Encounters. Barbara Erskine
‘Oh for God’s sake. It’s always the same, isn’t it? The moment I show interest in a woman you imagine I’ve fallen into bed with her. What’s the matter with you?’
What indeed? How could I explain to him how much I loved him; how much I feared to lose him; how much I had looked forward to these summer months in Italy as a second honeymoon? And now I saw the whole frail structure of my dream collapsing.
‘You really mean it, Tim? You would stay here and let me go home alone?’ I didn’t look at him. Below in the garden I saw a small glow in the darkness and I thought it must be a firefly. Then I realized it was a cigarette. There was someone walking slowly in the shadows of the trees.
‘I’ve come here to work, Celia. And it’s important that I do. More important than you know. Simon told me today that he is prepared to recommend me for a commission to do heads of all the members of a board he’s on. It means security and freedom to work without worrying for a while; without you having to go back to that job. I’m not going to blow it, Celia, even if it means we can’t be together. I don’t want you to go. It’s up to you.’
He turned and vanished back into the bedroom. A moment later I heard the door slam.
I could feel the hot tears burning my cheeks and I let them fell unchecked. The french doors below the balcony opened and someone stepped out onto the terrace. I knew it must be Tim. He would go to his improvised studio and work through the night, returning to fall into bed beside me at dawn. It had happened too often before after we had quarrelled. I did not call out to him. What was the point? He stepped out of the shadows of the terrace onto the grass and I saw him clearly walking towards the fountain. A figure detached itself from the shadows and joined him. A woman. The moonlight had washed the colour from her dress but I knew it was my sister. I watched as they stood talking then slowly they began to move, not towards the cottage but around the side of the house out of sight. Two minutes later I heard the sound of a car engine and the crunch of its tyres on the gravel of the long poplar-lined drive. Then there was silence.
I undressed and lay down on the bed, but my mind would not rest. I could not sleep and after a while I gave up trying. I rose and slipped on a thin sweater and some jeans.
The villa was in darkness save where moonlight slid through the windows on the staircase. I peered out. Our car had vanished from its place beneath the mulberry tree beside the wall. Behind me on the landing the clock chimed three. Tim had left the french windows open and I slipped out onto the terrace. I avoided the bright moonlight, following the dark shadows beneath the trees.
The cottage was in darkness, but the door was unlocked and I slipped in and at last allowed myself to turn on a light. The room was empty but for a large table and a couple of chairs. I recognized all the paraphernalia we had brought with us in the car. The plastic sacks of clay and plaster, the wire for armatures, the scalpels, the spatulas, the callipers and sketch books. Tim’s overalls hung on the back of the door and the room already had the cold oily smell of the clay. On the table I could see the outline of the head beneath its cloth and I moved over to uncover it.
He had made a lot of progress. Davina stared out at me, her lips enigmatically smiling, her eyes still a blind sightless sketch in the glistening clay. I stared at it for a long time, then I covered it again and moved across to the stairs. The cottage had only one bedroom and it was fully furnished. The bed had been slept in. Beside it the bathroom was also fully equipped with toiletries and cosmetics. I unscrewed a bottle of cologne and sniffed it. It was spicy and rather strong. I did not recognize it.
A bell pealed in the silence and I froze. Then I realized it was the telephone beside the bed next door. I tiptoed across and hesitated as it rang. Then cautiously I lifted the receiver. A voice was talking in fast Italian on the other end and I realized suddenly that it was an extension from the main house. I was about to replace it when a second voice cut in. It was Simon and he sounded once more very angry. Holding my breath I sat gingerly on the bed and listened.
They were speaking in English now. ‘I told you not to ring me!’ Simon’s voice hissed down the line.
‘The deal is taking too long!’ the Italian cut in. ‘You have only twenty-four hours. Then I pull out.’
‘You can’t pull out, remember? Your currency is being held in my wife’s name,’ Simon snarled. ‘I fly to London tomorrow. The transaction will be completed on schedule.’
‘And if she asks any questions?’
‘She won’t. She never does.’ Simon’s mirthless laugh floated from the receiver in my hand. I could feel myself beginning to shake as I listened in disbelief, and for a long time after he had hung up and the line was empty I sat there, the phone still in my hand.
I could see the light on in his study as I tiptoed back across the lawn towards the french windows. I had no wish to meet Simon and I held my breath as I crept in. Then I realized he was not alone. Davina was with him and they were having a furious row. There was no question of them hearing me; they were making enough noise to wake the whole villa. The doors to his study were half open and I could see them both clearly. Simon was fully dressed still, but Davina was in a négligé and I could see from the stark paleness of her face that she had removed her make up. She looked as though she had just got out of bed and I wondered suddenly whether like me she had been listening on the extension.
I crept upstairs without them seeing me and peered out of the window on the landing. The car was still missing, and I realized bitterly that my husband’s midnight rendezvous had been not with my sister but with Sarah Cummins.
Simon was missing from the dining room when I plucked up courage to descend at about nine, but the others were there, all except Tim. Maggie smiled at me. ‘Is your divine husband at work already, Celia?’ she asked.
‘He’s been at it all night,’ I heard myself reply. I was watching Davina as she got up and went to the urn on the sideboard to pour herself a cup of black coffee.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘How dedicated,’ she said tartly.
‘But I don’t know where. He drove off with someone at about midnight,’ I went on quietly, ‘and the car’s not back yet.’
Maggie and Nigel were listening intently; Jocelyn was engrossed in the Financial Times and did not look up. I saw the coffee overflow into Davina’s saucer. Her face suddenly turned white.
‘The bitch!’ she said. ‘The bloody bitch!’ She put the cup down and flung her napkin on the floor.
There was a telephone in the hall – an ornate affair of gold and white – and she picked it up angrily. ‘Maggie, what is the number of that woman you brought here last night?’ she yelled through the door.
Maggie was smiling quietly. ‘I wrote it on the pad by the phone,’ she answered softly. ‘I figured someone from this house might want to call her.’
Davina was connected almost at once and I listened in disbelief. This was my husband they were fighting over. Sarah Cummins had arrived at the house, bent on revenge on Davina for stealing her man, as she saw it, and in order to do it she had decided to steal Tim from her. Wordlessly I stood up and went to stand in the hall behind her, listening. There was no question that Tim was there, but he was refusing to come to the phone. After five minutes’ vicious tirade Davina slammed down the phone and whirled round. She found herself face to face with me and for one second she had the grace to look taken aback. Then she smiled. ‘Don’t look like that, Celia. If you were any good at all with men you’d be able to keep him, wouldn’t you! You deserve to lose him!’ She ran to the staircase and vanished up it.
I was stunned. For a while I could not move, then I was conscious of the dining room door closing softly behind me, shielding me from the staring eyes within. An arm went round my shoulders. It was Nigel.
‘Come on up to my room. I’ve some brandy up there,’ he said quietly. I went without a murmur and sat on his bed sipping it until I had stopped shaking. His arms were round me, comforting, holding me close. I hardly noticed when he took the glass