For Love or Money Page 6

  ‘Wassat.’

  ‘Me.’

  Sarah was slim and small. Almost everything about her was small, her waist, her voice, her pleasantly formed lips, even her shoes. Only her grey eyes were large.

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  She came over and sat on the bed.

  ‘How was Barnard?’

  ‘Hell, absolute offal.’

  ‘You don’t look upset,’ she slipped a hand through his hair.

  ‘No, I had a letter.’

  ‘Yes.’ She had tensed. Steven smirked.

  ‘From a very dear friend.’

  ‘If you’re trying to make me feel jealous …’

  ‘I’m doing pretty well … quite, quite … in fact I was going to tell you that this very dear friend is sorting out all my problems.’

  ‘Come on, out with it then,’ she jabbed at the bedclothes playfully. Clearly it wasn’t another girl.

  ‘Ah, my vision in black, this is a dark, dark secret.’

  She pursed her mouth into a small circle and turned away from him.

  ‘Well, I won’t bother you then.’

  ‘Good.’

  Her back turned, he leapt out of bed and into a dressing-gown. Next he ripped back the curtains.

  ‘The sun, the sun,’ he yelled, ‘Miss Twiss, Miss Twiss, the sun is shining, God has sent good news, and I’m in love.’

  She looked at him dubiously after this outburst.

  ‘So?’

  ‘I’ve told you.’

  Under his dressing-gown he slipped on a pair of pants and then some trousers. Running over to the wash-basin he seized a towel and draped it round him.

  ‘Can Caesar tell a lie?’ he boomed.

  ‘Steven, you’ve only just got up …’

  ‘Sarah, my empress, don’t I look just a teeny weeny bit like Nero?’ a hunched be-toga’d Steven croaked, preening himself over by the mirror.

  ‘You’re quite fundamentally, absolutely impossible,’ she went over to him and slipped her arms round his neck. He let the towel fall.

  ‘Sarah,’ no trace of humour was in his voice now, ‘… Sarah, sometimes I could almost marry you.’

  He watched her expression change. Apparently the forbidden word had been spoken. A small tear appeared at the corner of each eye, soon they were streaming down her cheeks. She broke away from him and sank down on the bed. With her head between her knees, her whole body shook in spasms. Steven went on dressing. He leered at his reflection in the mirror … on balance it had been a pretty satisfactory morning. He turned to her. Then walking over to the bed he put his arms round her.

  ‘To make a joke of that …’ she managed to say.

  ‘But don’t you understand? I’m serious, Sarah … perhaps it might be a good idea.’

  ‘You’ve only known me four months,’ she looked up, mascara was streaked down her cheeks in dirty lines. Steven turned away.

  ‘There’s nothing exceptional in that.’

  Of course it had only been four months but he felt as sure of her as he could be. She at least—the Lord only knew why—loved him more than anybody he had ever known. Granted there had already been scenes, her clinging, him angry and indifferent. But marriages aren’t dropped from the sky, they are arranged and then worked out. There was one occasion he remembered especially well … it had been early morning and he’d been leaving her. She’d been crying like now … her face blotchy, no make-up on her eyes. He’d tried to feel involved, held her in his arms but it had made no difference. He hadn’t been really there … he didn’t understand her tears, hadn’t wanted to. She said when he asked her that he wouldn’t understand, so he didn’t ask again. He tried to break away and get to the door, but she had got out of bed, her nightdress up round her waist and ran after him begging him not to go. He could still hear her feet on the boards, she didn’t seem to run one foot at a time but in a falling rush until she’d found him again. She had been cold and shivering but he still strode out of the house leaving her shivering in the hall of her digs. Yes, she loved him all right. Most of the time she put up a bantering façade of resistance but in the end … Yet her dependence didn’t revolt him, it was genuinely touching. Steven didn’t want a domineering wife. Being dominated had never appealed to him. Rather ordinary really, he thought complacently.

