Comparative Strangers (19 page)

‘The postman brought them—the very morning after you’d taken me to paradise and back.’ There was a jeering bitterness in his voice. ‘I should have remembered that every Eden has its serpent— should have asked myself why you were so gratify-ingly eager to go to bed with me.’ He smiled without amusement. ‘But your friend with the candid camera made it crystal clear why you could be in need of some—physical alibi. You’d realised, of course, that your romantic interlude could have consequences.’ He added courteously, ‘I hope he lived up to all your expectations as a lover.’

She remembered, with a feeling of sickness, Nigel’s mouth mauling hers, his hands groping at her, and stifled a shudder.

She said quietly, ‘Yes, he did—in every way.’ She put the photographs back in the envelope and laid them down on the desk. ‘There—there isn’t a great deal more to be said, is there?’

She didn’t wait for his answer, but went swiftly out of the room, closing the door behind her. She let herself out of the house, and began to walk aimlessly down the drive, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

She had been set up by Nigel—that went without saying. The kiss had been staged deliberately for the benefit of the photographer—one of his Fleet Street cronies, no doubt—who’d been hidden among the evergreens on the far side of the lawn. The film wouldn’t have taken long to develop, and the resulting prints would have caught the last post without difficulty—to reach Malory, by some hideous coincidence, on that one morning of all mornings, and poison the memory of their night together.

She forced down the little moan which rose in her throat. And it provided a cogent explanation for his renewed relationship with Clare. If she had a lover, after all, there was no reason why he shouldn’t take a mistress. She could understand the cynical logic which had inspired his decision. Could even forgive it—except that her forgiveness was not required.

She shivered, wrapping her arms round her body.

But what did he want? He’d spoken of the baby being his responsibility, but he couldn’t expect her to go on living with him in some terrible atmosphere of bitterness and distrust.

Her throat closed convulsively. When she could face him again, she would tell him she wanted a legal separation. And she would make it clear at the same time that she wanted no financial support from him, then or in the future. There were thousands of single parents managing to get along somehow, and she would be one of them, she thought fiercely.

There was a warning bark, and Harvey joined her, panting cheerfully. With a sinking heart, Amanda realised she hadn’t closed the front door properly.

‘You bad lad.’ She tried to catch at his collar. ‘Go back. You know you’re not allowed out without your lead.’

But whatever Harvey knew, he had scented freedom, and was not to be baulked of it. He set off towards the gates, which were also ajar, with Amanda in frantic pursuit, his barks becoming hysterical when he realised there was a cat crouching on the opposite verge.

As he gained the road, Amanda made a grab for him, her feet sliding on the damp surface. ‘Harv, you horror…’

She heard the sound of the van coming too fast round the corner, the blare of its horn, and caught a glimpse of the driver’s horrified face as he swerved to avoid them.

With all her strength, she pushed Harvey back towards the gate, and his startled yelp was the last thing she heard as the van’s front wing struck her a glancing blow, and the world turned in a slow, sickening arc, and became darkness.

‘How do you feel, Mrs Templeton?’ The quiet voice pierced the aching fog which seemed to surround her.

She mumbled, ‘I hurt.’

‘I’m not surprised.‘ She opened her eyes to see a bearded man in a white coat looking down at her. ’You took a very nasty tumble. You’ve got a considerable number of cuts, bruises and abrasions, and a possible mild concussion. That’s why we thought it might be better to look after you here for a day or two—with your condition to take into account.‘

Her lips trembled. ‘I’ve—lost the baby, haven’t I?’

‘Good lord, no’ he said cheerfully. ‘Miscarriages aren’t inevitable after accidents, you know. You’re a strong, healthy girl, and that baby’s firmly ensconced.’

Amanda closed her eyes again. Unbidden, the thought came to her,
It might have been better if
... and she stopped there, rejecting it savagely.

She said, ‘Where am I?’

He mentioned the private wing of a famous London teaching hospital. ‘You were transferred from the casualty department of your own cottage hospital,’ he added.

‘Have I been unconscious?’

He laughed. ‘Well, not all the time. But if you’ll promise to stay awake for a few minutes longer, I’ll fetch your husband. He’s been very patient, but I think your Sleeping Beauty act has started to get to him.’

Amanda parted her lips to protest, but the doctor was already moving briskly to the door. When he returned, Malory was with him.

He was very pale, the lines of strain marked on his face. He bent and kissed her on the forehead.

‘How are you?’ He looked gravely down at her.

‘I’m all right.’ She saw the doctor remove himself tactfully from the room.

Malory pulled forward a chair, and sat down. ‘You’ve had a raw deal from the Templetons.’ He gave her a small, bitter smile. ‘Nigel nearly sent you off a bridge. I succeeded in throwing you under a van.’

‘It wasn’t like that.’ She moved her head in negation, and winced. ‘Is—is Harvey all right?’

‘Apart from being in total disgrace, he’s flourishing.’

‘Poor Harvey.’

‘Damn Harvey!’ he said with sudden violence. ‘You could have been killed’

I wish I had been
. She didn’t say it, but he must have read it in her face, because he reached and took her hand in his.

‘You’re going to be fine,’ he said gently. ‘And so is the baby. Nothing matters but that.’

A lot of things mattered, she thought unhappily.

She said, ‘When they let me leave here, I’d like to go away by myself. You don’t have to see me again.’

It was his turn to wince. ‘We’ll talk about it when you’re better.’ He released her hand. ‘Your mother’s up in town, staying with a friend. May I tell her she can visit you this evening?’

