A Quiet Life(137)

‘You’ve been in the water already?’ It was Archie, his eyes tired behind his sunglasses.

‘Yes, but not really swimming – just with Rosa.’

‘She’s such a sweet child.’ Archie seemed to speak with conviction. ‘She reminds me of Barbara at that age. I hardly see her now, you know – I think Monica has poisoned her against me.’

‘That’s awful, I had no idea – I’m so sorry.’

‘Swim again?’

‘How do you have the energy? You haven’t been to bed,’ Laura said. ‘Don’t feel you have to amuse me.’

‘It’s all right – Gianni had cocaine with him. Have you tried it? You can go on all night. Goodness, I felt bright. I’ll probably crash soon.’

Laura sensed again how out of step she was with the others on this holiday. Keeping up good behaviour was a constant necessity for herself and her daughter. The others had the luxury of putting all that aside for the vacation, while she was never able to relax. She and Archie swam together, but soon they heard the dark rumble of thunder, and as they came out of the sea the first drops of the gathering thunderstorm fell on them, and they ran back to the house. The villa was not made for rain; it seemed damp, dark and inhospitable in the living room as the storm rattled the shutters. The others were all asleep now, and when they got up around lunchtime they all sat in the living room, drinking coffee and taking aspirins, looking haggard. Peter and Winifred were clearly not talking to one another, and Laura was vividly aware of the energy that now existed between Winifred and Amy. She herself was locked out, she knew, she with her careful feminine ways and her tedious adherence to convention.

Winifred suggested they played cards, and they all sat in a ring. Amy was in her nervous mood again, and as she sat there one leg kept jiggling on top of the other and one eyelid seemed to be twitching. It was as though she was two people, Laura thought, but she was unable to keep the one hidden inside the other, so instead they existed side by side. At least the others were trying to keep the holiday mood going, laughing and gossiping as they slapped down the cards. When the rain eased off, Winifred insisted, they would drive over to Ravenna to see the mosaics.

‘Winifred, you’re so energetic. We could just laze on the beach.’

‘We’ve been lazing already, Archie. Don’t you miss work, all this lazing?’

‘Not at all. This is what life is about, isn’t it, trying to get a few good hours, a few good days?’ he said. ‘Monica used to say I was too frivolous for words. She liked Edward,’ he said, turning to Laura, ‘because he was so ambitious. Why don’t you work as hard as Edward? she used to say … I’m sorry …’ It was the wrong thing to say, but it was Peter who steered the conversation into easier waters, saying something about the good life and leisure, and how it was only in modern times that people associated work with the good life.

Laura saw how his statement irritated Winifred, who interrupted him, arguing that without proper jobs they were just drifters, exploiting the work done by others. Laura wanted to tell Winifred that even with her job she was still reliant on the work of others; it wasn’t as though she produced anything – but of course she said nothing. She didn’t have a leg to stand on. They were all, in that room, exploiting others, relying on the wealth of their class, of the group, eating, drinking, taking drugs, playing cards, while others cleaned up after them and cooked for them and made and washed and ironed the crisp cotton clothes for their ageing, sweating bodies. It all seemed so ugly to her.

But she must not forget the game they were playing. Laura played her lowest diamond to follow Archie’s king, and looked over to Peter as he sat contemplating his cards, with his deadpan face, and suddenly asked, out of the blue, ‘I can’t remember if you met Edward, Peter – did you?’

His expression did not change, as he threw down his six and said, ‘A few times, at the club.’ Winifred put down a queen, with a heavy sigh. Peter looked up from his cards and caught Laura’s gaze. Caught it, held it and looked down again. That rhythm was too slow. Like the wrong chord on a piano, held too long. Did it mean something? For a moment Laura wanted to believe it did. Could Valance be right? As she let that possibility grow in her, she thought that, if so, if Peter really was part of the network, then maybe she had finally found a route to Edward. Maybe she could discover something from him – how to pass a letter, how to find out what was going on, what was being planned. She felt an answering note of expectation sound inside her.

But as soon as she heard it, it died. This was too unlikely; she could not be such a fool. Would she trust a suggestion – almost an introduction – from MI5? More likely it was a trap. It would be absurd for her to trust anyone ever again. The looming shadows – the Rosenbergs, the executions, their orphaned children – they were the darkness of the summer still.

The next trick started with hearts, and Laura tried to follow the game, but was aware that she had lost track of the conversations around her. She had moved back into the world where nobody was what they seemed. Her whole body seemed to rebel against the thought of being trapped in that net again. She felt a pain in her stomach and her hands slipped with sweat.

‘Is it time for a cocktail, do you think?’ she asked, as the cards were slapped down.

‘Good idea – I’ll go and get the things,’ said Archie. As he mixed martinis, Amy and Gianni left the room again.