A Quiet Life(94)

At first the words meant little, and then they fell with force. Laura remembered the house’s austere beauty, the chilly setting for the early days of their love, the meadow where he had kissed her as though she were his dream and saviour. She thought of the rose garden, dug up for cabbages, and the avenue bordered by lime trees that led down to the village and the church. And the little boy who both loved and hated it; she felt him in the room, the man he became, tormented by his feelings for his privileged childhood. ‘To me, it’s the most beautiful place in the world,’ he had said at lunch one day. ‘But you can’t rely on this kind of beauty,’ he had said another time.

Why had he said nothing? Laura thought of how he had been that morning. His face had been set – one might have called it cold – but it had been no different to his face every morning recently. She moved to the telephone and was about to ring him at work, but just as she started dialling the number she thought of how strange her commiserations would sound on the telephone, and how she would have to say she had read a letter from his mother that was not addressed to her.

Instead, she slipped on her uncomfortable high-heeled pumps and went downstairs. Kathy was staying late to help with the meal, and in front of her Laura found herself putting on a show of confidence and chattering high spirits, insisting on whipping the cream and mixing the salad dressing. At half past seven Edward still hadn’t come home, and at a quarter to eight the doorbell went. Laura pulled off her apron, ran up the kitchen steps and opened the door to find Archie and Monica on the doorstep. ‘How funny!’ she said. Her voice was as bright as she could make it. ‘You’re the first! Even before the man of the house.’

‘Not really?’ Monica came in, laughing.

‘But I saw Edward leave his office an hour ago,’ Archie said, shaking his head.

‘He probably went to meet Nick,’ said Laura. ‘Have you met him?’

‘Well, I’ve heard about him – friend of mine worked with him at the Beeb before the war. Bit of a player, isn’t he?’

‘What on earth do you mean?’ Monica asked, but Laura started talking over them.

‘I shall have to do the drinks in the absence of Edward – so what would you like?’

To her embarrassment, Laura realised that she didn’t have ice put out in the living room, and she had to go down and get Kathy to bring some up. The doorbell rang again, but it was Joe and Suzanne. Again, Laura tried to laugh when she told them that Edward and the guest of honour hadn’t arrived yet. She noticed that Suzanne, like Monica, had dressed carefully; both of them were in black evening dresses, and Monica was wearing the big pearl earrings she only wore occasionally. That made her anxiety increase, as she imagined them getting ready, full of expectation, zipping up their best dresses and lipsticking their mouths, setting out with high hopes of a good evening. Thank God that Monica and Joe were so talkative, since they seemed happy to start swapping anecdotes and laughing at one another immediately. But as time wore on, even they seemed strained, without their host. ‘They must have completely lost track of the time – or maybe there was some emergency,’ Laura said after nine. ‘But, you know, the dinner will be ruined unless we eat now. Shall we go and sit down?’

The dinner was pretty much ruined, after having been in a low oven for an hour. Laura could hardly meet Kathy’s eyes as she served it. They ate the dry fish and the soft, sodden vegetables, and Laura asked Joe to pour the wine, which he did with a generous hand. As they munched their way through the under-sweetened dessert, a silence fell and finally Laura heard Edward’s step heavy in the hall. There he was in the doorway with Nick, but any relief Laura felt on seeing him was cancelled out by the state he was in. If he wasn’t actually swaying on his feet, he was only remaining upright by great effort of will, and he quickly slumped into one of the free seats.

‘Nick – everyone – this is Nick – this is everyone …’ he muttered and picked up an empty glass.

‘So glad to meet you all,’ said Nick, smiling, shrugging off his coat.

Laura stood up. ‘Let me take that, Nick. This is Joe – and Suzanne …’ She introduced everybody, took Nick’s coat out of the room and then came back to pile some cold food onto each of their plates.

‘We’ve really finished eating,’ she said. ‘But don’t let us stop you. How was your trip over, Nick?’

He was just as she remembered him: his clothes slightly wrinkled and even dirty, as though he had slept in them, but still with the invulnerable manner of the group, still entirely confident despite the discomfort of everyone else in the room.

‘Well, you know, the usual kind of boat experience; our dear Miss Austen had it so well – enough of rears and vices – isn’t it wonderful to think how the mind of the virgin of Hampshire would run on sodomy, and now I’ve come here to make amends. But we got sidetracked, you know – in a most amusing bar not far from here, where I think, I’m not sure but I think, we were the only white faces in the room.’

Laura felt all the listeners grappling with what he was saying. No one would really be shocked, she thought, but no one would be comfortable with Nick’s obvious desire to shock them – and nobody would know how to respond. Only Edward seemed oblivious to everything that Nick was saying, and was ignoring the food in favour of his glass of wine.