‘Yes, that would be nice.’ And it would remove the onus of visiting from him, she thought. He wouldn’t have to sit here, pretending he cared.

But she’d forgotten his former ability to read her mind. He said, ‘Actually I’m almost camping here at the moment. Mrs Markham is in intensive care on this floor.’

She frowned, then remembered. ‘Oh, the Chromazyn patient. How—how is she?’

‘Not too good,’ he said curtly. ‘And her husband, who couldn’t praise us highly enough when the treatment began, is now threatening us with legal action, and the power of the press.’ His mouth curled. ‘Something on the lines of “They used my dying wife as a guinea pig,” or an equally tasteless angle.’

‘Why do you think it all went wrong?’

He shrugged tiredly. ‘God knows. We’ve been monitoring her treatment most stringently. We knew there could be a reaction if she took Chromazyn in conjunction with certain other drugs, so that’s why we had her in here, so that she couldn’t get her hands on even an aspirin tablet that wasn’t prescribed.’ He sighed. ‘Yet, even so, we obviously missed something.’

She said constrictedly, ‘I’m sorry. I know you all had high hopes of Chromazyn. I suppose all the tests will have to stop now.’  

‘Of course. We can’t risk the same thing happening again to some other poor soul’ He got to his feet. I’d better go. I’ve been warned not to tire you.‘ He gave her another brief, formal smile. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She wanted to say, ‘You don’t have to,’ but she couldn’t force her lips to frame the words. Watching him walk away from her was like bleeding to death.

Her mother’s visit was something of an ordeal. Learning that she was to be a grandmother had diametrically changed Mrs Conroy’s attitude to Malory. She was full of plans for the baby, names for the baby, and maternal advice for Amanda. She’d even brought some samples of suitable nursery wallpapers with her, and was clearly itching to go to Aylesford Green and choose a room worthy of its future occupant.

If Amanda hadn’t been so unhappy, she would have laughed herself into stitches when Mrs Conroy had made her triumphant departure. As it was, she wept a little, and found herself on the receiving end of a reproving lecture from Sister as a result.

‘And your husband asked me to tell you that Mrs Markham seems to be taking a turn for the better,’ was her valedictory remark.

A stream of flowers and cards began to arrive, and Amanda felt a total fraud. She was stiff and sore, but perfectly well, and Dr Redmond had promised she could leave hospital the day after tomorrow. There were visitors, too. Jane came, and Peter Wilton, and Mrs Priddy, towing a subdued George in her wake. She was touched by their concern, but found herself wondering what they would think when they realised she and Malory had parted.

He was punctilious about seeing her, but his visits were difficult occasions, their conversational exchanges halting and stilted.

She didn’t want to remember their marriage like this, Amanda thought wretchedly each time he left. She wanted to hold in her heart Malory’s gentleness to her, the sense of belonging he’d taught her, as well as the other more intimate memories which tormented her more with every hour that passed.

She was sitting by the window, looking desultorily through a fashionable and very expensive babywear catalogue her mother had given her, when the door opened and, glancing up, she saw Clare standing there.

Shock kept her silent for a moment, then she said huskily, ‘I don’t know what you’re doing here, but will you please leave?’

‘When I’ve said what I’ve got to say.’ Clare had an attractive voice, warm and low-pitched.

‘Nothing that I want to hear.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ Clare retorted, then stopped. She said ruefully. ‘Oh, hell, this isn’t what I intended at all. Although I can’t altogether blame you for wanting to throw me out.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’ve been having pretty venomous thoughts about you, too.’

‘How fascinating,’ Amanda said icily. ‘You seduce my fiancé, and have an affair with my husband, and it’s all my fault.’

Clare sighed. ‘How little you know.’ She sat down, crossing shapely legs. ‘First things first, Mrs Templeton. I am not having and never have had an affair with Malory. Not that I didn’t want to, you understand. That was the problem. I—I was desperate for Malory to take me to bed, but he just doesn’t sleep around. And I got the strongest impression that he was only taking me out as camouflage, anyway, because the girl he really wanted was unavailable. Rather damaging to the ego, that.’

She hesitated. ‘So when that other bastard came sniffing around, I suppose I was fair game.’ She gave Amanda a level look. ‘You think I seduced Nigel—dragged him into bed?’ She shook her head. ‘It was the other way round. He besieged me. Flowers, little gifts, telephone calls, lifts, lunches. You name it, he provided it. And I was flattered. Who wouldn’t have been?’ She gave a half-smile. ‘The expression on your face tells me the treatment sounds familiar.’

‘Yes.’ It was humiliating to acknowledge it, but Nigel had courted her in much the same way.

‘He should have his line patented,’ Clare said contemptuously. ‘Because that’s all it is—a line. A means to an end. A way of getting at Malory, of whom he’s always been pathologically jealous.’

She threw back her head, and the blonde hair swung. ‘He told me all about it—after you ran away that day, and he was getting dressed to follow you. He’d always known how to get women into bed, he said, and he’d seduced the first girlfriend Malory had ever brought home to meet his family. It became just like a game, he said. To see a woman that Malory wanted, and move in on her—squeeze him out. Humiliate him. Malory might have been their father’s favourite, he told me, but he’d take care that he was always second-best where women were concerned. I was just one in a long line of his successes. He actually laughed about it. And he said, “I can’t wait for him to get married. Then I’ll really go into action.“ ‘