  But why this morning of all mornings? He held Sarah closer … one day was as good as another. No, Steven had his reasons. He thought of the letter. If it didn’t work out … if all his suspicions were wrong? But somehow he didn’t think they were. Marriage really mightn’t be a bad idea.

  Sarah had stopped crying. Poor girl, he buried his head in the warm hollow between neck and shoulder. Poor Sarah, innocence in this world is sadly out of place.

  ‘Will you take me out to lunch?’ She seemed eager.

  ‘Naturally. I’ve never been engaged before, not even tentatively. We’d better go somewhere good.’

  She managed a smile, and then walked over to the mirror to make up again.

  ‘I look such a mess …’ She turned round to look at him, ‘You weren’t joking were you, Steven? You did mean it … didn’t you …’

  There was a slight tremor in her voice.

  ‘I’ve never been more serious.’

  She turned round again, Steven looked at her back. Sarah Twiss from neat suburban Pinner, with a mind and body as neat and trim as a Pinner garden hedge. Inwardly he felt more pity than he had thought himself capable of. So small, so young … and so necessary. In fact Sarah was in her last year at Oxford and was two years older than him.

  *

  After lunch, Steven went round to see his friend Robert (the same Robert who had come to Trelawn the previous Christmas). Robert lived in another quad of the same college. The buildings had just been refaced, the stone was a clean warm ochre, the lawn a pleasing green. As he entered Robert’s staircase Steven gazed across the quad with an air of possession.

  Robert was lying on the floor in front of his electric fire. Several books lay close to him but his head was resting on the carpet.

  ‘I’ve come to talk to you,’ Steven said, bending down next to him.

  ‘Must have dropped off … what time is it?’

  ‘Look, Robert, I need advice. You’re about the only friend I’ve got here. I want to put a case to you.’

  Robert nodded; Steven looked unusually serious.

  ‘Has Barnard been bugging you?’

  ‘No, no, far more serious than that.’

  ‘Christ, you haven’t got Sarah pregnant?’

  ‘Keep calm, Robert, it’s about home.’

  ‘Yes …?’

  Steven watched Robert sitting up; he was interested.

  ‘Robert …’ Steven paused; then, choosing his words carefully, he went on slowly. ‘If your mother lived with a man who you thought was spending too much of her money on another woman, what would you do?’

  Steven watched him carefully. ‘Think hard, I know these arguments pretty well. I just want to see if there are any loopholes.’

  Robert did not answer at once.

  ‘I suppose it depends how much use the man is.’

  ‘Exactly. The man used to be very useful; he helped run the house and above all he kept Mummy happy. She is a difficult woman, as you know: thoroughly unstable … can be as sharp as a razor and the next moment as sentimental as a schoolgirl. But now I’m not so sure that George is playing his part. You saw them together last Christmas. I’m not certain, but I think George is losing control.’

  ‘Well, hadn’t you better be quite certain?’

  ‘No, I’m quite sure enough. This is really a minor point. I found the address of his London flat six months ago and I’ve discovered the approximate rent from a landlord in the same street. If George is not doing his job properly, then his pay must be reduced.’

  ‘Why don’t you warn him?’

  ‘I have, but I don’t want him to feel that I might play any final cards. I don’t want to commit myself. He might pani
c and get rid of the flat, and without the flat I won’t be able to get rid of him when it’s convenient.’

  ‘How are you going to reduce his spending?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t without losing my weapon.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to get rid of him sooner than you want.’

  ‘Robert, there are times when I think you’re worth your scholarship.’

  Robert shrugged. Steven went on.

  ‘As it’s ultimately David’s and my money that he’s spending, I feel that more interests are at stake than his and Mummy’s. I don’t know how much she’s got left, but I do know—although it may be momentarily inconvenient—that when the ideal occasion for removing George comes … it should be taken. The time may not be perfect, but the chance has come.’

  Somebody was playing the trumpet in a room on the other side of the quad, the same tune again and again. The sun was getting lower and the room was almost in darkness. It was already beginning to feel colder. Robert turned on the other bar of the electric fire.

