The Merciless Ladies Read online

‘Olive’, I said. ‘How nice. But I’m only walking to my office down the street.’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked disappointed. ‘I’m just back from Rome. I met friends of yours there. The Paladinis. And the Bellegardes.’

  We fell into step. She had heard about the trip to Madeira. At the entrance to Essex Court she said: ‘ My car’s just down here. Isn’t it time you gave up your old work for a bit?’

  ‘Gave it up!’ I said. ‘I haven’t begun yet! I only arrived in Plymouth this time yesterday!’

  ‘Do they know you’re home?’

  ‘They soon will. Were you in court today?’

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds.’

  ‘You came out early.’

  ‘I saw you leave and thought we might have a chat.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, and don’t sound so disbelieving! It’s the truth. The Bellegardes have sent various messages. Also I wanted – to talk about Paul.’

  I foolishly hesitated. Did I really want this meeting? Surely not. I glanced at her, hesitated again, and was lost.

  ‘All right.’

  She made a little moué at my lack of enthusiasm, and we walked to her car.

  She said: ‘Where are you living now?’

  ‘The same old address. Afraid it’s not looking its best because it’s been empty since August. I stopped in this morning just to dump my things and get a change of clothes.’

  ‘Let’s go to my place. Maud’s out, but I mix a good Scotch. Can even if pressed produce an omelette al prosciutto that wouldn’t disgrace a taverna.’

  ‘What took you to Italy?’

  ‘What takes everyone there: the light, the sun, the sea, the architecture. Even, believe it or not, a few tawdry paintings they have on the walls of their palaces.’

  ‘And Signor Mussolini?’

  ‘Oh, him. I’m sorry for people like the Paladinis who are very political and very anti. But for the rest, nothing much has changed except that everything is slightly better run. Are you very intense, Bill?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About politics. I find them a bore. The glory of Rome won’t change because one man is in power and another out.’

  ‘I’m not all that interested in politics. But I’m interested in the dreary old word democracy – which somebody said the world was being made safe for. Russia never had any, so that isn’t much loss. But Italy has had for the last fifty-odd years – since Garibaldi, I mean – and it’s sad for many reasons if it fails there. Because one strong man who’s successful can lead to other strong men trying it on: in Germany, in France, in Spain.’

  We drove off and, presently, for the second time that year, I found myself in her white rectilinear flat.

  ‘Tell me’, she said, as she poured the drinks,’ I must say I find this action diverting. Diana suing Paul for telling the truth about her! It’s – incredible! Why is it being fought on such pure lines? Since when has Paul decided to behave like a gentleman?’

  ‘Since he became one.’

  ‘Perhaps Paul’s afraid to prove his case because of all the things Diana could tell about him in return!’ Laughter bubbled in her throat. ‘Everyone I speak to who knows them is dying with amusement!’

  She took off her coat and hat and threw them on a chair. She was wearing a brown silk frock with transparent sleeves and short pleated skirt. She sat on the settee and curled her legs under her.

  ‘Tell me about your adventures in the Atlantic.’

  ‘It was really all quite dull. Just bobbing about for hours and making practically no progress.’

  ‘Is it true that Paul couldn’t stay the course and had to be taken off by a luxury liner, leaving you to struggle home more or less alone?’

  ‘Paul had to be home for the libel suit, otherwise he wouldn’t have left.’

  ‘Didn’t you have some professor and his daughter with you?’

  ‘Yes. Friends of mine. We met them by chance in Madeira.’

  ‘Pretty girl?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘They also left you, didn’t they?’

  ‘The weather wasn’t suitable for them to stay.’

  ‘You’re very brown’, she said.

  ‘It’ll soon be gone.’

  ‘Yes. Pity.’

  We sipped our drinks. It was still rather early for drinks. The light was only just fading.

