A Bouquet of Barbed Wire, page 17
He opened the manuscript and knew at once that Rupert was right. Not that he had had any serious doubts; Rupert was always right. It was good. It was simple and stylish and real, with something about it to set it apart from the others. He read without noticing time; he was fully absorbed. When Sarah came in with his tea he looked up with a start. She said, ‘Can I ask you a favour?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He wondered in which capacity, as lover or boss. Already, in the office, it was becoming confusing.
‘Could I leave early tonight—about five?’ She had great blue marks like bruises under her eyes as though she had not slept.
‘Yes, I should think so.’
She hesitated. ‘It’s only shopping. I mean I could pretend it’s the dentist or something but it is only shopping.’
‘That’s all right. Would you like to go now?’ There was a curious pain arising from the conversation as if it was about something else.
She shook her head. ‘No. Five will do. It’s late night closing.’
‘All right.’
She turned away. He said, suddenly moved by an odd sort of desperation arising from nothing he could pinpoint, nothing more tangible than the general atmosphere, ‘Look, I’m sorry this week’s been so bloody but things will get better, I promise; I’ll organise something.’ He had no idea what but he had to say something, anything, to take that look of resigned disillusionment off her face. She looked like a disappointed child. (No, we cannot go to the Zoo.—But you promised.) He had let her down.
She said coolly, ‘It’s all right. I quite understand,’ hitting back with a touch of adult dignity.
‘I can’t help it,’ he said, somewhat indignantly, defending himself.
‘I said I understand.’ She walked to the door.
‘Sarah.’
She stopped, still with her back to him.
‘Sarah, will you please turn round and look at me.’
She turned obediently like a puppet, blank-faced. He tried pleading with her.
‘Darling, it’s bound to be like this for a little while, till I get something sorted out.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She was unmoved.
‘You’re not making allowances,’ he said, suddenly furious.
She looked at him with cold, stubborn patience. ‘Yes, I am. What do you want me to do? Cry? Make a scene?’
‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Nothing. I knew it would be like this. I said so.’
It was impossible to get through to her. He lowered his head to the manuscript and heard the door close. But this time the writer, good as he was, could not hold him. He kept looking at his watch and reading the same paragraph again. He forgot about his tea and when he came to drink it, it was cold. At five precisely he found himself, much against his will, at the window, in time to see Sarah climb into a red Jaguar, which he had seen before, and be enthusiastically greeted by an elegant young man whom he also recognised.
26
SARAH HAD not meant to behave badly. In fact she was surprised and shocked to find herself doing so, but she seemed to have no control over her behaviour. It was so uncalculated and instinctive that she did not even know what it was meant to achieve. She was ridiculously glad to see Geoff; Simon had gone away for a month’s hitch-hiking in Europe, and Geoff she now saw as her last link with the old way of life which had worked so well until Manson disrupted it. Though in fact she blamed herself entirely for this, since she had brought it about by breaking her own rule. If you did not care, no one could hurt you.
‘You look tired, love. Been burning the midnight oil?’
She said no and then yes and he laughed and drew his own conclusions. He was taking her back to his flat for drinks and a snack before the theatre, and to make love, if they had time. After the theatre there would be more drinks and dinner, then back to his flat for the night. She liked the nights at Geoff’s flat because it was beautiful and reminded her of how she wanted to live. But now she found herself wanting to ask his advice, to say, ‘Geoff, what shall I do?’ and tell him the whole story, such as it was. He had probably guessed there was someone new on the scene; that would not matter. But making an appeal to him would. It would be dangerous, breaking the rules. It was not what she was there for, to be pathetic or uncertain, in need of comfort and guidance. That was not why he kept her in his life. At least, so she assumed; she had never given him the chance to prove otherwise.
They had a good evening. Fortunately she was able to switch off her office mood and sparkle for him. The play was amusing and they laughed a lot. Over dinner she drank more wine than usual and said, ‘Don’t we have a good arrangement? It’s so uncomplicated. I do like it.’ And looking down at her plate she reflected that her life was really just a series of meals and beds with different people.
He looked at her over his glass and said, ‘Yes, I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I shall miss you.’
‘Miss me?’ She was suddenly cold, in the warm restaurant, full of food and wine; she shivered.
‘Yes. Oh, only for a while. The old man is sending me to Frankfurt for six weeks. He seems to think I should get a look at how they run things at that end. Absorb a bit of German efficiency before he kicks the bucket and I take over.’
She said, ‘Oh,’ very small.
He was smiling at her. ‘Will you miss me?’
She looked at him fondly, thinking how brash he was, how handsome and vulgar and arrogant, so uncomplicated, so fond of living. She thought he was the only person she knew who really enjoyed himself all the time, whose whole life was dedicated to the pursuit of enjoyment. She admired that. It was as if he was a particularly devout member of a minority religion. ‘Yes, I shall miss you. Very much.’
He grinned at her. ‘Good. But cheer up, sweetie, it’s only six weeks.’
‘When do you go?’ With Simon away she would be entirely alone.
