The Sleeping Partner (18 page)

‘Then what
was
there between you?'

‘Why don't you ask Lynn?'

‘Because I can't find her.'

‘But
really,
Mike, but really … Put yourself in my place … She'll turn up, and you can ask her then.'

‘Lynn was your mistress?' I said.

‘Look, old boy—'

‘When did it begin?'

He picked up the piece of cigar band and sniffed it. ‘I'm not sure that this is mine, you know. Where did you find it?'

‘When did it begin?'

He rolled the paper into a ball, flicked it away with finger and thumb. There was a long silence.

‘About – four months ago,' he said at last.

‘And how long did it go on?'

‘Desultorily until the beginning of June.'

‘Why did it end?'

He turned and looked at me in a queer way, a bit embarrassed but challenging. ‘Lynn just told me one day that she'd had enough … In a sense I was relieved.'

‘Why?'

‘I'm not un-fond of women, Mike, but carrying on with the wife of a friend isn't my strongest line. And then I had met Margot.'

‘Did you quarrel with Lynn?'

‘Oh, lord, no. We parted dear friends, still write and phone each other, as you see.'

‘Did she give any reason for finishing this – this affair with you?'

‘Don't you think you'd better ask her?'

‘I'm asking you.'

Ray swung his leg off the chair and put his arms into his jacket. ‘This
is
a fact-finding commission, isn't it? Yes, if you want to know, she did give me a reason. She said she'd found someone else.'

‘Did she mention a name?'

‘Naturally not.'

‘Did she say where she'd met him, or anything of that sort?'

‘No … She gave me the impression that she'd known him some time, but that suddenly the lid had blown off, as it were.'

I thought it all out. ‘Were you the first? At Grosvenor Court Mews, I mean?'

Again he glanced me up and down. ‘No. In fact there may have been others at the same time. I don't know how often she came to Town.'

‘Twice a week.'

He didn't speak but fumbled for another cigarette.

I said: ‘When did you last see Lynn?'

‘At Glyndebourne when we all met. Eighth of July, wasn't it? But I rang her after that at Hockbridge. Four or five days after.'

‘When was it she told you she was leaving me?'

‘What? She didn't.'

You said—'

‘Oh, you mean over the phone the last time we spoke. I didn't take it at all that she was leaving you. I simply offered to toil down with the records on the Saturday and she said she'd be away.'

I got up and walked to the window and put out my own cigarette. The storms of yesterday had cleared but the summer spell was over. The sky was grey and low.

He said: ‘ Look, old boy, I don't want to
blackguard
Lynn; but in fairness to your feelings about me … How would you go on if a woman made a dead set at you – and one as damned attractive as Lynn? I'm no angel and have never pretended to be, but I don't go round clocking in for other men unless there's a very big welcome put out. How much do you understand Lynn, Mike?'

‘Don't get too big-hearted towards yourself.'

‘Well, when you find her, ask her if what I say isn't true. Ask her if I was the first or even the fifth or even—'

‘Shut up,' I said.

He shrugged and fastened one of the big leather buttons on his jacket. ‘At least I'm glad to feel I'm not the reason she left you.'

‘It must be very gratifying.'

‘Well, so it is. I've always liked you, Mike, and the fact that you now hate my guts doesn't alter it. So though I fully admit the injury I've done you, I'm relieved it's not as great as it might have been.'

I said: ‘ You'd talk yourself out of Judgment Day.' And went to the door.

‘Wait.' He had flushed. ‘One thing. Your marriage is all to Hell, and you blame me and you blame other men and you blame Lynn. Has it ever occurred to you to blame yourself?'

‘Quite often.'

‘Well, don't.'

I stood watching him.

He said: ‘If you want the truth I'll tell you. Lynn's charming and decorative and likeable. But she's a nympho of the first order. No man plays that hand right. If she wants to divorce you, let her. You'll be well out of it.'