  ‘So you’re going to take it?’ Robert asked unnecessarily. Steven ignored the question.

  ‘Mummy thinks a lot of the money he gets goes on keeping his old mother but I’m almost sure she keeps herself. Every year that passes he’s spending at least £3,000 of our money. If I told Mummy about the flat … had George followed and that sort of thing … found out about his infidelity for certain … do you suppose she’d be grateful to me?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Precisely, what the eye doesn’t see etcetera … she’d curse the day that I’d been born for ruining the protective cocoon of her ignorance.’

  ‘But she wouldn’t cut you off?’

  ‘I’m the elder son. She can act impulsively; she might change the will in favour of David; she wouldn’t cut me off.’

  ‘Can’t you make it look as though it wasn’t you … some coincidence? I could see him with her and tell you.’

  ‘No good, I’d have to tell her when it came to revealing. There’s only one person who can finish him without ruining me and that’s David.’

  ‘So you say: “Be a good boy, David, here’s the address, hop along to London, and you’ll find George in bed with a lovely bit.” Highly intelligent.’

  ‘I had a letter this morning …’ Steven’s eyes were shimmering in the steadily darkening room. The college bells were ringing for early evensong. ‘The letter was from David …’

  Steven explained to Robert. When he had done so he went on:

  ‘He leaves the specialist at five-thirty on this coming Saturday and should be at the flat by six. It’s perfect, he can’t miss them.’

  ‘And if he does?’

  ‘It will be a pity. But the flat will still be there. I’ll have to think again.’

  ‘But even if all goes well, your mother will still know that you gave him the address.’

  ‘But don’t you see, he’ll have asked me for it. My action will appear to be unpremeditated … I happen to know the address at which George usually stays when in town…. David asked me, so I saw nothing wrong in giving it him. After all I needn’t have even been suspicious. She can’t mind-read.’

  ‘What about David then?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be all right; bit of a shock for him, but George always said that he ought to grow up a bit. It’ll so obviously be a freak of chance that Mummy won’t suspect him of malice. She knows he hasn’t got it in him anyway. Besides there’s another aspect, once the thing’s discovered the exact causes are likely to be blurred. She won’t feel in the mood for detective work.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure that George has got another woman?’

  ‘No proof … but I don’t think you can seriously tell me that he’d spend £1,500 for a week-end-a-month flat if he didn’t “entertain”. I’ve stayed in the place … extremely well-appointed. Of course he’d removed any possible evidence before I got there.’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t find out about the woman earlier … knowing the address.’

  ‘Robert, I’ve already explained, I wouldn’t be able to use the information without harming myself.’

  Robert got up from the floor and went over to the cupboard. Steven heard the clattering of tea cups.

  ‘Thought we might have some tea.’ Steven nodded. ‘The only thing that occurs to me …’ Robert mumbled, his head in the cupboard, still searching for another cup. ‘Thing is … what happens to your mother when he’s gone? Big ships take little ones with them.’

  ‘She’ll cling to anything left which isn’t firmly out of her grasp.’

  Robert looked up sharply.

  ‘So you’ll have to get out before Saturday in fact, which leaves David …’

  ‘I’m afraid you couldn’t have put it better than I myself.’

  ‘That’s where Sarah …’ Robert wasn’t smiling. ‘May I be the first to offer you my congratulations.’

  ‘You really do astonish me, you can be so perceptive.’

  ‘So David’s left with Mum and you marry Sarah and try to grab your share before anything else happens.’

  ‘That’s right … of course as you seem to have guessed I became engaged this morning. An engagement is I think firm enough for the moment. Mummy wouldn’t want me to break the girl’s little heart.’

  ‘Christ, if I astonish you, you leave me bleeding speechless. You’re really going to live your life to the letter of the theory.’

  ‘Life comes first and theories after and because of life’s problems.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much indeed, Mr. Machiavelli, for coming along and talking on “Woman’s Hour” … I’m sure that a lot of …’

  ‘Not now, Robert.’

