Doctor's Wife (12 page)

    •

    At a quarter to seven, humming to herself, swinging
her evening bag up and down in an unladylike manner, she went along
the corridor to the lift, where two older women, waiting, watched
her jaunty approach, then exchanged looks as though she were drunk.
She smiled at them as they all got into the lift and kept on
smiling until, grudgingly, they nodded to her. “Good evening,” she
said. “Lovely day, wasn’t it?” and, uneasily, they agreed. On the
ground floor, smiling, humming, swinging her purse, she went across
the lobby and handed her key to the clerk. As she went to go out of
the hotel door, the proprietress came from her little office
holding a gray envelope. “
Ce télégramme vient d’arriver,
Madame. J’ai téléphoné à votre chambre toute à l’heure, mais vous
étiez en train de descendre
.”

    “
Merci, Madame
.” She took the envelope,
stuffed it in her handbag, and went outside. Parked cars lined the
pavement and jammed the center of the little square, so that,
crossing to the opposite side, she had to dodge around, as in a
parking lot. She did not open her bag until she reached the flight
of steps which went up in the direction of Les Terrasses, then
slashed the envelope flap with her fingernail and saw the
typewritten message on the telegram form.

                RANG TWICE BUT
NO ANSWER.

                ARRIVE A. F.
FLIGHT 42 SUNDAY

                AFTERNOON. LOVE
KEVIN

    After reading it twice, she put it back in her bag
and started up the staircase slowly, as though distracted. Halfway
up the steps she stopped, turned around, and came down in a run,
hurrying among the parked vehicles in the square, re-entering the
Welcome, where, in rapid French, she ordered a call to be placed to
her home number in Belfast. She said she would take the call in her
room, and as she unlocked her room door on the fourth floor, the
phone was already ringing. She sat on the bed, listening as the
English exchange cleared the call through.

    “Double-four-one-double-five,” Danny’s voice
said.

    “Hold on, please. Overseas call for you. Go ahead,
caller.”

    “Danny?”

    “Mum, is that you? How are you? How’s the
weather?”

    “Fine. How are
you
? Are you eating
vegetables the way you promised?”

    “Yes,” he said, irritated. “Do you want to speak to
Dad?”

    “Yes, please.”

    “Well, he’s out.”

    “Where?”

    “He went on a call. He said he’d be back very
soon.”

    “Have you had your supper?”

    “Not yet. I’m waiting for Dad.”

    “Well, listen, Danny, will you ask your father to
ring me here at the Hotel Welcome—the Hotel Welcome—the minute he
comes in. Tell him it’s important.”

    “The Welcome. Does he have the number?”

    “Yes. Are you playing rugby this week?”

    “We have a game on Tuesday with the Inst. team.”

    “How’s Neil?”

    “Oh, fine. His father’s giving him a ten-speed for
his birthday.”

    “Lucky him. Well, don’t forget to ask Daddy to ring.
I’ll be waiting here for his call.”

    “Yes, okay. Hey, can you hold on a minute, Mum?”

    “Danny, this is a trunk call.”

    “But, Mum, I heard a car.”

    “All right, go and look.”

    She waited. She shivered suddenly, as though she had
a chill. She heard Danny’s footsteps running in the hall as he went
to the back of the house to see if his father’s car had come into
the driveway. She heard voices, Kevin, it must be; yes, it was. His
voice asked, “Is she still on the phone?”

    She felt herself begin to tremble. There was a loud
sound as Kevin picked up the receiver, pulling it by its cord along
the polished black wood of the monk’s bench in the front hall.

    “Hello?”

    “Kevin?”

    “Sheila, how are you? Did you get my telegram?”

    “Yes, I did.”

    “I’ve been trying to reach you on the phone, I rang
at nine and then later around four.”

    “I was at the beach,” she said.

    “Yes, that’s what I guessed, that’s why I wired.
What’s up? Danny said it’s urgent.”

    “Yes, in a way. Listen, do you really want to come
on this holiday? Tell me the truth, now.”

    “Well, everything’s fixed up. McSherry’s standing in
for me.”

    “Kevin, you didn’t answer me. Do you
want
to come or would you rather stay at home until I get back?”