S
OME PEOPLE
who haven't actually been in a shooting war get through a good bit of their lives without much contact with death. I had. And when I had come up against it my feeling had been that what's left of a person after death isn't much more important than an old dressing-gown. At first you felt that something must still be around somewhere quite apart from the old worn-out stuff that went into the ground, but common sense dealt with that in the end. The organs of sense that make up one's personality
must
die with the body, so what
can
be left?

The discovery of yesterday seemed to have knocked most of my earlier notions over the ropes. I don't know why, unless it was that this person who had changed into a coppery green horror had been so much a part of my own grown-up life. The feelings it got in me came up from something older than reason. It was as if I'd recognised not only Lynn but some knowledge beyond what I ordinarily knew. It had only been there for a second, but unless I shut my mind down altogether I couldn't funk that it had been there.

Not that there was anything very positive. It was more like a denial of denials. It wasn't that I knew the answers – only that I knew now I didn't know them.

You could say of course that the terrific shock, the fear, the horror, had knocked my intelligence off its perch; but the cause and the effect were not to be confused.

As I got near the works I knew that the one thing I wanted more than anything else in the world just now was to see Stella. She was like an answer, a reassurance. Yes, there was death and corruption but also there was light and life; and perhaps somehow, some way, that beauty and freshness and charm which made up the inexplicable self of a woman and which were so much greater than the sum of their parts – having once been and become greater than themselves could maintain themselves outside time and place and reason.

Outside reason? Yes. Lynn, dead, somehow stipulated it. But it was for Stella, living, that I craved it. For the moment I was willing not to be a reasonable man.

Miss Allen said: ‘Good morning, Mr Granville. We were hoping you were coming this morning. Several things have cropped up rather urgently. Has Mr Read seen you?'

I looked at the electric clock with its silly lame-man's minute-hand. As I looked it gave one of its clicks and limped to a quarter to twelve.

‘No, not yet.'

‘Mr Thurston rang you yesterday afternoon and twice this morning. He said would you ring him as soon as you got in.'

‘Right. Give me a minute or two to get sorted out.'

There was a tap and Read came in. ‘Morning, Mr Granville. Everything all right?'

‘Yes. Why not?'

‘Were you fit yesterday? I mean not turning up at all …'

‘I was fit. All right, Miss Allen, I'll call you.'

As the girl went out Read said: ‘We had merry hell yesterday. But you see the men are still here.'

‘What men?'

‘The electricians. Surely you knew about it?'

‘Oh? … Oh, yes. They haven't struck, then?'

‘No, I got a wedge in between Gill and Piper. After all it's none of Piper's bloody business and Gill's our shop steward. To my surprise, Burgin helped.'

‘Burgin?'

‘Yes, he turned against his pal and took the reasonable side. It's due to him that the ballot's been put off till tomorrow or Monday. I'll hand it to him that he took what you told him the right way.'

I tried to think what I'd told him. It seemed a month ago. ‘ If this ever gets as far as an official union matter …'

Read shrugged. ‘We either take McGowrie back or there won't be an electrician within miles. That's certain. You know the ETU.'

When he had gone I realised I ought to have had it out with him how the truth about McGowrie's dismissal had leaked out. But somehow I didn't think Read was at fault. I had a hunch that perhaps Dawson had been the one to talk too much. Perhaps Frank was at the bottom of more than I realised.

I pressed the intercom thing and told Miss Allen I wanted to see Mrs Curtis.

‘She's not here today, sir. She phoned to say she couldn't get in.'

‘Oh.'

‘She asked to speak to you. She rang about eleven.'

‘Oh thanks.' So the decision was made for me. ‘Will you tell Mr Dawson I want to see him.'

‘Mr Dawson's gone down to Wales. He said he'd told you about it last night.'

‘Oh … yes … I'd forgotten. When did he leave?'

‘I'm not sure, Mr Granville. Er – shall I get Harwell for you?'

‘Yes, please.'

I drew prison bars on my blotting pad until the call came through.

