Comparative Strangers (18 page)

‘Mrs Templeton?‘ Peter Wilton spoke uncertainly. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had any idea where we could contact your husband’

She said constrictedly. ‘But surely his secretary will have an itinerary?’

‘Actually, she hasn’t—as it’s a private visit.’ He gave an awkward laugh. ‘As a matter of fact, I could have sworn Dr Templeton said you were going with him. He loves the USA, and he was talking about showing you all the places he likes best.’ He paused. ‘But obviously I’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick, yet again, so if you do have an address where we could reach him, I’d be grateful. It is urgent.’

Amanda bit her lip. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t the least idea where he’s staying. He—he left in rather a hurry…’ She hesitated. ‘But I could have a look in the diary in the study, if that would help.’

‘That would be marvellous.’ His voice was a shade too hearty, and she winced a little as she put the phone down.

The study was in its usual state of immaculate tidiness, and it was the work of seconds to find the diary, and check that it was enigmatically blank on the subject of Malory’s whereabouts.

Amanda looked round with a sigh. Surely there would be something to give a clue, she thought. An airline folder, perhaps, or a hotel brochure. She tried the desk drawers, but they were locked, and with a shrug she went back to the phone and admitted defeat.

‘Well, it will be all right. We’ll trace him ourselves. He’s bound to have been in touch with some of our contacts in the States.’

‘Yes,’ she said, and thought,
but not with his own wife
. She cleared her throat. ‘May I know why you want him? You said it was urgent.’

His voice sobered. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Do you remember my telling you that the Chromazyn tests were going well? It seems I spoke too soon. We’ve just been notified that one of the patients using the drug has suffered a severe adverse reaction.’

Amanda caught her breath. ‘How bad is it?’

‘As bad as it’s possible to get,’ he said grimly. ‘She’s been having convulsions. They don’t think she’s going to live. And Dr Templeton has to know about it, naturally.’

‘Naturally,’ she echoed unhappily. ‘I—I just wish I could have been more help.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He paused again. ‘And Mrs Templeton—try not to worry too much.’

But that was easily said. Amanda went into the drawing-room and sank down on one of the sofas. She was being bombarded with one shock after another, it seemed. But perhaps the news her doctor had just given her would help to alleviate some of Malory’s inevitable distress over the Chromazyn crisis, she thought, placing a protective hand on her abdomen.

At first, she’d put her faint feeling of nausea and general malaise down to being lonely and unhappy, but the realisation that her normal monthly cycle had been interrupted, too, had sent her hastily for an appointment with the local GP. And today she had received the positive results of the tests he’d done.

At first, she’d been overjoyed to learn she was pregnant. Then, as she’d driven home, more sobering thoughts had intervened. The coming of a child would make this ‘non-marriage’, as Malory had called it, far less easy to walk away from. She swallowed. Although Malory had seemed to exlittle difficulty in distancing himself from it…

And he had told her bluntly that he was not particularly paternal. Might he not regard the baby simply as an inconvenience to hold him trapped in an empty and meaningless relationship?

She must have conceived that very first time she had gone to him, she thought, and wondered what the odds were against that happening. Although, if either of them had been thinking clearly that day, they would have realised some kind of precautions were necessary.

She sighed. Well, it was too late to worry about that now. The baby existed, and she wanted it— especially as it was all of Malory she might ever have. Pain tore through her at the thought, but it was something she had to face. His continuing absence had taught her that quite unequivocally.

But now, if Templeton’s made contact with him, he would be coming home, and some basis for their future relationship would have to be formulated.

She allowed forty-eight hours to go by before phoning the laboratories to see if there was any news of Malory. She spoke to his secretary, a pleasant middle-aged woman called Deirdre who did her best to hide her surprise that her boss’s wife should be in such complete ignorance about his movements, but did not completely succeed.

Dr Templeton was flying into Heathrow that afternoon, Amanda was told, and she was supplied with the flight number and projected arrival time.

‘We’ll be sending a car to meet him, Mrs Templeton,’ Deirdre went on. ‘Unless you plan to do that yourself.’