    “No, I’ll come.”

    “Because, listen,” she said, and as she began to say
it, she heard the tremor in her voice and wondered if he heard it,
too. “I just wanted to say that if you’d rather not come, it
doesn’t matter to me. I mean, I’ve been half thinking if you don’t
come, I’ll go back up to Paris for the rest of my holiday and pal
around with Peg. I’d be quite happy doing that. Honestly.”

    “You mean you don’t care if I come or not?” he said,
enunciating the sentence very precisely.

    “Look, it’s not that, it’s just that I know how busy
you are. And I think it’s silly your coming now, unless you really
want to.”

    “But it’s all arranged. I’d feel like a fool,
canceling it now.”

    Then she knew. He didn’t know what to say to
Mc-Sherry, after asking for the favor. “Listen,” she said. “You
could tell McSherry I’m going to Paris and that I want to shop, and
that you think you’ll wait and have your holiday later on this
summer in Connemara. Listen, he’ll be delighted, won’t he?”

    Silence again. In the background she heard Danny
call to Mrs. Milligan, “What’s for pudding?”

    “Besides, I really want to go to Paris,” she said.
“I was there for only one night. I feel I had no time to see
anything.”

    “What about the booking in Villefranche?”

    “Oh, they’re very nice here. There’ll be no trouble.
They have a waiting list for the rooms.”

    “Well, this is sudden.”

    “Yes, but I think it makes good sense.”

    “When would you go back to Paris?”

    “Oh, tomorrow, or Monday at the latest. I can bunk
in with Peg. Listen, why don’t we do it this way?”

    “Hmm,” he said. “I suppose I
could
call
McSherry tonight. He was going to do an appendectomy for me
tomorrow at nine. All right, then, if that’s what you want.”

    “Listen, Kevin, I was scared to ask you, but really,
I’d rather be in Paris than here. I’d like to see the shops. And
that’s not your cup of tea, is it?”

    “No. And your pal Peg Conway isn’t my cup of tea
either, come to think of it. By the way, who’s the boy friend at
the moment?”

    She felt herself tremble. And then realized what he
meant. “Oh, a Yugoslav,” she said.

    “God help us.”

    “So, it’s settled, then. I’ll go to Paris and you
hold the fort at home.”

    “Right. But one thing. Next year, I don’t want to
hear any old guff about how we’ve got to go to the South of France
because I missed it this year. Promise?”

    “Promise.”

    “Well,” he said, and laughed. “When I think of the
knock-down-drag-out rows you staged to get me to France this
year.”

    “I know.”

    “Okay, then, I’ll cancel my flight. And don’t be
spending a whole lot of money in Paris, do you hear?”

    “I won’t.”

    “Oh, by the way, what
about
money? What
about the bill there? Do you have enough?”

    “Yes. I’m all right.”

    “Maybe I’d better wire some money to Paris. Ill send
it to Peg’s address.”

    “No, no, I’ll be all right,” she said. Now it seemed
awful to take his money.

    “No, you won’t. How are you going to shop?”

    “I have my Barclaycard.”

    “I’ll send you a hundred quid, just in case.”

    “No, listen, Kevin. I have money of my own, Kitty’s
legacy. Owen will advance me some money on my dividends. I’d rather
do that.”

    “Why?”

    And suddenly she was afraid. She mustn’t make him
suspicious. “Oh, all right then, send me a hundred pounds and I’ll
pay it back to you later, out of my dividends.”

    “Okay.”

    “Well, good night.”

    “Good night, Shee. And listen.”

    “Yes?”

    “I love you.”

    Why had he said that? He almost never said it any
more. She felt sick.

    “I’ll ring off,” he said. “I hear the sounds of a
Mrs. Milligan supper being served. Good night, Shee.”

    “Good night, Kevin.”

    “Ring me from Paris.”

    “I will.”

    When she went back to Les Terrasses, Tom was still
asleep. She had to knock on his door to wake him.

    “What time is it?”

    “Ten past seven.”

    “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’ll hurry.”

