The Last Letter From Your Lover (15 page)

When she looked at him, he was gazing at her intently. Yvonne felt a little uncomfortable. “Didn’t you tell me the doctor said she might not be herself?” she added. He had told her this when Jennifer had been in the hospital—back when he still talked to people.

He took another swig of his drink, his eyes not leaving hers. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Knew what?”

His eyes strafed hers for clues.

“Knew what, Larry?”

Francis had put on a rhumba. Behind them Bill was entreating Jennifer to dance with him, and she was pleading with him to stop.

Laurence drained his glass. “Nothing.”

She leaned forward and put a hand on his. “It’s been tough on both of you. I’m sure you need a little time to—” She was interrupted by another peal of laughter from Jennifer. Reggie had put one of the cut flowers between his teeth and was engaging her in an impromptu tango.

Laurence shrugged her off delicately, just as Bill, breathless, flopped down beside them. “That Reggie character’s a bit much, isn’t he? Yvonne, shouldn’t you have a word?”

She dared not look at Laurence, but his voice, when it came, was steady. “Don’t worry, Yvonne,” he said, his eyes fixed somewhere in the far distance. “I’ll sort it out.”

She found Jennifer in the bathroom shortly before eight thirty. She was leaning across the marble washbasin, retouching her makeup. Her eyes slid to Yvonne as she entered, then returned to her reflection. She was flushed, Yvonne noted. Giddy, almost. “Would you like some coffee?” she said.

“Coffee?”

“Before you go on to Larry’s work do.”

“I think,” Jennifer said, outlining her lips with an unusually careful hand, “for that shindig I’m more likely to need another stiff drink.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m putting on my lipstick. What does it look like I’m—”

“With my cousin. You’re coming on awfully strong.” It had come out more sharply than she had intended. But Jennifer seemed not to have noticed.

“When did we last go out with Reggie?”

“What?”

“When did we last go out with him?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps when he came to France with us in the summer.”

“What does he drink when he’s not drinking cocktails?”

Yvonne took a deep, steadying breath. “Jenny, darling, don’t you think you should tone it down a little?”

“What?”

“This thing with Reggie. You’re upsetting Larry.”

“Oh, he doesn’t care a fig what I do,” she said dismissively. “What does Reggie drink? You must tell me. It’s terribly important.”

“I don’t know. Whiskey. Jenny, is everything all right at home? With you and Larry?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m probably talking out of turn, but Larry really does seem dreadfully unhappy.”

“Larry does?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t be too cavalier with his feelings, darling.”

Jenny turned to her. “His feelings? Do you think anyone gives a damn what I’ve been through?”

“Jenny, I—”

“No one could care less. I’m just supposed to get on with it, keep my mouth shut, and play the adoring wife. As long as
Larry
hasn’t got a long face.”

“But if you want my opinion—”

“No, I don’t. Just mind your own business, Yvonne. Really.”

Both women stood very still. The air vibrated around them, as if a physical blow had been struck.

Yvonne felt something tighten in her chest. “You know, Jennifer, just because you can have any man in this house, it doesn’t mean you have to.” Her voice was steely.

“What?”

Yvonne rearranged the towels on the rail. “Oh, that helpless-little-princess shtick wears a bit thin sometimes. We know you’re beautiful, Jennifer, yes? We know all our husbands adore you. Just have a care for other people’s feelings for a change.”

They stared at each other. “Is that what you think of me? That I behave like a princess?”

“No. I think you’re behaving like a bitch.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, then closed it, replaced the top on her lipstick, straightened her shoulders, and glared at Yvonne. Then she walked out.

Yvonne sat down heavily on the lid of the lavatory and wiped her nose. She stared at the bathroom door, hoping it might open again, and when it didn’t, her head sank into her hands.

It was some moments later that she heard Francis’s voice. “You all right in here, old girl? I was wondering where you were. Darling?”

When she looked up, he saw the expression in her eyes and knelt swiftly, taking her hands. “Are you all right? Is it the baby? Do you need me to do something?”

She gave a great shudder and allowed him to enfold her hands in his. They stayed where they were for some minutes, listening to the music and chatting downstairs, then Jennifer’s high-pitched laughter. Francis reached into his pocket and lit his wife a cigarette.

“Thank you.” She took it and inhaled deeply. Finally she looked up at him, her dark eyes serious. “Promise me we’ll be happy even after the baby comes, Franny darling.”

“What’s—”

“Just promise me.”

“Now, you know I can’t do that,” he said, cupping her cheek. “I’ve always prided myself on keeping you downtrodden and miserable.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Beast.”

“I do my best.” He stood up and straightened the creases in his trousers. “Look. I should imagine you’re exhausted. I’ll get this show out of here, and you and I can slope off to bed. How does that sound?”

“Sometimes,” she said fondly, as he offered a hand and she got to her feet, “you’re not such a waste of a good wedding ring, after all.”

The air was cold and the pavement around the square almost empty. Alcohol had warmed her; she felt giddy, intoxicated.