  I thought of the similarities and the differences between the two principal women in Paul’s life. They were both beautiful, intelligent and spoiled. But Diana, fundamentally, was ruled by her emotions, whether they happened to be amorous or the contrary. When she erred she did so from an excess of human nature not from a lack of it. Olive seemed always to be ruled by her head. She would take all and not, like Diana, give in return.

  ‘Does Maud live with you now?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. Devoted. Not that that’s unwelcome in an unfriendly world. But there’s times when it cloys.’

  ‘How did you first employ her?’

  ‘Oh, she was my brothers’ nanny. When they died she became a sort of general factotum for the family. After Daddy retired last year they cut down on help, so I came in for her.’

  ‘Do your parents give you an allowance?’

  She looked at me. ‘Since you ask, no. Why should they?’

  ‘… I just wondered.’

  ‘They’re comfortable. But there’s no real money in our family – not lying about, not available to bailout a daughter who has made a botch of her marriage, if that’s what you’re thinking. Anyway, Paul can continue to do that.’

  ‘Have you ever thought of marrying again?’

  ‘Supposing I were free, who?’

  ‘Ah, that I don’t know.’

  ‘You?’

  I finished my drink.

  ‘I couldn’t support your life style. Besides …’

  ‘Besides, we’re not really meant for each other, are we? Perhaps a little affair in bed, but …’

  Her eyes were cat-like in the fading light.

  I said: ‘Do you go in for that sort of thing?’

  ‘Frequently.’

  After a moment I said: ‘I don’t believe you.’

  She laughed. ‘Do we know each other so well?’

  ‘Well … we’ve known each other a fair time. I took you out before Paul ever did.’

  ‘And you think I’m a moral woman?’

  ‘By present-day standards, yes.’

  ‘By Diana’s standards. By Paul’s, certainly.’

  ‘Paul isn’t that dissolute. Was he ever unfaithful to you while you were living together?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘That’s precisely what you would know – would have known.’

  She laughed again. ‘It’s beside the point. Anyway, I’ve told you – I do have affairs.’

  I smiled back at her.

  The smile faded. ‘Is this a ploy, Bill?’

  ‘A ploy?’

  ‘A sort of challenge. You tell me I don’t and dare me to prove the opposite.’

  ‘No. That wasn’t the idea.’

  ‘I suppose being at sea for a month might give a man thoughts.’

  ‘Oh, it doesn’t need a voyage at sea for that.’

  There was a long silence, and she began to speak of her visit to Rome. She’d been there with Peter Sharble, the MP, and a couple I knew vaguely, called Alexander. She gave me the messages from my friends, but they were little more than affectionate greetings and told me nothing of how these distinguished members of the old ruling classes were faring under the new regime. One day soon, if I could get a laissez passer, I must go again and see.

  She stopped. ‘What are you thinking of?’

  ‘What you’ve been saying, of course.’

  ‘Well, I asked you here to talk about Rome.’

  ‘And Paul, you said.’

  ‘To hell with Paul.’

  I rose and refilled her glass. Then I took some myself. But I d
idn’t immediately sit down again.

  She said: ‘And what about your life? You never tell me about your life.’

  I knew what she meant. ‘There’s not much to say.’

  ‘You tell me I’m moral, by today’s standards. What are you?’

  ‘The same … Oh, there was a girl in Italy. Ravishing to look at – like some artist’s dream of perfection. Not very bright, in fact. But very sweet. The family, of course, watched her – the mother and the two brothers. There was nothing I could do … Perhaps there was nothing I was absolutely certain I wanted to do. Why bring her down to earth, make a woman of a saint? Someday soon somebody will, some dark-eyed, egocentric Italian lad. But not me. Not me.’

  ‘You sound like an aesthete.’

  ‘Well, I’m not that.’

  ‘Sure?’

  I sighed. ‘Anything you say … I’m hungry. Let’s go out and have an early supper.’

  ‘No. I’ll cook something. You’re surprised? Think I can’t? Another challenge?’

  ‘Ham and eggs?’

  ‘Right.’