‘In about ten days. We can still whoop it up for a bit. If your other commitments allow.’ He smiled, and she thought, He likes me like this, I mustn’t disappoint him.
She said, ‘Oh, I expect I can fit you in.’
‘Well, try to fit me in a bit better than lately ‘cos my days are numbered, as it were. Who’s the new man by the way?’
She was startled but in a sense relieved. She thought quickly. ‘Oh, very middle-aged and square. An aberration really.’
‘The father image.’ He was laughing.
She said, ‘Something like that.’
* * *
In bed that night, after they had made love and were having a final drink and he his post-coital cigarette, he said, ‘Do you want to borrow the car?’
She was startled. ‘What?’
‘The car. While I’m away. It’s a bit pointless garaging it and if I leave it at home I know what will happen. My dear brother will take it on a joy-ride and like as not smash it up. He’s itching to get his hands on it.’
She was awed. She knew what the car meant to him and she loved the feud with his brother because it reminded her of hers with Barbara: it seemed to make a bond. ‘God, Geoff, do you mean it?’
‘Sure I mean it. You’re the best woman driver I know.’
‘Now don’t spoil it.’ She liked the way he teased her. As she recalled, this was not something Manson did.
‘Well, I’d like you to have it. You would use it, wouldn’t you?’
‘Would I?!’
‘Well, I don’t want it standing around. Bad for its innards. And I’d like to think of you dashing around in it. You make a good pair.’
‘Geoff, you are sweet.’ She snuggled against him, feeling immensely comforted. It was such a little thing to do and yet it was enormous. She felt he had helped her as much as if she had told him her troubles—only without risk.
‘Well, I like you, that’s all.’
She was very moved. Suddenly this seemed more important than all the love and declarations of love in the world, that people should like one another and say so. ‘I like you too.’
‘Well, that’s fine. So you’ll have it; I’ll give you the keys before I go. Only don’t let him drive it, that’s all. Okay?’
27
‘MUMMY, I’M back.’
‘Darling! Where are you—at the airport? Shall I come and fetch you?’
‘No, back in the flat. We just got in. How’s Granny?’
‘Oh, much much better, darling. I told you I’d let you know if there was any need for you to interrupt your holiday, and thank God there wasn’t. She’s got a nurse now: I came back about ten days ago.’
‘You must have had an awful time.’
‘Well, it was tiring. Anyway, all over now. What about your holiday? We enjoyed your postcards.’
‘Oh, it was great. Fantastic. I’m practically black. If I could have the baby now, no one’d believe it was mine.’
‘In other words it was hot.’ Cassie smiled at the pleasure in Prue’s voice.
‘You could say that, yes. How was Devon? Did you manage to get out at all?’
‘Not much really. But the boys enjoyed themselves. They were on the beach every day and the weather was quite good. Not up to the South of France though.’
‘Can I talk to them?’
‘They’re not here, darling. They went off to Sweden yesterday—don’t you remember?—to stay with that family. You know, the Swedish twins at school.’
‘Oh yes. Aren’t they lucky? That never happened to me when I was at school. So you’re all alone again. Aren’t you and Daddy going to get away at all? You really ought to, you know.’
‘It’s all right, darling, we are going. No need to sound so anxious.’ Somehow Cassie sensed an implicit criticism of Manson in Prue’s enquiry. ‘Later this month. We’re going to take the car on the train to Scotland and drive round looking at mountains and lochs.’
‘Lovely.’
‘Yes, it will be nice.’ Cassie knew it sounded tame to Prue. ‘Have you spoken to Daddy yet?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Well, give him a ring, darling. I’m sure he’d like to know you’re back.’
‘I thought I might call in instead and give him a surprise.’
* * *
Prue walked up unannounced, telling the girl in reception that she wanted to surprise her father. She had dressed carefully for the occasion in a white linen maternity dress the length he approved of, and wore plenty of scent but very little make-up, letting the colour of her skin speak for itself, and her dark, sun-streaked hair hang loose. It was actually not quite sunny enough for this image and in the street she developed goose-flesh; she was glad to reach the warm office.
A girl with golden hair scraped back and an air of charm and efficiency which Prue instantly disliked opened the door to her and said, ‘Can I help you?’ For a split second Prue fancied there was something like recognition in her eyes, although they had never met, but it was so immediately damped down that she thought she must have imagined it.
‘I’m looking for my father,’ she said. So this was the new secretary. A far cry from Monica.
‘I’m afraid Mr. Manson is out of his office at the moment. Would you like to wait?’
‘Yes, I would.’ Prue walked past her and pushed open Manson’s door. ‘I’ll wait in here.’
Sarah resumed typing. Prue sat on Manson’s desk, swinging her legs, smoothing her dress over the baby bulge, poking about amongst her father’s papers and watching Sarah out of the corner of her eye. Presently she said, ‘Where is he, by the way?’
‘Only in Mr. Warner’s office.’
Prue slid off the desk. ‘Oh, I’ll go up then.’
Sarah put on a secretarial face and said doubtfully, ‘Well, they are in conference and I don’t think they’ll be long.’