Thurston said: ‘We've fixed a full meeting for three o'clock tomorrow afternoon.'

‘Where? At Harwell?'

‘No, at Llanveryan. There's a man called Holborn going to be there, from Chalk River. He's on a visit to England, and he's one of the men who's been building scintillometers for aerial prospecting in Canada. Bennett thought it would be a good idea to have him in for his expert advice and to give a deciding opinion on Steel's criticisms.'

‘I don't like the sound of that,' I said.

‘Nor I. Because I think it will be a deciding opinion on the instrument as a whole. But I hear Holborn's a very sensible bloke. I don't think he'd take any narrow view.'

‘Why is everybody going down to Llanveryan?'

‘That's what I rang you about. Holborn wants to test our equipment as thoroughly as he can before he gives a considered opinion of it. So we've fixed a trial for eleven tomorrow. You can be there by then?'

‘Yes,' I said, and knew I couldn't. I knew I couldn't be there at all.

‘We can't go up with him, of course, but it's very important we should both be on the spot. We ought to try to talk to him before the others come along.'

When he'd rung off I sat a while longer making the prison more realistic. I couldn't go down tomorrow because this afternoon I had to go to Greencroft to discover the body of my wife. I doubted if even Harwell had the pull to get me released on bail. Of course men from Chalk River, experts in this fairly rare corner of electronic development, didn't come over here for holidays – at least they didn't appear suddenly and accidentally at just the right moment. It was perfectly clear that Thurston was right and that Holborn had been sent for the specific purpose of deciding how far Steel's criticisms were valid. Tomorrow I might have to fight for all the things I considered worthwhile in our design. I might have
had
to fight for them. Now I should not be there. But anyway nothing mattered any more.

I had some sort of a late lunch with all these things milling in my head. Afterwards I drove down to Greencroft.

It was no good pretending I'd been into the cellar; there had to be anthracite dust on my shoes and on my hands. I wondered if twenty-four hours would have changed her. The disturbance of yesterday … As well after all that I hadn't seen Stella, while this other hand was on me.

I thought of calling in for Kent, but couldn't tolerate the idea of his being allowed down again. Anyway it was unnecessary. I hadn't to provide a reason for going into the cellar of my own house.

I stopped the car where the mouth of the drive broadened out before the house. The house looked chill and deserted. There was no thunder today, but a grey wind blew across the garden and rustled the leaves of the laurels. The antirrhinums, in the bed where the tulips had been, were nearly over; the faded brown flower stalks were sticky with decay. I cut off the engine and slid my fingers round the steering wheel; it was warm and clammy from the grip of my hands. Even the backs of my hands were clammy. I opened the door and got out. My knees were no good. It all had to happen today as it should have happened yesterday. At least I wouldn't have to sham feeling queer. It was going to be all I could do to get as far as the cellar. I shut the car door quietly, got out the key of the house, turned it round twice and then began to walk towards the front door. My feet crunched noisily on the gravel, like the sound of someone walking on crisp snow. It was queer because it was as if there was an echo of my own footsteps. It was as if I had four feet or was being followed. The cloven hoof. Like one that on a lonely road. At the door I stopped dead, my hair prickling, and turned. There was no one behind me, but the crunching footsteps were going on …

They were coming towards me round the corner of the house. The day had never been more chill than it was at that moment. Then a woman came round the corner. It was Stella.

S
HE SAID
: ‘What luck! I came hoping to find you—'

‘Stella, what the
hell
are you doing here?'

She stopped, her eyes moving quickly over my face. ‘What's the matter?'

I tried to put a brake on. ‘ Nothing … You startled me. Phew, it was a fright!'

‘Sorry.
Did you think it was Lynn back?'

‘No … I didn't think it was Lynn back … How on earth did you get here?'

‘By train. It isn't difficult. This end there's a walk.'

‘But what made you come? Is John—?'

‘No, I was worried about you.'

‘Why?'

‘Well, you weren't at the works yesterday and you promised to call in and see us in the evening.'