Amanda said haltingly, ‘No, I don’t think... Make whatever arrangements seem best.‘

Coward, she castigated herself, as she put the phone down. You should make the effort—go and meet him. At least it would remind him that you exist.

She bit her lip. She didn’t want to ring the laboratories and tell them meekly she’d changed her mind. There was probably enough discreet specu-lation going on already. But she could get the train to London, and then a taxi to Heathrow. If she simply turned up, Malory could hardly refuse to give her a lift back, and they could talk.

I can’t just stay here, she thought, as if I was waiting for some kind of axe to fall.

She dressed carefully for their meeting, putting on an elegantly cut cream suit, with a long jacket, teaming it with a high-necked turquoise silk blouse. She did her best for her wan face with blusher and eye shadow, but the end result, she was forced to admit, didn’t even approach the kind of radiance she wanted to pretend.

Her train was delayed, and the traffic was heavy, so she was late and breathless by the time she arrived at the terminal. Malory’s flight arrival had already been announced, and the first passengers were already beginning to filter through.

Amanda stationed herself beside a convenient pillar, miserably aware that her mouth was dry and her palms were damp. And what was she going to say to him when he did appear? ‘Oh, hello’ was too prosaic, and ‘Surprise, surprise’ far too flip.

In a perfect world, she thought, his arms would open to her, and she would fling herself into them, and all difficulties and estrangement would vanish like morning mist, without need for words. She could only pray that, when the time came, she would find the right thing to say.

Then she saw him and, in spite of her nervousness, her heart began to thud with heavy, sweet excitement.

He was smiling, and for one absurd, joyous moment Amanda thought he’d seen her through the crowd, and was pleased. Then he glanced down and she saw his lips moving, and for the first time she realised he was not alone.

The breath seemed to stop in her throat. People had moved, giving her a clear view of his approach. And of the girl walking by his side.

Last time Amanda had seen her, she had been naked, but today she was elegant in black, a fun-fur coat thrown around her shoulders, the beautiful face, framed in heavy blonde hair, bright and animated as she looked up at him.

Sudden, terrifying nausea scaled Amanda’s throat. All she could think was, They mustn’t see me—they mustn’t…

The agony of seeing Malory with Clare was enough. She couldn’t bear any further humiliation. She turned clumsily, blundering into someone.

‘ ’Ere, look where you’re going, darling,‘ an aggrieved voice reprimanded her, and she murmured an attempt at an apology as she continued her headlong flight.

Somehow, she found herself in the fresh air, gulping great lungfuls of it as she fought off the faintness which threatened to overwhelm her.

‘
Someone I’d come to think of as mine
.’ Malory’s words seemed to beat at her brain. And now Clare was his again. Leaving her hurt and frightened, and out in the cold.

‘If you want him,’ Jane said gently, ‘then fight for him.’

Amanda looked at her blankly. ‘Fight?‘ she echoed bitterly. ’With what?‘

‘Oh, come on.’ Jane’s tone was bracing. ‘Let’s not have any false modesty. You’re a beautiful girl. You’re also his wife, and possession is supposed to be nine points of the law. And you’re expecting his baby. Game, set and match.’

‘But he prefers her.’ She could hardly bear to say it. The realisation that Malory had gone from that sweet, fierce, passionate night with her straight to Clare’s arms seared at her. She had not believed him capable of such cynicism. But then, how well did she really know him? she thought with desperate weariness.

‘You don’t know that,’ Jane said. ‘There might be some completely innocent explanation for them being together.’

Amanda said bleakly. ‘Can you think of one?’

‘No,’ Jane admitted, and there was a depressed silence. Finally, Jane said, ‘Are you sure you want to go back tonight? Wouldn’t you rather stay here— pull yourself together a little before you have to face him?’

Amanda shook her head. ‘I’d only have to embark on long explanations for Maggie and Fiona, and I don’t think I’m up to that. I’d better go.’ She gave Jane a faint smile. Thanks for being an angel, and letting me weep on your shoulder, metaphorically speaking.‘

‘The shoulder is always there.’ Jane’s face was sober. ‘You know, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so disappointed in anyone. I only met Malory a couple of times, I know, but I would have sworn he wasn’t that kind of man.’

