Doctor's Wife (16 page)

    “Mind you, I could go over there and have it out
with her,” Redden said. “But that might not be the wisest thing to
do at this point. I mean, if she’s there with some man, it would be
confronting her with her sin, so to speak. You know what I mean, ha
ha. There would be no denying it later.”

    Unfortunate, that laugh, Dr. Deane thought, but gave
his brother-in-law full marks for sense. If he wants her back, he’s
right not to force things. Besides, Sheila is not the sort to be
bullied.

    “Anyway, I don’t even know where she’s staying. I’ve
been ringing Peg Conway’s place, but I can’t get any answer.”

    “You’ll excuse my asking,” Dr. Deane said. “But have
you two been getting along all right?”

    “Not one cross word.”

    “She’s had no previous bother with men? Admirers and
so forth?”

    “No, no. Ah, she’s a bit of a flirt, though. She
doesn’t even know she’s doing it. But nothing serious.”

    “And before she went on her holiday, how did she
seem?”

    “Well, she was nervous. I noticed that. Worrying
about every little thing, as though she was afraid the holiday
would fall through. Of course, these times, as you know, who
isn’t
nervous, living here in Ulster?”

    “And the holiday did fall through, in a way.”

    “Yes. I suppose so. I know, it’s partly my fault. To
tell you the truth, I never was dead keen on holidays abroad.”

    “Tell me,” Dr. Deane said, “has Sheila ever
mentioned anything to you about my brother’s illness?”

    “You mean Ned. The dentist? No.”

    “Yes, you know him, surely?”

    “Oh, of course, of course. But it’s been years since
I last ran into him. He never married, am I right?”

    “That’s right. He used to live in Dublin but now
he’s in Cork. Well, about three years ago, he had a nervous
breakdown. None of us knew anything about it. I stumbled on it by
accident when I went to a meeting in Dublin and went around to see
him. It was a desperate thing. He wasn’t looking after his
practice. He was sitting in his rooms all day. Weeping spells. What
had happened was he had fallen for some girl—late in life—and she
threw him over. He was in a very bad way, poor chap. The upshot of
it all was, I got him off to a hospital in Scotland. The
psychiatrist there recommended electroshock.”

    Kevin Redden whistled.

    “It was all done on the q.t., mind you. We arranged
a story about him going on a cruise, winning a ticket and so forth.
He had a couple of hospital appointments in Dublin. Any hint of
mental illness would have affected his practice. Besides, Kitty, my
mother, didn’t want anyone to know about it.”

    “But he’s all right now?”

    “Oh, right as rain. He moved to Cork two years ago,
and he’s doing well. Still, the point is, he was diagnosed as
depressive. And unfortunately he’s not the only one in the
family.”

    Redden took a stiff drink of whiskey. “Oh?” he
said.

    “My mother; between you and me, she had a similar
episode. She was middle-aged at the time so it was put down to the
menopause. But she was in Purtysburn Asylum for a few months. Ned
and I knew about it, but the girls didn’t. And, of course, on my
father’s side of the family, there are ulcers galore. I have them
and so has Eily.”

    “I see,” Kevin Redden said. “Listen, you’ll have
another drink?”

    “No, no, I’m all right.”

    But Redden stood, took the glass from his hand, and
insisted on pouring. “So you think in Sheila’s case it could be
something similar? A depressive cycle?”

    “I don’t know. So far, she’s not had any symptoms of
breakdown or whatever. But it’s possible that, after this episode,
she might find herself in trouble.”

    “You mean if this fellow, whoever he is, throws her
over?”

    “Look,” Dr. Deane said. “There may be nothing wrong
with her. I suppose I’d know better if I could see her.”

    “Yes. Oh, yes, Owen, I wish there was some way you
could talk to her.”

    Dr. Deane drank a swallow of the whiskey and stared
at a little escritoire in the corner, which he recognized as coming
from his mother’s house. Kitty’s writing desk. “I wonder,” he said.
“Thursday’s my day off. Maybe I could go to Paris and come back
Thursday night. Oh, I suppose I
could
spend the night and
get someone to cover for me on Friday. I’ll see what I can fix
up.”

    “Ah, if you could do that, Owen, it would be blood)
marvelous. I’d stand the fare, of course. It’s the least I can
do.”