  ‘In nomine filio …’

  ‘Robert, I came for advice …’

  ‘I’m afraid my advice won’t be much use; you know what I feel about Sarah.’

  ‘Try and give the “she’s too good for you” stuff a miss … try and be unbiased.’

  ‘Unlike you, I can’t separate mind from body …’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody self-righteous. Anyway it should be reason from emotion … a rather different proposition I think you’ll agree. I wasn’t proposing indifference to sleeping with an ape.’

  ‘I’ve listened well, Steven; I’ve answered your questions and asked others. Don’t ask for more, you can’t expect me to agree with you as well. If there are any loopholes you will have seen them. In theory I can see no flaws. But Steven in weeks, in months, years … this room and my answers now … you’ll pay.’

  ‘Banquo, I didn’t come for philosophy; I came for logical replies. You have given me both and I’m grateful.’

  Steven got up. ‘I really am grateful, Robert,’ he added, smiling. A second later and the door had closed behind him.

  Going down the stairs he grinned; silly of him, he should have remembered that Robert had been in love with Sarah … still might be for all that. He ought to know … Robert was, after all, his best friend. One day he’d find out what made him really tick. It was difficult to imagine Robert in love, he was always so sensible. Yes, one day he’d ask him about himself … might be quite amusing.

  Outside in the quad again, Steven wished he’d brought a coat. He buttoned his jacket to the top and turned up the collar.

  Back in his rooms he sat down at the table. With one arm he swept all the remains of last night’s industry on to the floor. He then pulled a writing-pad out of the drawer and began on the first of the two letters. He complimented David on his idea … of course it would be nice to see George, he would probably be quite pleased to see him when he arrived. Absolutely right, there was no point in letting him know beforehand. Probably he would say no. The letter was easy really. The second was easier still. He decided to type it. He dated it for the following day and put the address of George’s flat at the top.

  DEAR MATRON,

  Of course I should be only too pleased to see my nephew on Saturday, and he is most welcome to stay
the night. I have not seen him for almost a year and expect he has changed considerably.

  I well remember his having earache when younger; in fact I was constantly asking my sister to take him to a specialist then.

  Please give David my love and tell him I look forward to seeing him.

  Yours sincerely,

  ESMOND FLOWER

  That ought to convince them of Esmond Flower’s undoubted existence. He put the letter in an envelope and typed the address. He then enclosed it in a larger envelope, with a note of explanation to a friend in London, who was to post the enclosed letter from there on arrival. The matron was probably a fool, but no risks could be taken even with the postmark.

  The whole process had taken barely half an hour. Steven looked at the envelopes on the table … the end of an era, all for the price of two stamps and a train ticket. He felt specially pleased with the one to the matron. The intimations of previous knowledge of the child’s health and the tone of kindly concern, struck exactly the right note.

  The end of an era … he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes …

  ‘Everything’s up to date in Kansas City,

  ’Cos it’s gone about as far as it can go.’

  He hummed gently. Perhaps it was sad in a way … he had a drink and started to get into the mood. And yet how could any of it be taken seriously? The pre-war clothes and hats, the ancient wirelesses and telephones, the daring of women smoking cigarettes? Of course all that had been new once. But now it was just so funny, it all tied into the drawing-room comedy of his home life where nobody worked and where every action was part of a game to stave off boredom. And when all else fails let’s try the drunkenness game. My God, they’d been so empty that they’d have rows for no reason at all except to change the pitch of the tedium. And then drawing-room comedy, with its animal card-games and backgammon, descended to music-hall farce, with flying cutlery and hiding in the lavatory. Only an existence like his mother’s and George’s could combine unthinking whimsy with meaningless indignity. They weren’t stupid, they’d just lost the art of applying what wisdom they once had. There was nothing really for them to apply it to. Now the only glimmers of practicality came out in the parables of George’s clichés. Perhaps his mother’s growing interest in religion had some point. At least if God loves you, you don’t have to hear his answers to protestations of fidelity.