The Marrying Game (31 page)

They were suddenly face to face, on the narrow strip of pavement outside the Coffee Stores in Old Compton Street.

‘My God, Rufa,’ he said. ‘Rufa Hasty.’

He seemed smaller and shabbier, and altogether diminished. Rufa, breathless with the shock of finding herself in the middle of a fantasy she had outgrown, stared at his untidy brown hair, slightly downturned brown eyes and thin, intense features.

‘Jonathan,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

There had never been a moment of falling out of love with Jonathan. When he left so suddenly, leaving unwashed cups in the sink and a terse note on the back door, Rufa had frozen right at the summit of besottedness. It had never occurred to her then that there would be a day when she could look at him like this, and know that
she
was cured. When had it happened? The back of his neck, the shape of his ear lobes, his sensitive and oddly expressive nostrils – she had branded all these details on her soul. Now, she felt nothing more than the memory of pain. There was only scar tissue left. She realized all this with a surge of triumph, and almost felt fond of him.

Jonathan was far more shaken. ‘My God,’ he said again. He cleared his throat. ‘What on earth are you doing in London? I’ve never been able to picture you out of your pastoral setting.’

Rufa wanted to laugh. It was so extraordinary that she did not care. What had she ever seen in those ludicrous, quivering nostrils? ‘Actually, I’ve just been to a fitting, for my wedding dress.’

He winced, as his own scar tissue throbbed. ‘You’re getting married? That’s great. Well done – I mean, congratulations.’

‘Thanks.’

‘When’s the Big Day, in inverted commas?’

‘June, of course,’ Rufa said. ‘We’re doing it all in a tearing hurry, so I can be a traditional June Bride – without the inverted commas.’

He relaxed into a laugh. ‘What’s his name?’

‘You know him,’ Rufa said. ‘It’s Edward Reculver.’

She thought his reaction strange – first, a flicker of alarm at the sound of Edward’s name, then half-amused resignation. ‘Of course. I should have guessed.’

Rufa wanted to know why he should have guessed. Jonathan was the first person who had not been surprised by her engagement.

He was smiling. In a way, he seemed relieved. ‘My darling. You’re as fearfully beautiful as ever. And I made such a mess of it.’

‘I forgave you ages ago,’ Rufa said.

‘You’ve had other things to think about.’ He laid his hand on her arm. ‘I heard about your father – we were staying in Cirencester, and I read about the inquest in the local paper. I’m so sorry.’

‘I had to give evidence,’ Rufa said, ‘in a sort of court.’

‘I wanted to write to you. I thought I’d better not.’

‘That’s all right.’

They stood together in silence, paying their respects to the drama of the past.

His hand still rested on her arm. ‘We’re blocking the pavement. Come and have lunch with me. Then we can treat ourselves to explanations and recriminations, and tie all the ends up neatly.’

Rufa smiled. ‘Like a novel.’

‘I beg your pardon, not like one of mine. I’d sell far better, if I didn’t have this uncommercial itch to reflect real life.’

Jonathan’s novels, she thought, were quite a lot like real life, in that they were repetitive and often somewhat dull. It had taken her ages to realize that he was not a genius. Because she was so curious about her own feelings, she agreed to lunch, and they walked round the corner to L’Escargot. It was still early. The covetable table beside the window was free.

Jonathan murmured, ‘Do you mind if we don’t sit here? Harriet works in Soho Square, and I daren’t risk her walking past.’

Harriet was Jonathan’s wife, hard-working bankroller of his novel-habit, and mother of his two children. Rufa had never met her, but Jonathan’s guilt at betraying her had made her a constant third presence in their relationship. She had walked at his side like a reproachful
phantom
, and every encounter with him had begun with some kind of sacrifice to the angry goddess – tears, perhaps, or a rant against the narrowness of sexual convention. He had lived in terror of Harriet finding out.

They were shown to a discreet and intimate corner table upstairs. Jonathan ordered a bottle of white wine.