    The man had no tact or sense in some matters, Dr.
Deane decided. But then remembered that his own Agnes might have
made the same sort of offer. “No, no,” Dr. Deane said, “I’m her
brother.”

    “Ah, now, Owen, listen—”

    “No, Kevin. I’ll try to go over on Thursday. And
I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve talked to her.”

    “That’s great. If she’ll listen to anyone, she’ll
listen to you. She’s always told me how fond she is of you.”

    “Well,” said Dr. Deane. “Now I’ll have a chance to
find out.”

    Chapter 11

    • On Wednesday morning Peg Conway woke in Ivo’s bed.
Last night, when she had gone to get her clothes from her flat, she
had forgotten to pick up a letter which she needed in the office.
So she breakfasted early and telephoned the Quai Saint-Michel.
There was no answer. She decided Sheila wasn’t answering the phone
because of the husband and so, on her way to work, she made a
detour to collect the letter.

    When she arrived at the flat, it was about
eight-fifteen. She rang, but there was no answer. She rang again,
heard a noise inside, and the door opened to reveal Tom Lowry, his
hair and shoulders wet, an inadequate hand towel draped around his
middle. It was a sight which at once aroused her.

    “Sorry to disturb you. I phoned earlier, but there
was no answer.”

    “Right,” he said. “We haven’t been answering the
phone.”

    “I came to pick up something.”

    “Sure. Go ahead.”

    She went into the bedroom, noticing the rumpled bed,
and thought of him making love in it. She stood on a chair and,
from the top of the wardrobe, took down the large cardboard box in
which she kept her private correspondence. As she searched for the
letter from Maître Saval, she heard Tom moving around in her
bathroom. When she went outside again, he was waiting for her in
the hall, dried and wearing just an old pair of blue jeans, which
sat very low on his belly. She could see the line of his pubic
hair.

    “How are you getting on here?” she asked.

    “Great. Hey, why don’t you stay and have some
breakfast with us?”

    “No, I’ve had mine,” she said, surprised at herself,
for she could not take her eyes off his belly. He must certainly be
an improvement on Kevin Redden.

    “Let me at least make you some coffee. Sheila will
be back in a minute.”

    “Tell me,” Peg said, “when are you supposed to go
back to the States? Ivo said you have a charter ticket.”

    “Right. For the twenty-eighth. If we go then.”

    “We?” She did not hide her surprise.

    “Oh,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

    “I didn’t know it was like that.”

    “Well, it is. Wish me luck.”

    Suddenly the new sexual attraction she felt for him
turned to anger. “I don’t know if I should.”

    “Why not?”

    “Aren’t you a bit young for Sheila? After all, she’s
married and has a teenage child.”

    “Oh, come on, Peg. Age isn’t the problem.”

    Of course it is, you stupid young bastard, Peg
wanted to say, but held her tongue, remembering that, in a way, she
had started all this by introducing them to each other. “Listen,
Tom,” she said. “I’m a very old friend of Sheila’s. I don’t know
what her life is like at home. I’ve no idea. But, my God, that’s an
awfully big step for her, going off with you to America. You hardly
know each other.”

    He nodded. “I know. I’m not trying to make her do
anything she doesn’t want to do. I think people should be left free
to make up their own minds. If she decides to stay with her
husband, I’ll have to accept her decision. I won’t try to do any
con job on her, I promise you. End of speech, I guess.”

    “All right,” Peg said. “Sorry if I sounded cross.
I’d better run now. Say hello to Sheila for me, will you?”

    “Okay. And thanks again for lending us the
flat.”

    Peg went out and down the stairs, head filled with
this news. Was life in Belfast so desperate that people wanted to
run away from it, no matter when and with whom? Was that it?
Running away with a boy you’d met only a week ago. As she reached
the street door, it opened and a woman carrying a small parcel came
into the lobby, a tall woman with a blue canvas hat pulled down
around her eyes, hurrying, almost bumping into Peg before she
looked up. It was Sheila Redden.

    “Peg? Were you upstairs?”

    “Yes, I had to get a letter.”

    “I’ve just bought croissants. Come up and have
breakfast with us.”

