Riley, p.34
Riley, page 34
‘Oh, Peter!’
He tossed his head, saying, ‘Oh, I know everything’s wrong upstairs, but it was the way you said it.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But go on, eat something; I’ll go and make some coffee.’
But it was a full minute before he started on his meal. There was something wrong. Talk to me. What did she mean? Had she…? Oh, don’t be such a damn fool, man. Who could know about that? Only the pair of them. You’re letting your conscience get the better of you. In any case, just think: it’s happening every day with other blokes, and they don’t want to go and jump off a bridge because of it. Pull yourself together, man …
Nyrene had said to Mrs Atkins, ‘Will you slip up, Mary, and tell Charles that I’ll be up in a minute or so?’ and Mrs A had replied, ‘You stay where you are for a time, ma’am; he’ll be all right with Hamish.’
They had been sitting on the couch drinking their coffee for less than ten minutes. It wasn’t half an hour since she had come downstairs, and so his voice now held a note of irritation as he spoke his thoughts aloud, saying, ‘You’ve hardly been downstairs more than a few minutes. Is it always like this?’
She did not look at him as she answered, ‘More or less, Peter. You see, we nearly lost him. He was near death’s door, and since he’s come round he doesn’t seem to be able to bear me being out of his sight. It’s strange, but as Hamish put it, if the child doesn’t see me he has the idea he might slip back into wherever he was going. You know how Hamish puts things, but there’s something in that.’
He had hold of her hands now, shaking them as he said, ‘But, my dear, you can’t go on like this. He’s not a baby, he’s seven years old, and you know they take advantage. In fact, looking back, he’s always taken advantage of you. Oh yes, he has.’ His head was nodding, and when she just stared at him, he put in quickly, ‘I know I’m not here all the time, but he hasn’t only you; he has marvellous friends in Hamish and Mrs A. I say friends, but he must consider them as part of his family.’
‘Yes, yes, he does.’ The reply was flat-sounding; and he let go of her hands in order to lie back on the couch, and there was silence between them for some minutes before he said, ‘What are you trying to tell me, Nyrene?’
She turned to him hastily now, saying, ‘That…that I can’t be with you as much as I want to. Don’t you understand? And…and that it’s got to be left to you now to try to get home more often. That’s if you want to.’
He brought his body forward, put his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands as he muttered, ‘What’s happened to us, Nyrene? Are you accusing me of staying away when I could be with you?’
‘No. No’—again her voice was flat—‘but I do think you could get Tom to stand in for you now and again on a Saturday night, so you could get away and have the Sunday and Monday here.’
He lifted his head but did not lie back on the couch. She had it all worked out.
He didn’t mind Tom standing in for him now and again during the week, but he liked the Saturday night audience. There was always a very warm feeling on a Saturday night. She should be aware of this. And anyway, he was tired. He, too, was tired.
When her arms came around him and she pulled him into her embrace, saying softly, ‘I’m sorry, Peter. Oh, I’m sorry. But I miss you so,’ she was immediately recognisable to him, not as the mother of his son but as the woman who had taught him to love and be loved. Yet, with this thought, there flashed across his mind another session of love he had experienced, and when he shuddered within her hold she raised herself from him, saying, ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing, dear, nothing. I just felt—’ How could he truthfully say how he felt? So he said, ‘You don’t miss me any more than I miss you, my love. And yes, don’t worry, I’ll try to arrange something.’ He smiled now as he said, ‘If Mahomet won’t come to the mountain, the mountain must go to Mahomet.’
As they laughed she sprang up from the couch and pulled him to his feet, saying, even merrily now, ‘Let’s go up and talk to him, and we’ll tell him Easter isn’t very far off when you’ll be home for two full weeks.’
As they were going up the stairs, he said, ‘By the way, how’s the drama school progressing? You haven’t mentioned it.’
