The Haunting of Harriet (23 page)

“So what’s wrong with that? I liked your dad,” she said.

That flippant remark cut like a knife. Edward was used to being the best-looking guy in the room. Women always flirted with him and he flirted back, but that was about as far as it went. He had never actually been unfaithful, but had on occasions come close to the odd dalliance. Now a young woman who had just joined the firm was giving him signals that she wanted to get involved. He had played along with her, enjoying the game, and had even wondered what would happen if he had a fling. In his imaginings he was already being unfaithful, but he did not realize how short the distance was to the real thing. The next day at work he took that fatal step.

Now he had real guilt to contend with and he began to twist the truth to fit his newly-acquired perspective. Edward had little or no perception of how Liz viewed the world. He worked all the days God gave him and he worked hard. The money he earned was generously spent to keep his wife and family in luxury. She had a cleaner, a woman to do the ironing, a full-time gardener, a plastic card for the house and a platinum card for her personal indulgences. What more could any woman want? It was true that until this latest deal was completed he would have to work very late and maybe give up some Saturdays too, which meant giving up his sport. For the life of him he did not understand why Liz was incapable of recognizing the sacrifices he made for her. A couple more bonuses, even as feeble as the last one, would secure the children’s schooling at whatever establishments they chose. It would even cover a large chunk of their university fees. Surely that was worth forgoing a few dinners at a posh restaurant. Most sensible women would recognize that all this luxury could stop as quickly as it had started. The financial climate was decidedly sticky and in the City there was talk of a general slump, even a depression. This was no time to take things easy. Was it too much to expect some gratitude, some appreciation for the effort he was making? So what if he took a little something for himself? Who wouldn’t? And, if that something meant a bit on the side, so what? He viewed his indulgence in a little extra-marital fling as harmless and forgivable, even inevitable, in the circumstances. He was still a young man with appetites. His work was placing more and more demands on him and he was exhausted. What he wanted was a woman who supported him, not one that nagged all the time. But instead of gratitude or sympathetic understanding Liz was deliberately creating this awful chasm, separating them both physically and emotionally.

When Liz accused him of caring more about his work than his family, the rows began again, in earnest. When a woman reaches her mid-thirties life revolving around a house, a garden, young children and a dog can be claustrophobic and stifling; the beginning of the end; a sentence of repetitive service. If seen as a constant round of drudgery and sacrifice any resentment it might foster could, understandably, be justified. If survival depends on such sacrifice then the hard balancing act of keeping the wolf from the door becomes a worthy struggle, bringing a sense of pride and achievement with it. But a woman who feels trapped in domestic servitude, for no obvious reason, can become angry and resentful. To exist solely as the means of supporting a husband’s career is both demeaning and demoralizing, and this was where Liz now perceived herself to be. She felt dispensable and undervalued. Her life of domestic responsibilities, punctuated by coffee mornings and lunches, bored her rigid. So she took her resentment out on Edward. His immediate reaction was to match aggression with aggression.

His attitude to David and Sue at Christmas had frightened her. Was it shock and disappointment that made him let rip like that? Or did he harbour a secret callous streak? If so he had certainly hidden it well. What if his true feelings for her were equally well disguised? There was no longer any passion and neither party seemed eager to rekindle it. She was letting herself grow cold towards him and he did nothing to reverse the trend. Edward had never forgotten a birthday and his gifts were always generous to a fault. She began to wonder if they were a little too generous. Did they hide a guilty secret? Take those earrings he had given her for Christmas, they must have cost a small fortune but jewellery was an easy gift. Had his PA chosen them? They had not given her a feeling of being cherished. Nor did they elicit the hoped for response. Liz had thanked him, acknowledged that they were beautiful but that was that.

She began to check his mobile and go through his pockets. She fostered wild thoughts of turning up at his office unannounced and checking the hours he had actually been working. An affair would explain all those late nights and the odd weekends when he had stopped over in town. Expensive gifts could be a way to salve a troubled conscience. Their love-making had ground to a virtual halt; when they had sex it was a hurried affair that left Liz wet and resentful. Surely these were classic signs of infidelity? She began to reject his advances, making excuses, sometimes out of spite, but mostly to avoid the hurt she felt when he rolled off her and fell into a deep satisfied coma, leaving her to angry tears as she washed herself between her legs and sat sleepless on the side of the bath, wondering: “Is this it?” Liz and Edward were on a collision course. One of them would have to give way, but they were both being equally stubborn.

When the phone rang and Edward explained he would not be home that night, Liz was prepared for outright war. Just as she was about to let rip, a sudden pain gripped her arm, forcing her to drop the phone and send it crashing to the floor with a resounding bang. As she cradled her arm she could hear Edward calling to her from the floor.

“Liz, what’s happened? Are you all right?” She bent to pick up the phone. Her eyes filled with tears and she fumbled with the wretched machine, almost dropping it again.

Harriet was stroking her arm where she had pinched it, trying to calm Liz down before she said something she might regret. “Sorry, Liz. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to stop you doing anything rash. Give him the benefit of the doubt.” She was pleading for clemency thinking of the innocent children and hating herself for defending such a man.

Edward was in bed with the beautiful Sophie when he heard the crash, followed by a long silence. “What’s happened? God, Liz, speak to me!” His concern was genuine and as guilt swept over him so remorse flooded over her. She gathered herself and the telephone together. His voice was telling her he was coming home, now, immediately. She must not worry, he would be home soon. He was panicking and scared.

“Sorry. I dropped the phone.” Her words were cool and distant and as soon as she said them the magic melted.