    Peg hesitated, then said, “Look, could we go around
the corner and have a quick coffee, just the two of us? There’s
something I have to talk to you about.”

    “All right.” They went into Le Départ and ordered
two
cafés crèmes
. Mrs. Redden took off her blue canvas
hat.

    “What’s this about America?”

    Mrs. Redden, startled, looked up, opened her mouth
as if to try to laugh it off, but decided not to. “Did Tom tell
you?”

    Peg nodded.

    “Well, nothing’s been settled yet.”

    “I’m glad to hear it.”

    “Why are you glad?”

    “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Peg said. “You hardly know
this boy. Tell me, are you having trouble at home?”

    “No.”

    “Is it Belfast, then? Is it the life there, the
bombs and all that? I can understand it would be enough to drive
you into doing something drastic.”

    Mrs. Redden began to twist her blue hat nervously in
her fingers. “No, it’s not that,” she said.

    “Well then, what is it?”

    “I don’t know. We put up with our lives, we don’t
try to change them. I didn’t realize it, until I fell in love. What
I’m doing now is supposed to be selfish. It’s what people used to
call sinful. But I’m happy, in a way I never was before. Is that a
sin?”

    “No. But if you go off to America, you’ll make other
people unhappy. Kevin and Danny. And, in the end, maybe
yourself.”

    The waiter brought the coffees. Across the river on
the Quai des Orfèvres a police wagon started up its siren,
badgering other traffic out of its way, squalling across the Pont
Saint-Michel, stalled in a traffic glut outside Le Départ, then,
dodging around a truck, set off loudly up the Boulevard
Saint-Michel.

    When it was quiet again, Peg said, “Sheila, I can’t
believe you’re serious about this.”

    “But I am.”

    “You’re really thinking of leaving Kevin for a boy
you hardly know?”

    “But I do feel I know him. I’ve never felt closer to
anybody.”

    “You have a crush on him, that’s all. He’s handsome
and sexy.”

    Mrs. Redden began to drink her coffee, as though in
a hurry to finish it.

    “I’m sorry,” Peg said. “I shouldn’t have said that.
But you might feel very differently about all this a month from
now. If you do it, you might regret it all your life.”

    “But I can’t go back now. Not after this.”

    “Of course you can. Do you want to go back?”

    “I don’t want anything. I’m glad this happened.
That’s all I think about.”

    “But if it ends,” Peg said. “Remember, I know about
affairs. You think now you’ll never get over this. You think if it
ends you’ll jump in the Seine. But life isn’t like that. You
can
go back, you know. People do it all the time.”

    Mrs. Redden put money on the waiter’s chit. “Maybe
so. Look, Peg, I must go. I must bring these croissants up to
Tom.”

    “Let me pay that.”

    “No, it’s paid.”

    “All right,” Peg said. “Why don’t you and Tom come
around and have a drink with us tonight?”

    “Would you mind awfully if I said no? We like to be
alone.”

    Peg laughed. “Well, at least you’re frank.”

    “And, Peg, can I ask you a great favor? Could we
stay on in the flat until next week?”

    “Yes, of course.”

    Suddenly, Mrs. Redden leaned across the table and
kissed Peg on the cheek. “You and Ivo have been super about all
this. You don’t know how much it’s meant to me.”

    “Oh, go on with you. Beat it,” Peg said and smiled,
watching her friend stand, put on the blue sun hat, and hurry off
around the corner, wearing that red dress she probably thought was
great but which Peg could have told her was already out of style.
Next week, Peg said to herself, she wants the flat until next week.
Isn’t it next week that her holiday ends? Yes, that’s it, next
Monday. She’ll go home then. She’ll see the light.

    •

    Tom Lowry, on the balcony, looking down at the Seine
and the street below, saw her for a moment on the sidewalk,
directly beneath him, saw her red dress and blue sun hat, then lost
her as she went in the street door to the building. A moment ago
church bells had struck off the hour. The sky was a grimy fat
mattress of cloud. Wind rattled the wooden shutters at his back and
rain spattered on the gray balcony floor. He guessed she’d met Peg.
He thought of what Peg had said about his being too young and
wondered if she’d said the same thing to Sheila. Suddenly tense, he
went back into the room and out to the front hall. He opened the
front door and watched as she came up the flights of stairs.