‘Oh, there hangs a tale, a long tale. You must read the letters. And I’ve had a visit from two men, one of them from Aberdeen. Oh my, you wouldn’t believe it! The talent that this country is missing. He has never been on the stage although he has always hankered after it: he wishes to change seats in midstream; and he wanted just a few hints. From what I could gather from his ego, the film directors will be flying in from all corners of the earth.’
‘No!’
They were laughing now as they crossed the landing, and she said, ‘Oh, yes, yes. But the business is growing. I already have a regular pianist. He’s marvellous. He came out of forced retirement. And my assistant is a tap dancer.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’
At the nursery door, she stopped and leaning towards him, said, ‘How would you like to come and work for me, Mr Riley? I really need a managing director,’ and he, taking her cue, said, ‘Any time. I always wanted to be a comedian.’ They fell against each other, laughing silently.
She was to recall this moment and what it portended.
Seventeen
He had managed only one long weekend in three. There had been an invitation from Lord Very to Sunday lunch through Miss Connie; and it was more like royal command, which David had pointed out to him. Last weekend had, perforce, been spent in bed with a severe cold. It was still hanging about him.
On the phone, Nyrene had been very understanding, assuring him not to worry about her end. But not so Fred who had gone so far as to chastise him for not making more of an effort to carry out his duties. This had not been put in so many words; nevertheless, the implication had been there. He had almost retaliated with, Why don’t you mind your own business? This is a family matter. But then, weren’t Fred and Louise part of his family, even more so than his father and Betty? For it had been Fred alone who had guided his life.
He threw down the last of the Sunday papers; he was sick of reading. He had not seen a live face today; and he had spoken only to Fred and Nyrene on the phone.
The thought came to him to wrap up well and go over to Fred’s. But that would mean getting the car out, and he just couldn’t be bothered.
It was eight o’clock when he soaked himself in a bath for half an hour, after which he poured himself a good measure of whisky and took it to bed, where he lay listening to Alan Keith and his Hundred Best Tunes. There were always good records on this programme, and this man had a wonderful voice. His diction was perfect. He must have been an actor once, or perhaps he had been a lecturer.
He did not know at what time he turned off the radio, but he must have been asleep by eleven o’clock …
When did he first feel the presence in the room? He wasn’t a light sleeper but, turning from his back onto his side, he slowly put his hand out to switch on the bedside light. The sight that met his eyes brought him almost springing out of the bed; but in any case he was sitting up and as stiff as a ramrod as he stared at what, for the moment, he hoped was an apparition, because there she was. And what was she doing? She was removing her clothes as a snake might its skin. And indeed she could have been a snake, because her voice came as a hiss, saying, ‘Don’t look so scared, darling; I’m very much in the flesh.’
‘God. God.’ He brought out the words on a gasp, and she said, ‘Now there you go again, giving me a bunk-up: I am not God; just Yvette, dear.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Well, open your eyes wider, darling, and then you will see. I’m getting out of my clothes; in fact I’m out of them.’
As he gazed up at her he experienced a feeling as might a virgin about to be raped: fear was predominant, mostly of himself, because he suddenly pulled the bedclothes under his chin, a reaction which brought a giggle from her.
He said, ‘Don’t! Go away. You’re mad.’
‘I will get mad, darling, if I stand here much longer. It’s cold outside.’ And she giggled again.
He screwed up his eyes tight and his voice was deep as he said, ‘Oh! Yvette, please go away. I beg you, please!’
Her voice cool and steady now, she said, ‘I won’t go away because I know something about you that you know too. And it is that you want me. And so,’ she added in a lighter vein now, ‘if you don’t let me in at the top, then I’ll just get in at the bottom.’ She moved to the foot of the bed.
Almost as he flopped back onto the pillows she was lying by his side, and her long body shivered as she pressed against him, saying, ‘I’d never do this for anyone else; you should feel honoured, Peter, you should.’
He heard his own voice muttering faintly, ‘How on earth did you get in?’
