself beyond doubt that she had lied to me about her marriage? I knew that logically it was possible that she had told the truth to Primrose and lied to me, but it was equally possible that she had told the truth to both of us. Faith had been wrecked, trust destroyed, love annihilated. Now indeed we all stood in a wasteland which stretched as far as the eye could see. ‘My darling —’

I gave a start, but he was talking to Primrose — not to me but to Primrose — and as I glimpsed some seamy psychological shadow fall backwards across the past I felt my blood run cold with repulsion.

‘— my darling, you must believe me, you must —’

‘But of course I believe you!’ said Primrose, somehow managing to look at him at last, but as soon as I saw the expression on her face I knew he had lost her for ever.

He knew it too. He had been moving towards her but now he swung back to face me. ‘Venetia, tell her,’ he said stricken, stammering in his agony. ‘Tell her it’s not true!’

‘It’s not true,’ I said to Primrose in my politest voice, and walked away without looking back.