  She didn’t move.

  She said: ‘Are you human, Bill?’

  ‘Quite probably.’

  ‘So am I. You still doubt that, don’t you?’

  ‘No … I think you’ve got very strong feelings but they’re usually under such careful control.’

  ‘As now?’

  ‘I can’t answer for now.’

  A few lights were coming on outside. They didn’t illuminate the room so much as emphasize the growing dusk.

  She said: ‘Have you ever made love in the early evening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would it be different?’

  ‘Sight would be different. Touch would be the same.’

  She finished her drink.

  ‘Would you like to give it a try?’

  ‘Yes’, I said.

  III

  Later that evening she said: ‘You’re damned right, you bastard, how do you understand me so well?’

  ‘I wish I understood you better.’

  I might not have spoken. She was sitting by the dressing-table in a white gown, brushing her hair, which was longer than I had ever seen it.

  She said: ‘There’s been no one since Paul. Why? For just the reasons you say. I don’t like pawing for the sake of pawing – louts demonstrating their manhood, to their own satisfaction if not to mine. Men who—’

  ‘This lout included?’

  ‘No … No, not that. You have always been – different. But don’t think … don’t think this is the beginning of an affair. It might even be a once only. Don’t think something has been started.’

  ‘So why did it happen?’

  She paused in her brushing, slim-boned wrist poised with silver brush, slowly lowering it.

  ‘Because … as I said, you are something different. I’m not sure I even like you. But I have always wanted – in a half subconscious way I have always wanted what has just happened. I half desire, half dislike you.’

  Good God, I thought … Has it ever happened before – if so isn’t it rare, rare – that two people should regard each other so similarly?

  I said: ‘ Well, don’t regret this.’

  We were silent for a time. It was probably only about seven-thirty. She got up and sat on the bed beside me. I put my hand over hers.

  ‘And Paul?’

  ‘Paul?’

  ‘You said when we first met that you wanted to talk about him.’

  She shrugged. ‘ Does it matter?’

  ‘It could.’

  ‘Does it matter that deep down I suppose he’s the one?’

  ‘The one you care most about?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes … I suppose so.’

  ‘More than yourself?’

  ‘Don’t bitch at me. I suppose when we met outside the Law Courts I thought of saying to you, what chance is there of getting him back? Reaction of the primitive female. Pity I didn’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because then this wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘So you do regret it.’

  She shrugged. ‘There’s something in me that always resents having to yield to this need. To be at the beck and call of another person, to be in a way dependent, to have to surrender one’s sovereignty over one’s own body, if only for a brief time. Regret it? No, that would be stupid. Besides, since no doubt you would like to know, you gave me satisfaction.’

  ‘I wasn’t unaware of that.’

  ‘More satisfaction than Paul, sometimes. His commitment was seldom absolute.’

  ‘But you’d like him back.’

  She made an irritable gesture. ‘Not in those words. It’s too crude – in those words. But after all … setting aside any special significance in the wedding ceremony … we did agree, we gave our solemn word. He’s mine – by right, by agreement, by law. Why should he – throw me over – as if I were something he could discard, dispose of, when he so chooses?’

  I said: ‘ Would you think that attitude a suitable one for resuming a marriage?’

  ‘Why not? What’s wrong with it?’

  I hesitated, aware that our love-making, if you could call it that, was over. Yet she was vulnerable, in spite of her hardness. And she was sitting beside me, small and pretty and as tense as a wire.

  ‘It’s an attitude of mind, Olive.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘D’you remember before you married I said not to try to shackle Paul too closely. He’s an impossible man to do that to.’

  ‘I know you were full of wise old saws.’

  ‘Possessiveness’, I said. ‘It’s a vice we all have and give way to. But you perhaps more than most. After your brothers died your parents must have given you almost anything you wanted. Didn’t they? And since then – you’re so pretty, so intelligent, so young and determined – haven’t you nearly always got what you wanted? And owned it. I think you tried too hard to own Paul. You can’t expect a man like him to become your possession, to think what you think, to dislike what you dislike, to have the opinions you feed him. Your grip was too tight. So in the end you lost him. Sooner than have a part title you gave up ownership altogether.’

