Питер Ловси - On the Edge

‘Get out of my house, both of you.’

‘ Your house now, is it? That tripped off the tongue very easily. How do you know it’s yours? Have you seen the will?’

‘There isn’t a will.’

‘No will? I find that hard to believe.’

‘Frankly, Daphne, I don’t care what you believe.’

‘I suppose you think you’ll inherit everything. Well, you’ve made a serious mistake. As his only blood relative, I shall instruct my solicitor to begin proceedings. I’m entitled to my share and I intend to claim it.’

‘Your share of what — his debts?’

Daphne gave a cry like a seagull. ‘My brother wasn’t in debt.’

‘He was overdrawn several hundred pounds. If I were you I should think twice before you go to the expense of a solicitor.’

Ronald peeled off Barry’s jacket, held it at arm’s length as if it were flearidden and let it drop in a heap on the bed. He picked up his own and took Daphne by the arm. ‘Better leave it for the present, old girl.’

Daphne ignored the advice. ‘Barry couldn’t possibly be in debt. He was an ex-officer, for God’s sake. A civil servant. None of this rings true, Ronald. She’s lying. He must have left a will. All those pilots who risked their lives in the war left wills. I believe she’s destroyed it, that’s what she’s done.’

‘Steady, Daph.’

‘I’m going to get to the bottom of this.’

Rose was unmoved. ‘At this minute, Daphne, you’re going to get to the bottom of the stairs and straight out of my house.’

‘With the utmost pleasure. I don’t wish to remain in it a minute longer.’

Watching from the front room window as they retreated up Oldfield Gardens to catch a bus, Rose doubted if she would hear from either of them again. She returned to the kitchen and took out the sherry. On second thoughts, she put it back. She’d already given herself the boost she needed.

Sleep was slow in coming. Fragments of conversation flitted in and out of her brain. At about two in the morning she got up and made some tea. She carried it into the front room and got out the writing pad. She was in no way depressed. She felt strong. She’d been firm with her parents. And in giving Daphne and Ronald their marching orders she’d discovered something new in her personality. Now she was ready to take up the pen.

27 Oldfield Gardens,

Pimlico,

London SW1.

Dear Miss Paxton,

Although we haven’t met, Barry told me about you and your child. I am his lawful wife — or was. I am sorry to inform you that Barry was killed in an accident in the underground on Thursday, 16th October. The funeral took place yesterday at Brompton Cemetery. I understand what a shock this must be for you.

Barry made no will. Even if he had, the state of his bank account would have rendered it meaningless, for he was overdrawn seven hundred pounds.

Believe me when I say I am in no position to assist you or the boy. I can only repeat in sincerity that I am sorry.

Yours truly,

It didn’t take long to write. When she had finished, she soon fell asleep on the settee.

Shortly before 7.30 on Tuesday morning a taxi entered Hyde Park by the Cumberland Gate, drove around the Ring and halted just across the bridge over the Serpentine. Antonia, who was the passenger, sensibly remained inside wrapped in her mink, for there was a thick frost. Her breath was making ice on the window. She rubbed at it.

‘A little closer, driver.’

‘You wouldn’t be thinking of joining them, miss?’

‘No fear.’

The all-weather bathers were taking their dip. A dozen at least, including women, were in the water paddling joylessly about.

The driver stopped at the point closest to the water. ‘Like ruddy lobsters, except that this lot go in red and come out blue.’

Some minutes passed. It seemed to be a case of first out’s a cissy. Then two of the women waded to the bank and started the exodus.

Antonia sighed. ‘They get no credit for this unless they break the ice to go in. Then they get their picture in the papers.’

‘I can think of easier ways, miss.’

One of the last to emerge was Vic, wearing trunks and chatting to two middle-aged men in old-fashioned costumes with shoulder straps. Although Antonia inclined to the view that people who did this must be coldblooded or mad, or both, she wasn’t totally disapproving. Vic’s body was good to look at even in these conditions. There was a suggestion of power as he moved, and his damp body-hair darkened the flesh and picked out the muscles as he flexed them.

She wound down the window and called his name.

He stopped and stared. Then he recognized her and gestured that he needed to dry himself. She nodded. He went into the brick bathing house to change.

The driver had watched all this with interest. ‘Boyfriend, miss?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Funny time to meet.’

‘I spent most of yesterday trying to find him.’ She took out her cigarettes and offered him one. ‘He’d better not be long.’

‘Doing up his buttons won’t be easy with frozen fingers.’

‘Don’t worry. He’ll get a roasting from me.’

She stared across the steely sheet of water until Vic emerged from the bathing house in his overcoat and came over to the taxi and climbed in.

‘Well, this is an unexpected pleasure. What are you doing here?’ He leaned across to kiss her cheek.

She withdrew her face out of range. ‘Making one final attempt to track you down.’

‘You were looking for me?’

‘For the last twenty-four hours.’

‘Sorry. I was sent to Birmingham. A conference. I got back at eleven last night.’

‘You could have picked up a phone’.

The voice from the front interjected, ‘Where to, please?’

She clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘I suppose you’re ravenous for breakfast now.’

The driver switched on his engine. ‘There’s a place at the top of North End Road. It ain’t the Savoy, but you’ll never taste a better bacon and egg.’

Later, after they’d put this recommendation to the test, Antonia conceded that the driver hadn’t been far wrong. Her pleasure in the meal was much assisted by a full apology from Vic.

She forgave him, and more. ‘I’m coming to stay with you some time in the next week or so.’

‘To stay?’

‘Yes, won’t it be divine? Our first whole night together. Then our second and our third and—’

‘What’s Hector going to say about this?’

‘I haven’t spoken to him yet. He won’t be any trouble.’

Vic glanced around the small café. Some traders from the market in wide-boy overcoats with heavily padded shoulders were in for breakfast. No one seemed to be listening.

‘Antonia, I’d like to know more about this. Are you up to something?’

‘Of course I’m up to something. I want to marry you and go to America.’

‘Yes, but I don’t want some bastard with a flash-camera bursting into my flat and taking pictures of you and me in bed.’

She laughed. ‘How did you get that dopey idea?’

‘That’s the way people arrange it these days.’

‘Arrange what?’

‘Divorce.’

‘Sweetie, how many times do I have to tell you divorce is out of the question? Forget about men with cameras.’

He sighed. ‘I don’t understand it.’

She lodged her foot against his. ‘Don’t try. Simply enjoy it while you’ve got the chance.’

Mr Smart, the insurance agent, was on the doorstep again, in the act of raising his trilby as Rose opened the door. His nose and ears were pillarbox red.

‘Good day, Mrs Bell. Bright but cold. Ice about.’

‘You’d better come in.’

He placed his hat and bicycle pump on the hallstand and removed his clips. ‘How are you settling down?’