Питер Ловси - On the Edge

‘Liar. You don’t have to stand on ceremony with us. Hec, do something useful and hand round the biscuits. I bet he hasn’t said a word about your unhappy experience. You’re all dressed up in black and he hasn’t even asked why. You’d have to arrive in a hearse for him to take any interest and then he’d have the bonnet up to look at the carburettor. Hector, my friend Rose lost her husband last week, and when I say lost I mean he fell off the platform in the tube.’

‘The tube. Oh, Jesus. Six hundred and thirty volts.’

‘See the way his mind works?’

‘It doesn’t offend me.’

Rose smiled at Hector. To be fair, he’d looked distinctly concerned when he spoke of all those volts. If there was offence to be taken, it was at being invited to discuss his shortcomings in front of him as if he were deaf or stupid. He may have been socially out of step, but he had energy and honesty. She liked the disarming way he’d told his story, without the pretended modesty that most Englishmen seemed to feel was necessary when speaking about their achievements. He’d earned his fortune through hard work and enterprise and wasn’t ashamed to say so.

Now for some curious reason he was looking at Rose with awe.

He refused to be intimidated by Antonia. He found a way of excluding her just as blatantly as she’d talked over him. ‘I feel close to you, Rosie. You and I, we both had the same experience.’

Antonia thrust a cup of coffee towards Rose. ‘He means his wife had an accident, too. Careful how you drink this stuff. It’s out of a bottle. I won’t blame you if you spit it out.’

She took a sip. ‘It’s not at all bad.’

Hector held out the biscuits. ‘These help to disguise the taste. She drowned, my Maudie.’

‘How dreadful.’ In common decency she felt obliged to react as if she hadn’t heard the information before. She just hoped Antonia wouldn’t take her up on it.

‘It was in a swimming pool. In the war I had this country house in Hampshire for weekends. Nice grounds. Nice pool. Long way from Portsmouth and Southampton. Pretty safe from bombing. Our friends came sometimes. Maudie liked to give parties.’ He glanced across at Antonia, which was a mistake because she slickly took over the story.

‘She’d had a skinful, and that’s no exaggeration, darling. She’d been on rum and peppermint, of all things. She couldn’t have swum a stroke if she’d tried.’

‘Did anyone see what happened?’

‘Most of us were on the terrace dancing to the gramophone. One of the staff spotted her lying on the bottom soon after midnight. Six feet down.’

‘Six feet six.’

‘There speaks the engineer again. Hector, dear, you shouldn’t say things like that. It gives an appalling impression, as if you didn’t care. Of course we both know that couldn’t be further from the truth. It wasn’t his fault she was so depressed.’

Hector gave a nod. ‘Time to change the subject, eh? Rosie, do you like to cook?’

‘Well, when I could get eggs and things, yes.’

‘We can get plenty. Butter. Sugar.’

Antonia sighed. ‘There you go again.’

‘What’s wrong now?’

‘Rosie’s going to think we’re on the black market, that’s what’s wrong. The fact is, Rose, that I’m the world’s worst cook, so we generally go to restaurants. I never get through my ration books.’

Hector grinned. ‘Biggest fridge in London. Bugger all in it.’

He got a glare from Antonia.

Rose laughed. Why take offence? She and Antonia had heard plenty worse in the old days. She was suddenly aware how much those few minutes with Hector had relaxed her. She’d been terribly strung-up before.

She smiled happily. ‘I don’t blame you. I’d bloody well eat out as well if I could afford it.’

‘Why don’t you come out with us, then?’ Antonia suggested.

‘Oh, I didn’t mean that.’

‘Don’t be so coy. We’d like your company, wouldn’t we, Hec?’

‘But of course! Tomorrow?’ His sharp eyes shone at the prospect.

She was ambushed by their solidarity. ‘I couldn’t possibly before the funeral. Perhaps later in the week?’

‘Saturday.’

Soon after this was agreed, Hector had to answer the phone. Antonia got up.

‘You look all in, darling. I’ll drive you back to Pimlico.’

In the Bentley, Rose tried to launch a bland, undemanding conversation.

‘I love your house.’

‘Who wouldn’t?’ Antonia didn’t pause. She came straight out with it. ‘What do you think of my husband?’

The tension clamped Rose again like pincers. What was she expected to say? ‘I didn’t realize you’d married a foreigner. He’s so different from most Englishmen.’

‘God, I hope so!’

‘He made me welcome.’

‘He would, so long as you listen to his tedious life story and coo at intervals. I’m sick of it. It drives me up the wall. That and his vacuum cleaners.’

‘Do you think he knows?’

‘Of course he does. He’s so full of himself that he doesn’t give a shit.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sweetie, I’m not fishing for sympathy. I didn’t waste any on you, did I?’

Rose looked away, not wanting to go into what Antonia had done in lieu of sympathy. ‘Doesn’t it get dark early now? It’s not even five o’clock.’

‘I want an end to it.’

‘A divorce?’

‘No chance of that. It’s against his religion. He’s a Catholic. Doesn’t go to church or eat fish on Fridays, but when it comes to divorce, he’s unshakeable. It’s against God’s law. That’s how he was brought up.’

‘Have you asked him? If it doesn’t mean so much to him now, perhaps he’d see his way to giving you a divorce.’

‘What use is that to me? I’d lose everything and have to pay the costs.’

‘Why?’

‘I’d be the guilty party, wouldn’t I?’

‘You mean...?’

‘You know what I mean. Let’s face it, Rose. I’ve got a lover. To put it in legal claptrap I’ve committed adultery on a number of occasions. No prizes for guessing the name of the fascinating man.’

‘Does Hector know?’

‘He turns a blind eye. The only way it would come to his attention is if he found us at it in his precious fridge, or doing something naughty with the vacuum cleaner.’

‘There may be other grounds. Has he ever been cruel to you?’

‘Hector?’ She found this amusing.

Now Rose had started, she felt obliged to continue. ‘Is there any chance that he’s been with someone else? There must be plenty of designing women who’d fancy a man with his money.’ She wished immediately that she’d kept her mouth shut.

‘Like I did, you mean?’ Antonia let the question hang in the air just long enough to give Rose a wrench of embarrassment, then dismissed it. ‘No, darling, no vultures circling overhead. I’d know.’

Mercifully the conversation stopped for the traffic at Piccadilly Circus. When they’d crossed to the Haymarket, Rose changed to a different tack.

‘I’d be glad if you’d put me down in Victoria Street. I’d like to get these documents to the undertaker.’

‘Whatever you want, my dear.’

‘Thanks.’

Antonia added, ‘By the way, I shan’t be coming to Barry’s funeral.’

‘That’s all right. I didn’t expect you.’

‘It doesn’t mean I’ve lost interest.’

‘I know.’

‘And no disrespect meant to Barry.’ She slowed for a traffic light. ‘It’s a burial, I take it?’

‘Yes. Just a few people.’

‘Brompton Cemetery?’

‘Yes.’

‘Poor old Barry. Grounded at last.’ The light changed to green. ‘I’m going to have Hector cremated.’

On the night before the funeral Rose was surprised to get a phone call from Rex Ballard, one of the Kettlesham Heath pilots, a Squadron Leader who it turned out was still serving there. He had heard about Barry’s death from his sister who worked in the coroner’s office. He remembered Rose, of course. He said he would be driving up from Suffolk in the morning with three old chums from Battle of Britain days. Rose tried explaining that it was to be a quiet family funeral. Rex was not to be put off. In that case, he said, there would be room at the graveside for a few old friends who wanted to pay their respects, wouldn’t there?