Prue laughed. There was something about this girl that annoyed her intensely and she could not pin-point it. ‘Uncle Rupert and Dad in conference! They’ll be gabbing away for hours if I don’t interrupt them.’
Sarah picked up the phone. ‘Then I’ll tell them you’re here.’ Prue, transfixed by her coolness, simply stood and watched, heard her say, ‘Mrs. Sorenson is here, Mr. Warner; could you tell Mr. Manson? Thank you.’ Then she turned to Prue. ‘Can I get you some coffee, Mrs. Sorenson?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Prue, sulking, and aware she was sulking. ‘It’s too hot.’
‘Lemon barley then,’ said Sarah brightly.
‘All right.’
Sarah brought the glass of lemon barley, very cold and clinking with ice.
‘Thanks.’ Prue knew she ought to enthuse—Sarah had made an effort—but she could not. She stood by the window and watched the traffic. The typing started again. Suddenly she could not bear it. She swung round and said, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Sarah Francis,’ said Sarah, still typing.
Prue digested this. The continuing noise infuriated her, making her feel deliberately excluded from the busy life of the office. Surely they were not all so occupied that they could not even spare five minutes to be polite. She said, raising her voice, ‘Can’t you stop typing a minute?’
Sarah stopped, smiled beautifully and said, ‘Well, I do have rather a lot to get through.’
Prue thought of the job she had left and the infinite tedium of it. This one could not be much better. And here was this girl, hardly older than she was, pretending to be too busy to talk.
‘I suppose you took over from Monica,’ she said.
‘That’s right.’ Sarah began licking stamps and sticking them on envelopes. Prue watched her.
‘Good heavens,’ she said, ‘did they tell you you’d get the sack if you stop to breathe?’
Sarah smiled. ‘It’s not very arduous,’ she said, ‘and I like to be busy.’
The door opened and Manson came in. He was smiling a welcome but Prue thought he looked flushed and agitated. Surely stairs were not getting too much for him already?
They hugged and kissed. He stood back and admired her. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s quite a colour.’
Prue slowly revolved in front of him. Sarah had started typing again. ‘And it’s all over,’ she said. ‘Even the bulge is brown. It was that sort of garden where you could do everything naked. I’ve never worn so few clothes on a holiday in my life before.’
‘Good for you,’ said Manson shortly. He went to his desk.
‘Well, I suppose it was a sort of second honeymoon really.’
‘Yes, I suppose it was. Look, Prue, it’s lovely to see you, darling, but I do have a lot of work—’
‘You, too. Your new secretary won’t stop for a minute either. What’s the matter with you all? Is it Back Britain week or are they running a competition for England’s busiest publisher?’ She laughed to take the sting out of the words.
‘All right,’ said Manson, lighting a cigarette. ‘My time is yours. What can I do for you?’
Prue smiled. ‘I was hoping to cadge some lunch. We only came back ‘cos we’d run out of money and I’m really quite hungry.’
Manson hesitated; Prue thought he looked evasive. He called out, ‘Sarah, aren’t I busy for lunch today?’
There was a pause. Then: ‘Nothing I can’t get you out of.’
‘Oh,’ Manson said. ‘Then I seem to be free.’
* * *
He said furiously, ‘Now why did you do that?’
‘What?’
‘You know what. Cancel our lunch so I could eat with Prue.’
‘I thought you ought to eat with Prue.’
‘Since when do you judge what I ought to do? I can eat with Prue any day.’
‘You can eat with me any day. But surely Prue takes priority.’
‘Dammit, Sarah, whoever takes priority, it’s for me to say. Not you.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. I interfered.’
‘And it isn’t good for Prue to get her own way all the time.’
‘No.’
‘Walking in here and upsetting all my arrangements …’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you laughing at me?’
‘No.’
‘Then come here.’ He held out his arms.
‘No, I can’t. Anyone might walk in.’
‘You’re right. Christ, why are you always right?’
‘It’s something they taught me at Commercial School.’
He laughed. ‘At least you still make me laugh. That’s about all you get a chance to do, these days. God, I want you so much—if this goes on much longer I’ll be walking around the office with a permanent erection and that won’t be good for my image—or will it?’
She said, ‘Oh, darling,’ and then, ‘this thing seems to get madder and madder; I don’t know where I am. I don’t think Prue liked me; there was a terrible atmosphere between us.’
He said, to his own amazement, ‘Damn Prue.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Yes, I do. Don’t tell me what I mean.’
She said lovingly, ‘Darling, you’re awfully stroppy these days.’
‘I know.’
‘I love you for it though.’
‘Do you? I thought you’d gone off me.’
‘Did you? I wish I had.’
‘Do you really? Don’t say that.’
‘Well, you make me unhappy, that’s all. And nobody’s ever done that before. I’m not used to it.’
‘Aren’t you really? What a happy, lucky life you must have led.’
‘Yes, I have. That’s me, to a T.’
She sounded so bitter that he said, suddenly concerned, ‘Sarah, what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. You just don’t know anything about me, that’s all.’