‘By your back door. I had a duplicate key made. It can be done within a half-hour, you know. You should never leave spare keys hanging on hooks near the back door. I just happened to glimpse them the other night, and it gave me an idea. Don’t you think it was a good one? Well, if you don’t now, you will do shortly.’
Such audacity amazed him. She was talking like a practised whore. Well, wasn’t that what she was? And the daughter of one, too. He now made the effort to distance his body from hers, which made her say impatiently, ‘I’ve only got an hour; I’m on my way home…Peter, Peter’—she spoke his name as a plea—‘don’t let us waste it; we’re hurting no-one. As Mother says in her pious moments, what the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve over.’
‘Is your car outside?’
‘I am not stupid, Peter. No, I have not left the car outside your front door, or round the corner; I have left it behind the theatre. There’s a piece of waste ground there. Let’s hope the hooligans don’t spot it, because, you see, Mother has me timed.’
‘Timed?’
‘Yes, darling, timed. I phoned her from the flat and said I wouldn’t be leaving for another hour or more as I had company. I didn’t say who the company was, but I can always infer through the tone of my voice. I’m a very clever girl, Peter. You don’t seem to realise that.’
‘I realise it all right, Yvette; and I know you’re a devil and what they call a starter, for wherever you alight there’s trouble.’
‘That’s unkind of you, Peter.’ Her tone held a hurt note in it, and she said now, ‘I can’t get you out of my mind. I’ve told you that before. I knew we would come together. I’m not asking you to divorce her or anything.’
‘I would never divorce Nyrene,’ he said vehemently.
‘I know that, darling; and believe me, I never want to be married. But that’s another thing; I’m going to have to get married.’
‘What! Again?’
‘Yes, again. And she’s chosen him. I must say he’s quite nice.’
He did pull away from her now as he said, ‘And you mean you’re going to marry this man and you’re still here?’
‘Look, Peter. Nothing has been settled: he doesn’t know I’m going to marry him; only Mother and I are aware of it. He has money, he is kind, he is twice my age but he is handsome, and rich, and as yet he hasn’t got a pot belly, so he has things going for him…but not love.’
He didn’t know whether or not to laugh. This was a farce. He was acting in a real farce.
‘Peter’—her voice again held a plea—‘we haven’t much time. Love me; I need you.’ She grabbed at him now and held him close, and when her mouth fell on his he became lost …
Yet it was he who, when she went to rise from the bed, held her back, which caused her to laugh so loudly he had to push her head under the bedclothes to stifle the sound.
Then he was watching her slip into her clothes in the same smooth way she had slipped them off, and listening to her voice murmuring at him, ‘Now you are not to worry, darling: we are not going abroad for some time; anyway not so long as Ray remains in London. So don’t worry. I’ll keep a calendar on you. I have done so far: I know your comings and goings through dear Louise, through dear Uncle Fred and through dear Mother, but mostly through dear Uncle Fred. I sometimes wonder if he knows more than is good for him; yet no, for if he did he would surely put a spoke in my wheel. He’s not very fond of me, you know…Uncle Fred. Anyway, darling—’ she was now bending over him, whispering, ‘don’t ever think I’ll embarrass you, I’ll always be very circumspect; but I need you and you need me. Oh yes, you need me, don’t you? Say you do.’
When he made no response, she said, ‘Well, it doesn’t matter; everything about you speaks for itself.’
Suddenly the room was empty; he didn’t hear a door close, near or far.
He rolled over onto his back and covered his eyes with his hands. Something had begun which he had no power to stop.
Eighteen
It was the first week in June and the month hadn’t belied its flaming description.
Fred and Louise were sitting on the loggia at the back of the house: he was wearing a pair of striped shorts and Louise a scanty two-piece bathing costume.
She took a sip from a tall glass of iced orange juice, then pushed the hair back from her forehead before she said, ‘We should have gone with Jason to the baths.’