    “There’s no hurry,” she said and sat in the chair by
the window, watching as he stripped off the blue and white French
sailor shirt he’d bought yesterday, stepped out of his shorts, and
went into the tin shower. She looked at his narrow hips and waist,
his long muscular legs, his hands with their attractive backing of
black hair. She forgot what she had been going to say to him. As he
turned the shower on, she stared at his penis. The shower was
feeble and quickly ran cold, and he hopped out with a yelp. She got
the towel and went to him. “Let me dry you off.”

    “Okay.”

    He stood, obedient, as she began to towel his chest
and belly. For a moment, she thought of Danny, years ago, before
he’d become too shy to let her dry him off. She found a second
small towel and Tom used it to dry his hair as she toweled his
back. And then, wearing her good chiffon, her hair done, her face
made up to go out, she threw the towel aside and pulled his
still-damp body against hers. “I love you,” she said. “I love you,
do you know that?”

    “I love
you
.”

    After a moment, he released her. “I suppose if we’re
going to some big-deal place in Nice, I’d better put on a shirt and
tie.”

    “Maybe you don’t want to go all the way into Nice.
We can eat here.”

    “Either way,” he said. “Anyway, let’s not make plans
until you get that phone call.”

    She went to her purse and took out the telegram. “I
got this.”

    “When?”

    “Just before I came over here.”

    He read the telegram. “Sunday. That’s tomorrow.”

    “Yes.”

    She saw the skin grow taut over his cheeks. “What do
you want to do, Sheila?”

    “What do
you
want to do?”

    “Me?” He grinned, throwing his head up in that
startled way he had. “If it’s up to me, let’s pack our bags and get
the hell out of here tonight.”

    “And then what?”

    He stared at her, as though he did not understand
the question.

    “I mean, we can’t just walk out on our lives, can
we?”

    “Why not?”

    “Oh, Tom, be serious.”

    “I am serious. I’m not walking out on anything. You
are. Or are you going to go back to him?”

    She did not answer.

    He waited, then said, “Okay, it’s up to you. But if
you decide not to go back to him, we can go up to Paris, get you a
visa, and then go on to the States. We could be there in a couple
of weeks.”

    “But I’d still be married.”

    “We’ll get you a divorce. A Haitian divorce, it’s
easy. Then, if you want to, you can marry me.”

    “So you’re proposing to me?” She laughed, it was
relief, it was laughter that felt to her like tears. “You’ve known
me only five days and you want to get married.”

    “I’m reckless,” he said, smiling.

    “It’s all right, you don’t have to plan anything so
drastic. Kevin’s not coming.”

    “He’s not?”

    “No. When I got this telegram I phoned him and told
him I wanted to go to Paris and do some shopping. He never wanted
to come here, anyway. So he’s not coming at all.”

    “But why didn’t you tell me right away?”

    She shrugged.

    “What was it, some sort of test? Did you think I was
going to run off?”

    “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what you’d do. I’m sorry.
I should have told you.”

    He stared at her. His anger died. He put his arms
around her. “Listen, it’s great news. But what if he calls you in
Paris?”

    “I thought of that, too. We’ll have to go back to
Paris. And, oh, God, I told him I’d be staying with Peg.”

    “You’re not going to stay with Peg. We’ll work
something out. Let’s stay at a hotel—the Balcons?”

    “Good.”

    “And listen, I mean that about us going to the
States. And about getting married.”

    “Don’t you think you’d get tired of me?”

    “No. Never.”

    She turned away. “Let’s not go into Nice tonight.
Let’s just eat here some place.”

    “Mère Germaine’s?”

    “Or the Welcome. I’m paying for all those meals. We
might as well eat there.”

    “Okay. When do we go to Paris?”

    “Whenever you like.”

    “Tomorrow, then,” he said. “Let’s go tomorrow.”

    Chapter 8

    • “You will leave tomorrow?” The night desk clerk,
seemingly uninterested in his own question, pulled the ledger
toward him, his finger tracing the booking, which was written in
ink on a ruled page.

    “Yes, I have to go home early. Is that all
right?”

    The desk clerk, the same dark young man who had
called her to the telephone the other night, nodded impersonally.
“Very good,
Madame
. I will make up the bill tomorrow. Do
you leave before lunch?”

    She hesitated, then looked at Tom. He nodded.

    “Yes.”