So would I, Amanda thought heavily. So would I.

The journey back to Aylesford Green seemed endless. It was a slow train and stopped everywhere. And when the local taxi dropped her at the house, she discovered from Mrs Priddy that Malory had telephoned to say he would not be returning that night.

From some inner reserve she hadn’t known she possessed, she managed to thank her quietly and walk upstairs to her room without collapsing.

She had wept over Nigel, but Malory’s betrayal seemed too deep, too wounding for tears.

She undressed and got into bed, lying for hours, staring into the darkness. She had to try and make some plans, decide whether she could endure living under Malory’s roof, knowing that he would not be faithful to her, or if it would be better to leave, with whatever dregs of pride she could salvage.

But where would she go? she asked herself, her body tossing restlessly. Her spirit quailed at the prospect of returning to the cottage and her mother’s recriminations. And she had reached no concrete decision by the time she dropped into an uneasy doze shortly before dawn.

She was woken the next morning by Mrs Priddy, bearing a breakfast tray.

‘Because you haven’t been eating properly lately,’ that redoubtable lady declared, putting the tray firmly on Amanda’s lap. ‘Now you polish off every scrap.’

Amanda looked at the freshly squeezed orange juice, and the shiny brown egg in its silver cup, with attendant toast soldiers, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘And Dr Templeton’s back.’ Mrs Priddy added, forestalling the question Amanda had been afraid to ask. ‘He arrived half an hour since.’ She gave Amanda an encouraging nod and left.

Amanda ate what she was capable of, then pushed the tray away. The sooner she saw Malory— confronted him—the better, she thought without conviction.

His study door was firmly closed, and for a moment she was tempted to knock. Then she rallied herself. She was his wife, not some employee, after all.

He was sitting at his desk, glancing through his papers, and he looked deathly tired, she thought with swift compassion, until she suddenly remembered the probable cause of those deep shadows under his eyes.

‘Good morning.’ His greeting was polite and totally without warmth. ‘Is there something I can do for you, Amanda?’

This was going to be even worse than she’d feared. She drew a breath, and wished she wasn’t shaking so much inside. ‘I—I need to talk to you. There’s something you should know.’

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘Could it be, I wonder, that you’re having a baby?’

Amanda’s jaw dropped. ‘How—how did you know?’

The blue eyes were glacial as he looked at her. ‘Because it’s the only explanation that makes a kind of obscene sense.’ He paused, twisting a pen between his fingers. ‘So tell me the rest, Amanda. Who’s the proud father?’

The question was so totally unexpected that, for a moment, her mind refused to work. She said, stumblingly, ‘I—I don’t understand what you mean.’

‘It’s not really that difficult. You are expecting a child, whose upbringing and education will be my ultimate responsibility. Out of interest, I’d like to know if I gave it life, or whether it was Nigel.’

Her lips felt numb. ‘But it’s yours—you know it is. You know I was a virgin when we—when you…’

‘I’m not likely to forget that less than glorious moment,’ he said curtly. ‘But you’ve had plenty of time since then to test your sexual emancipation. And let’s not pretend Nigel hasn’t visited you here.’

Amanda had been reeling, but now a small coil of anger began to spiral inside her.

‘And what if he has?’ Her voice shook. ‘You’re hardly in a position to throw the first stone.’

‘Meaning what, precisely?’

‘Meaning that I was at Heathrow yesterday. I— I recognised your companion.’ She flung her head back. ‘Did you enjoy showing her your favourite America?’ The thought made her temper flare into the danger zone. ‘So—how did you find Nigel’s leavings?’

For a long moment he looked at her, and she saw a little muscle flicker beside his mouth. Then he said, too evenly, ‘Judge for yourself.’

He opened the drawer beside him and extracted a manila envelope which he pushed across the desk at her. It was, she realised, the kind of cardboard backed envelope which normally contained photographs, and this was no exception.

The top one was more than explicit. It showed Nigel and herself framed in the french windows, kissing. The next two were variations on the same theme. The last showed Amanda on her own, her expression tender, wistful, luminous. The face of a girl dreaming of her lover.

In a way, that was the most damaging of all.

She said slowly, ‘Where did these come from?’