Питер Ловси - On the Edge

‘Darling, after what happened last time, you’ve got some pluck.’

‘I was so angry I didn’t think. He let me alone after that.’

Rose glared at a fat woman on an adjacent table who had stopped eating her blackberry flan the better to overhear what was said. They were in the marbled setting of the Strand Corner House. Any afternoon between the hours of three and four many a lapse of conduct was discussed over the silver-plated teapots. A string quartet was playing ‘My dreams are getting better all the time’. Antonia was in yet another new outfit that looked as if it came from Harrods, a white pillbox hat and an emerald green two-piece with white polka dots.

‘I wonder what he hoped to achieve.’

From the long look Antonia gave as she spoke it was clear that she suspected Barry of plotting something. Rose knew better. ‘He’s like that. He thinks all his faults are forgiven in bed. Sometimes they have been, I don’t mind admitting. Well, forgotten, if not forgiven. I can’t live like a nun. It’s against nature. Good, she’s leaving.’

The fat woman ostentatiously pushed aside her teacup and marched out.

Rose hardly paused. She was coming out with things that she wouldn’t have discussed with a living soul until a few days ago. She heard herself analysing Barry’s behaviour with such steely detachment that it might have been Antonia speaking. ‘I suppose he could have been trying to sweeten me in case I raised Cain about the insurance, but I doubt it. Barry isn’t a schemer. He lives for the moment, and that’s what landed us in our present mess.’

Antonia, evidently sensing where this was leading, attempted to head Rose off with some homespun philosophy. ‘Men like him won the war for us, but they can’t cope in peacetime.’

‘So?’

‘Have some more tea.’

‘Damn the tea.’

She felt entitled to some straight talking. It was obvious Antonia knew what was in her mind and was shying away from it with her platitudes about the war and her fussing with the teapot.

‘What I’m telling you is that I’d be better off if Barry was dead.’

‘Well, yes.’ Antonia smiled and seemed to want to make light of it. ‘Five thousand pounds better off.’

‘Not if he signs that surrender form on Thursday.’

The point still appeared to elude Antonia. ‘So you’ve got four days to change his mind.’

‘Unless.’

‘Unless what, darling?’

‘Unless something happens to him.’

There was an interval when nothing was said. A syrupy Viennese waltz filled the silence. Antonia pushed some hair back from her forehead and looked far across the restaurant.

‘Well, Rose, my dear, you’d better say exactly what’s in your mind.’

‘I want him to have an accident, like you said the other day.’

There was a glint of amusement in the green eyes. ‘Did I?’

‘Don’t tease. You know you did. Outside the Ritz.’ ‘And you believed me, darling?’

‘For Christ’s sake, Antonia, if you weren’t serious, you’d better tell me, because I am.’

‘An accident? Well, it’s not impossible. I’d have to think about it.’ She traced her fingertip around the rim of her cup. ‘I suppose Barry had to give up the flying when he was demobbed?’

‘He hasn’t seen an airfield since the war.’

‘Does he drive?’

Rose shook her head. ‘We can’t afford a car on his income.’

‘This is difficult. Is he a swimmer?’

‘I’m afraid not. That is to say, I believe he can swim, but he doesn’t ever go near water. He’s not the athletic type.’

‘Is he the handyman type? Could he be persuaded to replace those missing tiles on your roof?’

Desperate as she felt, Rose couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘Good idea, but definitely not. He absolutely refuses.’

‘We’re not getting very far, are we? Suppose we go about this another way. You tell me everything he does from the moment he gets up in the morning.’

‘In detail?’

‘The more the better.’

‘I’ll try.’ Rose closed her eyes and concentrated. ‘Wakes up at 6.30 when the alarm goes. Groans. Heaves himself out and reaches for his slippers. Shuffles into the bathroom and uses the toilet. You asked for everything.’

‘I meant it. Don’t stop now.’

‘Goes to the washbasin and runs the hot tap. Swears when it comes out almost cold. Swishes some over his face. Makes a lather for a shave.’

‘What sort of razor?’

‘Safety, I’m afraid. Brushes his teeth.’

‘Toothpowder?’

‘Paste. Returns to the bedroom and dresses. Woollen underwear. Blue pinstripe. White shirt and collar. Any one of three striped ties. Meanwhile, I’ve slipped downstairs in my dressing-gown and cooked some porridge and made toast. He comes down and opens the Ideal boiler and empties the ashcan. This is frightfully boring.’

‘I’m hanging on every word.’

So Rose picked her way patiently through the daily routine until she had got Barry into bed again and switched out the light. ‘Well?’

‘His journey home. Go through it again.’

‘But I’ve told you it’s as safe as houses. The Stationery Office depot is just behind Harvey Nichols, so he walks around the corner to Knightsbridge tube station and gets a Piccadilly Line train to South Ken. He changes to the District Line and comes back to Victoria and walks it from there, straight down St George’s Drive. He’s home by a quarter past six, except for Fridays. He switches on the wireless and hears the last part of the news.’

‘What time does he leave work?’ ‘Half past five.’

‘Carrying his briefcase and umbrella?’

Rose gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward. ‘Have you thought of something?’

Some seconds passed before Antonia spoke. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, my flower. Did you mean every word you said about Barry? You really want him to have an accident?’

On Wednesday afternoons the Imperial College timetable was marked ‘Sport’. Some of the staff unselfishly turned out to referee football matches or cycle along the towpath shouting through megaphones. Vic went to bed with Antonia.

If it counted as sport it was of championship quality, brilliantly performed. He managed to be tender and passionate just as desired, alert to every signal she gave. She cried out repeatedly and gritted her teeth and promised herself she would never be parted from him. It was impossible to imagine it with anyone else.

The climax left every sport for dead. It should have been set to music and played at the last night of the Proms. Then they lay still.

Presently he pressed his hands into the pillow and eased himself upwards to get a better sight of her. ‘These are pretty terrific, too.’

‘I’ll settle for pretty.’

‘Just pretty, then.’ He continued to look.

‘Cover me up for the love of Mike. There’s a wicked draught coming in.’

He removed his weight and Antonia gripped the bedclothes and pulled them up to her neck. Vic found enough space to lie on his side, resting his hand on the flat of her stomach. She let it remain there.

‘I didn’t know you were cold.’

‘I was coming out in goosepimples.’

‘Is that what they were?’

‘Ha bloody ha.’

‘Want a fag?’

‘All right.’

They lit up. She waited a while before asking what she was dying to know.

‘Have you heard any more from America?’

‘No.’

‘Is it still on?’

‘I’m afraid so. Can’t we talk about something else?’

‘If you wish. What would you say to getting married next spring?’

He twisted around to face her and almost fell out of bed in the process. He grabbed her arm. ‘What?’