‘Yes, I know we should; but it would have meant getting there and, if you’ve noticed, woman, I am slightly older than my son. He’s jumped on a bus; I couldn’t jump on a bus, nor could I take that car out again tonight, at least I don’t want to. The only consolation I have of being roasted alive is that I’m not the only one. I think it’s the first time we’ve had a heatwave like this in years, but it’s not going to last much longer, so it’s forecast. Anyway, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’
‘Yes’—she turned to look at him—‘you’re going to retire.’
‘Don’t be silly, woman. It’s about Gwendoline.’
He pulled himself up from the deckchair and, wagging his finger across the bamboo table towards her, he said, ‘Now don’t sigh like that. I’m not going over there, I’ve told you and I’ve told her. I’m fed up with the whole business. Quite candidly I wish she would go back to where she came from in France or wherever.’
‘Gwendoline or Yvette?’
‘Both of them, to tell you the truth.’
‘Oh my! This must be serious.’
‘It is serious, Louise; not for us but for two people we’re very fond of.’
He had her whole attention now, and she pulled herself to the edge of the chair and, looking towards him, asked anxiously, ‘Now what’s happened?’
‘Nothing yet. Although I say nothing, I don’t really know. It could have been happening for some time, for there’s something wrong, I know those two…Peter and Nyrene. I can feel it.’
‘And it’s to do with that slinky bitch? Gwendoline’s told you something?’
‘Not exactly; but you know this Ray Zussman she’s got lined up for her…in fact, they’re all going away to Menorca next weekend when it will likely be settled. At least, that’s what Gwendoline had thought, but it seems that Yvette is now stalling, as if she’s got something up her sleeve.’
‘She’s said all that?’
‘No. No, she didn’t; but I’m just telling you what I surmise from what she did say. I can’t repeat the conversation word for word, but what she did say, and right out, was that it was a pity about Nyrene’s boy being so delicate that it was preventing her from being with her husband. Men get lonely, she said.’
‘No!’
‘Yes, she actually said that, and I think the same. It is a great pity that she doesn’t come through more often. Do you remember she was expecting him home on two weekends last month, and on each occasion something happened to stop him? What I do know is that that girl has changed in the last few months.’
Louise sat back in her chair now and it was some time before she said, ‘There lies the crux of the matter, Fred; she isn’t a girl and the other one is.’
‘You think it could be?’
‘I wouldn’t put anything past her or past anyone of her type.’
‘Well, I’m with you there. But what can we do?’
‘It’s that blooming boy. I shouldn’t say it like that’—Louise shook her head now—‘because he’s a lovable little fellow, but it’s unnatural that he can’t bear her out of his sight. She should’ve put her foot down in the first place and left him with Hamish and Mrs A. He would have got used to it.’
‘You can’t put your foot down, Louise, with what might be an autistic child, and one with a high-powered nervous system like his. I know, I have a similar type in the third form. He’d be a brilliant scholar if he could sit down long enough. There have been complaints from other parents that he should be sent to a special school. He’ll likely end up there. Anyway, back to the business in question, have you anything on your mind?’
‘Yes, I have; but it’s up to you, of course. What about me telling her I would like a break and ask if I could go up for a weekend? I could take Jason; he would love to see Charles again. It would give her the opportunity to go and see Peter.’
‘Very good. Very good.’
‘And you wouldn’t mind?’
‘Of course I’d mind being left alone here in the wilderness; but at the same time you do need a break and it’s a while till term ends. By all means go ahead.’
‘Well, I could go up on Thursday night and she could come down on Friday morning; and I could stay until she comes back on the Tuesday. Too long?’
‘Yes, of course it’s too long.’ He now leant across the table, and caught her hand, saying, ‘I’m going into my dotage, you know, and I need you more and more.’ But then, his voice changing, he said, ‘Go ahead. If it checks whatever we think needs checking then my sacrifice will not be in vain.’