‘Do you realize, we’ve never been in a restaurant together?’ He rested his elbows on the table, and folded his hands under his chin. ‘I couldn’t have done it when we were— when I was in love with you. I was afraid you’d perish in the outside world, like the Lady of Shalott.’

‘And you were paranoid about being spotted,’ Rufa said.

‘That as well, obviously.’ He had the grace to look slightly ashamed. ‘I really was in love with you, Rufa. Madly in love.’

‘I know. I read the novel.’ She could not resist gently rubbing it in. ‘It was awfully good.’

‘Oh, God. I mean, thanks.’

‘The end was a bit of a downer, though – why did I have to die?’

‘Sorry about that,’ Jonathan said. ‘It was a touch of what your father would have called “Symbollocks”. Seriously, were you furious?’

‘Of course not. I was flattered.’

He frowned down at the tablecloth. ‘I’m sorry. I know you must think of me as a complete bastard, and you’re right. I’m not cut out for adultery – you were the only one.’

‘Did you ever tell Harriet about me?’

‘Well, yes,’ he said. He looked pained. ‘She would
have
worked it out when she read the book – but I had to do the full confession well before I’d finished it. Harriet couldn’t understand why I’d come back to London, when I was working so well in the country. Then she got it into her head that she wanted to rent Edward’s cottage long term, and move there with the children. So I absolutely had to tell her.’

‘Poor you,’ Rufa said. ‘Was she angry?’

‘She certainly was.’

‘But you made it up, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, in the usual way.’ Jonathan reached into his breast pocket for his wallet, and flipped it open to show a snapshot of smiling children.

He had never shown her his children. Once, not long ago, the picture would have caused her agonies of shame and sorrow. Now, it meant nothing. She said, ‘You’ve had another one.’

‘That’s right. The big ones are Crispin and Clio, and the baby’s Oliver, the olive branch – the price of Harriet’s forgiveness. One of the mysterious and slightly depressing things about marriage is that you can always buy a woman off with another baby.’

‘I think you got off lightly,’ Rufa said. ‘He’s gorgeous.’

‘Thanks, he is rather.’

Their first courses, two buttery moulds of potted shrimps, arrived at the table. Jonathan stowed his wallet away protectively. They had done the foothills. It was now time to scale the main peak.

Rufa fortified herself with a sip of wine. ‘Jonathan, do you mind if I ask you something? I’d really like to know what made you leave so suddenly. It was the Man, wasn’t it? Something he said or did – I know he didn’t like us being together.’

‘Your father?’ Jonathan was taken aback. ‘No, it had nothing to do with him. He extracted a high price for his daughter, in the shape of free drinks at the Hasty Arms. But he wasn’t the one who ran me out of town. That was Edward.’

‘What?’ She frowned. ‘You left because of Edward?’

‘Didn’t you know? He was fine when I first moved in,’ Jonathan said. ‘I explained that I was a writer, and needed to be left alone, and he never bothered me. That all changed when we— when I started seeing you. He started appearing in the cottage doorway, with a shotgun broken over one arm. One fine day, he came to tell me that I was a shit.’

‘That’s serious,’ Rufa said, feeling the blood rushing into her cheeks. ‘Lots of people are Sods and Swine, but he saves “shit” for types like Colonel Gaddafi. Was it because of me?’

Jonathan was watching her oddly. ‘Well, of course. He said I was using you, leading you on, ruining your life. He said I richly deserved to be horsewhipped, and if I didn’t leave his cottage immediately, he’d tell my wife what I was up to.’ He paused, and smiled sheepishly. ‘I had no idea what a horsewhip is, or what damage it can do to the tender hide of a novelist. But I wasn’t going to hang around to find out.’

‘So you left me – just like that – because Edward told you to?’

There was disbelief in her voice, and a dash of scorn. Jonathan said, a little testily, ‘I’m afraid so. Us novelists are a lot of namby-pamby cowards, aren’t we?’