“I don’t suppose we’ll get a taxi around here,” Reggie said cheerfully, pulling up his collar. “What are you chaps going to do?” His breath clouded in the night air.

“Larry has a driver,” she said. Her husband was standing on the curb nearby, peering down the street.

“Except it looks as if he’s disappeared.” She found this suddenly very funny, and fought to stop herself giggling.

“I gave him the night off,” Laurence muttered. “I’ll drive. You stay here, and I’ll fetch the car keys.” He walked up the steps to their house.

Jennifer wrapped her coat tightly around her. She couldn’t stop staring at Reggie. It was him.
Bear
. It had to be. He had barely left her side all evening. She was sure there were hidden messages in many of the remarks he’d made.
I haven’t had a chance to talk to Jenny for ages.
There had been something in the way he’d said it. She was sure she hadn’t imagined it. He drank whiskey.
Bear
. Her head was spinning. She’d drunk too much, but she didn’t care. She had to know for sure.

“We’re going to be awfully late,” Reggie’s girlfriend said mournfully, and Reggie cast a conspiratorial glance at Jennifer.

He glanced at his watch. “Oh, we’ve probably missed them. They’ll have gone on for a meal now.”

“So what will we do?”

“Who knows?” He shrugged.

“Ever been to Alberto’s club?” Jennifer said suddenly.

Reggie’s smile was slow, and ever so slightly sly. “You know I have, Mrs. Stirling.”

“I do?” Her heart was thumping. She was amazed nobody else could hear it.

“I believe I saw you at Alberto’s the very last time I was there.” His expression was playful, mischievous almost.

“Well, some night out this has been,” Maureen said petulantly, her hands thrust deep into the pockets of her coat. She glared at Jennifer, as if she was to blame.

Oh, if only you weren’t here, Jennifer thought, her pulse racing. “Come with us,” she said suddenly.

“What?”

“To Laurence’s party. It’ll probably be deathly dull, but I’m sure you can liven it up a bit. Both of you. There’ll be lots to drink,” she added.

Reggie looked delighted. “Count us in,” he said.

“Do I get a say in this?” Maureen’s displeasure was written across her face.

“Come on, Mo. It’ll be fun. Otherwise it’ll just be you and me in some dreary restaurant.”

Jennifer felt a twinge of guilt at Maureen’s now obvious despair, but hardened herself against it. She had to know. “Laurence?” she called. “Laurence, darling? Reggie and Maureen are going to come with us. Won’t that be fun?”

Laurence hesitated on the top step, his keys in his hand, his gaze flicking between them. “Marvelous,” he said, walked steadily down the steps, and opened the rear door of the big black car.

Jennifer appeared to have undersold the potential for riotous behavior at the Christmas celebrations of Acme Mineral and Mining. Perhaps it had been the decorations, or the copious amounts of food and drink, or even the prolonged absence of the boss, but when they arrived, the office party was in full swing. Someone had brought a portable gramophone, the lights were dimmed, and the desks had been moved to the side to create a dance floor upon which a throng of people squealed and shimmied to Connie Francis.

“Larry! You never told us your staff were such hep cats!” Reggie exclaimed.

Jennifer left him standing in the doorway, gazing at the scene before him, as she joined the cluster of dancers. His place of work, his domain, his haven, was unrecognizable to him, his staff no longer under his control, and he hated it. She saw his secretary rise from her chair, where she might have sat all evening, and say something to him. He nodded, attempting to smile.

“Drinks!” Jennifer called, wanting to get as far from him as possible. “Fight your way through, Reggie! Let’s get sloshed.”

She was dimly aware of a few looks of surprise as she passed her husband’s staff, many of whom had loosened their ties, their faces flushed with drink and dancing. Their eyes went from her to Laurence.

“Hello, Mrs. Stirling.”

She recognized the accountant who had spoken to her in the office a couple of weeks previously and smiled at him. His face was shiny with sweat, and he had an arm around a giggling girl in a party hat. “Why, hello! You couldn’t show us where the drinks are, could you?”

“Over there. By the typing pool.”

A huge vat of punch had been made. Paper cups were being filled and handed over people’s heads. Reggie handed her one and she drank the contents in one, laughing when its unexpected potency made her cough and splutter. Then she was dancing, lost in a sea of bodies, dimly aware of Reggie’s smile, his hand occasionally touching her waist. She saw Laurence watching her impassively from the wall, then, apparently reluctantly, engaged in conversation with one of the older, more sober men. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him. She wished he would go home and leave her there to dance. She didn’t see Maureen again. It was possible the girl had left. Things blurred, time stretched, became elastic. She was having fun. She felt hot, raised her arms above her head, let herself ride the music, ignoring the other women’s curiosity. Reggie spun her around and she laughed uproariously. God, but she was alive! This was where she belonged. It was the first time she hadn’t felt alien in a world that everyone insisted was hers.

Reggie’s hand touched hers, shocking and electric. His glances at her had become meaningful, his smile knowing. Bear. He was mouthing something at her.