  ‘What a journalistic imagination!’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Are you saying I got what I wanted tonight because you couldn’t resist me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Rubbish. You could have—’

  ‘Not rubbish at all. But you know I’ve always wanted you – in the same way that it seems you have wanted me. That was what it was.’’

  ‘And now we can spit in each other’s face. Is that it?’

  ‘I hope not … But you said you brought me here to discuss Paul. I’m discussing him. Nothing would please me better than to see the marriage back on the rails. But if that’s the attitude of mind you’re bringing to it I don’t think you have a hope, Olive … Maybe you’re both too individual even to live in the same house. Really, you need a man you can dominate. I don’t know what he needs but certainly tact, certainly freedom, even perhaps more love.’

  She looked at me and then got up.

  ‘Go to hell’, she said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The court was just as crowded next morning, but I could not see if Olive had managed to squeeze in. The case resumed with a legal argument concerning the admissibility of some letters, and this dragged on long enough to produce a surreptitious yawn from the foreman of the jury. One wondered how far a juryman’s private life affected the outcome of an action involving perhaps many thousand pounds. Had the foreman for instance had a sudden satisfactory/ unsatisfactory affair the evening before with a pretty young woman who was soft of body and hard of mind and who had stretched out naked in the twilight on her white oval bed and later turned him out brusquely, contemptuously, as if dismissing not only him but the encounter for ever from her mind?

  Witnesses went in and out o
f the box testifying to this and that, and it was eleven-thirty before Paul was called. As he rose and walked without haste to the witness box he showed no signs of nervousness, nor of the distaste and anger that this action had caused him. Shades of a gawky youth!

  Mr Hart was all kindness, his rusty voice having quite lost that irritating quality he reserved for the opposite side. The examination went on about fifteen minutes, and then, having led Paul to answer one or two questions requiring a straight denial, Mr Hart said: ‘In conclusion, Mr Stafford; in choosing the position you did to hang this portrait in the Ludwig Galleries, were you at any time or in any degree actuated by spite or ill-will towards the plaintiff?’

  ‘No’, said Paul.

  After all, one had to expect hypocrisy on both sides.

  A silence had fallen, as one gown folded itself and another was unfurled.

  ‘My Lord’, said Sir Philip Bagshawe, ‘ may I ask your permission to have the painting of Mrs Marnsett brought into the court.’

  Mr Hart was on his feet at once. ‘ M’Lord, throughout this case my learned friend has constantly tried to muddy the waters by introducing irrelevances. The libel he is attempting to prove is concerned with the arrangement of the portrait in relation to certain others. It has nothing whatever to do with the portrait itself.’

  ‘My Lord’, said Sir Philip, ‘no one can have failed to notice that counsel based a very considerable part of his cross-examination of the plantiff upon the issue of her resentment at the sight of the portrait. I submit therefore that it cannot be irrelevant for the jury to be in a position to refresh their memories.’

  ‘The merits of the portrait’, said Mr Justice Freyte, ‘have been an issue in this case from the beginning. It is indeed a two-edged sword which can be manipulated by both sides. I’m sorry, Mr Hart, but I can certainly see no objection to its being seen again. I take it you are not going to introduce fresh evidence regarding it, Sir Philip?’

  ‘No, m’Lord.’

  The painting was duly carried in and propped against the stenographer’s desk. To anyone who could see the original sitting in the second row, the portrait must have looked like a caricature. I thought of Paul’s schoolboy efforts with the nude Miss Atkins.

  ‘Now, Mr Stafford’, said Sir Philip. ‘In the course of this action a good deal of contradictory evidence has been given, and, I expect you’ll agree, a good deal of animosity has been shown.’