Ruth Rendell - Adam And Eve And Pinch Me

With these thoughts rotating in his head, he bought himself a cup of coffee in the Strand, drank a half of bitter in a pub in Covent Garden, and arrived at Christopher’s at five to one. Natalie came in at five past. As always, she was severely dressed, this time in a gray pinstriped trouser suit, but with her upswept blond hair-she had that kind of stripy fair hair, gold and flaxen and light brown, that no dye can emulate and that Jeff admired-and discreet silver jewelry, she looked very fetching.

After some small talk and, in Jeff’s case, a lot of lies about his recent past, he grew mildly sentimental about what might have been.

“I don’t know about that,” said Natalie sharply. “You left me.”

“It was what they call constructive desertion.”

“They call it that, do they? And by that they mean, presumably, a certain amount of questioning on my part as to why I always paid the rent and bought the food?”

“I’d explained I was between jobs, you know.”

“No, you weren’t, Jeff. You were between women. Just in a spirit of enquiry, who came after me?”

Minty had. Looking back, Jeff thought he’d never sunk so low. But he’d been impoverished and desperate, living in that dump in Harvist Road. The Queen’s Head barmaid Brenda had told him Minty had her own house and a lot of money, her aunt had left her God knew how much. A quarter of what rumor said, if he knew anything about it, but as he’d put it to himself, any port in a storm. He might as well be more or less honest about it with Natalie.

“A funny little thing, lived up near Kensal Green Cemetery. I called her Polo because of her name.” He hesitated. “I don’t think I’ll tell you what that was. I owe her some money actually, only a thousand. Don’t look like that. I mean to pay her back as soon as I can.”

“You never paid me back.”

“You were different. I knew you could afford it.”

“You’re incredible, you really are. She came after me. Who was before me?”

The chief executive of a charity and a restaurateur, but he could leave them out. He’d told enough of the truth for one day. “My ex-wife.”

“Ah, the tarty Mrs. Melcombe-Smith. You should have cured her of decorating herself like a Christmas tree. I suppose she never had the chance while she was with you. Funny I remembered your children’s names, wasn’t it? I must have been fond of you.”

“I was hoping you still are.”

Natalie smiled as she finished her double espresso. “Up to a point, Jeff. But I’ve got someone, you see, and I’m very happy with him. You didn’t ask, though I asked you. Does that say something about us?”

“Probably that I’m a selfish bastard,” said Jeff cheerfully, though he wished she’d told him before he’d asked her to lunch and was on the way to forking out eighty pounds. One thing about Jeff, as women were to say later, was that he’d no false pride. He didn’t try to put himself on her level by mentioning Fiona.

“Where are you off to now?” she asked when they were out in Wellington Street.

“Movies,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’d feeling like coming too?”

“You don’t suppose right.” She kissed him on the cheek, one cheek. “I’ve work to do.”

He’d told Natalie he was going to the cinema, but this was because it was the first thing that came into his head. It wasn’t what he’d intended. Revisiting Abbey Gardens Mansions was what he’d had in mind. But getting back to Westminster wouldn’t be easy from Kingsway. He’d done enough walking for one day and there was no bus or tube from here that went that way. A taxi with its light on came along and he almost stepped off the pavement and put up his hand. The driver began to pull in. Jeff thought of the money he’d spent on Natalie’s lunch and the credit card that was probably over its limit and shook his head. Thus he sealed his fate.

Or he almost sealed it. The seal was poised and it wavered above the hot fresh wax and he was given one more chance. At Holborn he got into a westbound Central Line tube train. As it approached Bond Street, he thought he might as well get off, change on to the Jubilee Line, and go home. But being at home on his own was something he’d never much cared for. He needed a woman there and some food and drink and entertainment. The train came into Bond Street and stopped, the doors opened, a dozen people got out and much the same number got in. The doors closed. Instead of proceeding, the train waited where it was. As usual there was no explanation for the delay offered over the public address system. The doors opened. Jeff got up, hesitated, sat down again. The doors closed and the train started. At the next station, Marble Arch, he got out.

He went up the steps, turned right, and made his way to the Odeon. One of the films showing was The House on Haunted Hill . He picked it because it started at three thirty-five and the time was now a quarter past three. For some reason, when he’d bought his ticket, he thought of what his mother used to say, that it was a shame to go to the pictures when the sun was shining outside.

IT WOULD HAVE been more interesting, Minty sometimes thought, if the shirt colors and designs had been more varied. If there hadn’t been a preponderance of white ones, for instance, or if more had had button-down collars and pockets on them. She thought the white ones were getting more common; there must be a fashion for absolutely plain white shirts. This Friday morning it had meant ironing three white ones before she did a pink stripe and two more before coming to the blue with a navy stripe and button-down collar. She’d arranged them in order before starting. Just leaving it to chance was fatal. Last time she’d done that she’d ended up with six white ones and it was weary work getting through six shirts that all looked the same. Apart from being, in her estimation, unlucky. That morning, when she’d had the white ones left over, had been the last day she’d seen Jock, and it had to have something to do with the shirts being out of sequence.

His ghost had been in the hall when she’d got home last evening, standing there looking out for her, waiting for the sound of her key in the lock. She’d pulled up her sweatshirt, undone her trousers, and tugged the knife out of the strap that held it against her leg, but he’d slipped past her and run upstairs. Though she was shaking with fear, she’d run after him, chasing him into Auntie’s bedroom. Just as she’d thought she had him cornered he vanished through the wall, the way she’d heard spirits could but had never seen before. Auntie’s voice had said, “You nearly had him there, girl,” and said a lot more while Minty was having her bath, all about Jock being evil and a menace to the world, the cause of flood and famine, and the herald of the Antichrist, but it wasn’t the first time she’d said that and Minty knew it already. She was beginning to get as impatient with Auntie’s talking as she was with Jock’s appearances.

Drying her hair, strapping on the knife again, pulling on clean T-shirt and trousers, she shouted out as the voice persisted, “Go away! I’ve had enough of you. I know what to do!” She went on saying it as she went downstairs and heard the doorbell ring. Sonovia’s younger daughter, Julianna, the one who was at university, was outside.

“Were you talking to me, Minty?”

“I wasn’t talking to anyone,” said Minty. She hadn’t seen Julianna for about a year and only just recognized her, what with a gold stud in one nostril and her hair in about ten thousand braids. It made her shiver. How often could she wash it and how did she get that stud in and out? “Did you want something?”

“I’m sorry, Minty. I know you and Mum aren’t speaking, but now Mum wants her blue outfit back, she’s lost a lot of weight to get into it, and she’s going to wear it to a christening on Sunday.”