“Christ, Liz, I thought you’d died or something. I didn’t know you could be so cruel. How long does it take to pick up an effing telephone? Anyway, in case you’re bothered I shan’t be home tonight so don’t wait up. Not that you ever do. Say goodnight to the kids.” He hung up abruptly, leaving Liz feeling as if she too had been hung on a hook.

Liz stood in the hall, speechless and seething with anger. She inspected her arm; although sore it seemed perfectly all right. As she straightened up, her eyes fell on the very first painting she had done. It was of the boathouse. She remembered how she had felt on first seeing this house. Now it was her home. She remembered Edward’s immediate reaction to the house. He had hated it. Yet he had not tried to talk her out of it. He had simply bought it and given it to her with his love. Where had that love gone? Harriet’s heart wept for Liz but all she could do was suggest they have a nice cup of tea.

What neither Harriet nor Edward knew was that Liz had been gathering evidence. She had been sorting his jackets for the dry cleaners when she found exactly what she was hoping not to find. It was a receipt for a diamond pendant on a gold chain. Liz already had one of a considerably superior quality. She therefore deduced that this trinket was not meant for her. There were no credit-card accounts to be found anywhere in his study, which was in itself suspicious. Edward was not the tidiest or most organized of men so their absence suggested a deliberate act of concealment. Feeling horribly devious, she phoned the number on the receipt. Posing as Mr Jessop’s personal assistant she apologized for the inconvenience, but explained that she had lost the originals and would be grateful if they could send her copies to cover the last six months.

The next day several incriminating documents arrived. She was mortified. Edward was either an extremely generous boss or he had another woman. That evening she waited nervously for him to come home. She had thought hard and long about her approach and had decided to play it cool, to give him the benefit of the doubt and let him explain what was really going on. In fact she had already tried him, found him guilty and wanted to watch him wriggle on the hook and see how he liked it. The moment he closed the door behind him Liz pounced.

“I know, Edward.” She aimed the words like daggers.

Edward held his arms wide as he raised his shoulders in a gesture of blamelessness. “Know what?”

“About your affair,” Liz spat out the bitter-tasting words.

Edward laughed a bit too loudly. He put down his briefcase, hoping he appeared calm, an innocent victim. He needed to turn the argument to his advantage before it went any further.

“Can I get through the door first? Can I pour myself a drink? Do you want one? Oh, I see you’re ahead of me there.” He threw his jacket on the back of the chair, poured a large Scotch and sat down heavily at the table. There was no sign of dinner and the atmosphere was hostile.

“So where is all this coming from? I have no idea what you are on about.”

“I know you are screwing someone else.”

“Come off it, sweetheart, when do I have time to have an affair? I’m working my effing balls off!” As he said it he knew this was not the best approach.

“Oh, I know!” Liz replied with a coldness of tone he had never heard before. “Who is she, this ball-breaking tart? Anyone I know? Should I put her on my Christmas card list, or is she already on it? Now there’s a thought.”

It was too late for tactics; the slanging match was on. For an hour they slogged it out, playing a rapid point-scoring, hard-hitting tournament of emotional squash. She called him an ageing Lothario; an absentee parent who cared more about cricket than his children. What sort of father didn’t even know his children’s favourite food, or which books and films they like best? Liz was accused of being a parasite, contributing nothing while living a dilettante lifestyle, watching him wear himself out in the cut-and-thrust of the financial world. He called her empty-headed with no idea how tough it was to earn the sort of money he brought home. She retaliated that he had not a clue how much effort it took to manage and maintain a house of this size to the standards he demanded, raising two small children into the bargain, children he did not deserve.

Edward had been leaning back, balancing his chair on its back legs, his arms behind his head, trying to appear calm and in control, an infuriatingly smug smile on his face throughout the row while Liz had been pacing up and down, opening and slamming drawers with frustration. Suddenly, he sprang up. His chair crashed forwards as he slammed his fist on the table. “Right, that’s it,” he shouted, then quietly he added: “I’m going to bed. We shall discuss this tomorrow, when your hormones aren’t so rampantly out of control.”

While he spoke Liz was rummaging in her bag trying to find the evidence. Triumphantly she threw the receipt on the table in front of him. She even smoothed it out for him to read. Then she screamed at him, “Hormones! I’ll give you hormones - a thousand pounds’ worth of bloody hormones.” She stood up tall as Edward sank back in his chair. His mind was racing. How the hell had she got hold of this? His face wore a mask of innocence as he spoke:

“Is this what all this has been about?” He waved his arm as he looked around indicating the row that was still hovering in the room. He moved towards Liz, the receipt in his hand. She backed away. “This was meant to be a surprise,” he said, waving the paper in her face.

“Oh, it was that all right!” Liz was seething. Let him try and talk his way out of this one.

“In case it has slipped your mind, there is a certain day coming up - sometime in February - the fourteenth, I think? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that Valentine’s day?” He paused. “Ring any bells yet? It’s something to do with love…” He looked horribly smug and his voice had an ugly sound to it. “I stupidly thought it might be nice to buy something special for my wife - my beautiful, tolerant wife - as a small thank-you for being so understanding. But if you don’t want it,“ he looked at Liz in a supercilious, patronizing way, waiting for her to capitulate.

Icily Liz snatched back the receipt and placed it in her bag. She looked hard at Edward. She wanted to believe him but could not. He had hurt her; the things he had said had been so cruel. They had both said things that could never be unsaid. Words had crashed into the very walls of the house, to stay there as lasting stains and scars. Her brain was spinning and she felt her body ache from tension. It was way past midnight. She needed sleep; time to re-focus. Realizing the danger of saying more while she was so angry she simply said,