‘Didn’t you think you might be overreacting?’

‘I’d like to say he made me choose between you and Harriet – but he didn’t actually give me much of a
choice
.’ Jonathan laughed to himself, shaking his head. ‘He said I had twenty-four hours to fuck off out of his house, after which time he would personally tell Harriet and break both my legs.’

‘
Edward
said all that?’ This was fantastic. Rufa had no idea how much of it to believe.

‘And plenty more, though he’s not a man of many words. He said he refused to stand by and watch while I broke your heart.’

She stared down at her plate, trying to adjust her internal picture of her great, doomed love. It was dead and buried, but her pride still hurt. ‘I was blissfully happy. How did Edward know you were going to break my heart?’

Jonathan sighed. ‘Do we have to go over all this?’

‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘You promised to tie up all the ends.’

‘All right, all right.’ He laid down his fork, which had a pathetic shrimp impaled upon one prong. ‘Before we got to horsewhips and leg-breaking, Edward asked me about my intentions.’

‘You mean, if they were honourable?’

‘More or less. He asked me if I intended to leave Harriet and the kids, and marry you.’

There was a silence. ‘And you said no.’

‘Rufa, please try to understand – quite apart from the children, I couldn’t bear to turn my back on Harriet. I just couldn’t do it.’

‘So you always meant to leave me,’ Rufa said coldly. ‘It was just a question of when.’

‘Look, I’m sorry. I suffered too.’

‘Why didn’t you put that in your novel, instead of getting rid of the heroine by killing her? It would have
made
your noble, anguished hero far more like an ordinary sort of man.’

Jonathan frowned. Once, she had thought his frown full of strength. Now it seemed more like a pout. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered crossly. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. All right?’

Rufa took another sip of wine. Recriminations were ridiculous, but they had dragged out the past, and it disturbed her that it could not be put back into its old box. ‘I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to start accusing you – it’s all ancient history now. And I suppose I’m relieved, in a way. I didn’t enjoy blaming the Man.’ Her eyes smarted. She willed them not to fill with tears.

Jonathan took a few deep breaths. His voice, when it emerged, was deliberately friendly and bracing. ‘I hope I haven’t made you blame Edward instead. I don’t. It was obvious where he was coming from.’

‘We’re sort of his adopted family,’ Rufa said. ‘He’s always looked after us.’

Jonathan smiled. ‘Yes, and if I’d had my wits about me, I’ve have noticed sooner.’

‘Sorry – noticed what?’

‘Well, that he had the major hots for you.’

Rufa whispered, ‘What? No – you’re quite wrong –’ And as soon as she said it, she knew he was not wrong.

He tipped more wine into her glass. ‘That’s quite good, isn’t it? Major Reculver, with the major hots. Frankly, if I’d realized, I might have thought twice about falling for you myself. He certainly looked as if he knew what to do with that gun.’

She was bewildered. She had persuaded herself that Edward had offered his hand and fortune as a matter of high principle. Now, she suddenly saw why the
Marrying
Game had made him so furious. And she understood the nature of his struggle after their row about it.

Her face was hot. She was shocked to hear about this unfamiliar version of Edward. He did desire her, and that underground desire had escaped in a flash of searing sexual jealousy. Rufa was ashamed to be excited by this. For a moment, she was weakened by a longing to make him lose control again.

Jonathan lit a cigarette – Rufa remembered, with wonderment, the time when she had found his incessant smoking interesting. ‘I’m glad we got all that out,’ he said. His shoulders relaxed, and he smiled at her.

‘So am I. Now we can just enjoy our lunch. You can tell me what you’re working on at the moment.’

They talked of his work, his children, his slightly larger new house in Dulwich. Rufa smiled and prompted, encouraging Jonathan to take over the conversation. She did not want him to guess how much he had revealed, and needed to be alone to think through the implications. She ought to have been angry, because he had made her doubt the Man. But her main emotion was a restless, fearful excitement.

Chapter Seventeen