Goodbye to an Old Friend

Chapter Four

Adrian was early, so he wandered past the flat and then down a side road, finally completing the block. He was still ahead of time. He looked inside and saw the hall porter staring at him, so he entered.

‘Twenty-eight,’ he said.

‘The two girls,’ said the man. ‘Miss Sinclair and Miss Harris.’

The two girls — how ordinary and natural it sounded. She’d readopted her maiden name, he realized.

‘Yes,’ said Adrian.

‘They expecting you?’

The porter was bristle-moustached and trying to portray the role of guardian of young innocents in London. Adrian noticed that the Military Medal ribbon on his uniform was stitched on upside down. It would be cruel to tell him.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘I’ll check,’ announced the porter, challenging Adrian to argue.

‘Yes,’ said Adrian, ‘you’d better.’

The commissionaire replaced the house phone and said, ‘Miss Harris says you’re to go up.’

My wife. The contradiction echoed in Adrian’s mind, like a shout. Not Miss Harris, my wife.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

The apartment block impressed him with its luxury. The other woman must have money. Adrian anticipated the meeting as the lift ascended, Anita guiltily shrewish the other woman mannish, probably in tweeds, hair cropped short, standing protectively over her.

No one replied when he rang the bell first and so he pressed again, his hand shaking. His finger slipped off the button. Anita answered and Adrian stood looking at her, suddenly gagged with embarrassment.

‘Hello Adrian,’ she said.

‘Hello.’

Happiness radiated from her, like warmth, her face clean, polished almost, demure in a black sweater and contrasting oatmeal skirt. He felt a surge of emotion and wanted to kiss her. She was a slender girl, thin almost, black hair bobbed short to cup her unusually pale face. For years her doctor had treated her for anaemia before accepting her colouring as natural and only since she had been living with the other woman had she accepted the advice that Adrian had offered soon after their marriage and stopped spending half an hour a day on careful makeup.

He felt her eyes flicker over the crumpled suit, rippled with its concertina creases, and the collapsed shirt. Miss Aimes would have looked like that, the smug, knowing glance. She stood aside for him to enter the flat, a comfortable, lived-in place. There wouldn’t be seats that ended halfway along his thigh, numbing his legs. He sat down and discovered he was right.

Each sat tensely, alert for the other, searching for words.

‘I’m not coming back,’ announced Anita abruptly.

‘No,’ said Adrian.

‘I’ve thought about it and considered everything. There’s only the two of us to consider. No one will be hurt,’ she said.

No one? What about me? Am I no one? That mental shout of protest again.

Aloud he said, ‘That’s right.’

‘So we’ve just got to accept what’s happened.’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake Adrian,’ she shouted, suddenly, so unexpectedly that he jumped. ‘Why the hell don’t you say something? I’ve just told you I’m never going to come back, that I’m going to live here with another woman. Isn’t there any reaction? Don’t you want to hit me? Don’t you want to call me a whore or a queer or something? Must you accept everything that ever happens to you without protest?’

Adrian looked at her, helplessly, thoughts refusing to coalesce.

‘I’m … I’m sorry …’ he tried, but she burst in.

‘you’re sorry. What the hell do you mean, you’re sorry. I’m the one who should be apologizing, not you.’

Adrian could think of nothing to say.

‘I want a divorce,’ said Anita, after a pause.

‘I thought you would,’ said Adrian. ‘I’ve made some inquiries already.’

‘Will it be difficult?’

Adrian shook his head. ‘Not really. It’ll just take time. Could be as long as three years, maybe more, because we haven’t been living apart for very long.’

‘What have I got to do?’

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I’ll make all the arrangements. Just get a solicitor and let me know who he is, so our solicitors can start communicating.’

‘Will there have to be grounds, evidence … details about what’s happened?’

‘No, I don’t think so, not in open court. Our solicitors will have to know, of course.’

‘If it’s necessary to provide grounds, would you do it?’ she asked, suddenly, her attitude meek and pleading now.

‘What?’ he frowned, unsure of the question.

‘If there have to be grounds, like adultery or something, couldn’t you pay a prostitute or something like that?’

He looked at her, shocked, not because of her presumption, but her assumption that he would go with a whore.

‘Well, will you?’

‘I’ve told you, it’s not necessary, the only reason for divorce now is the irretrievable breakdown of a marriage. And ours certainly qualifies.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘But if you’re wrong, you’ll provide the grounds?’

He’d never completely realized the depth of her selfishness before.

‘Yes,’ he said wearily. ‘Yes, I’ll provide the grounds.’

She nodded, satisfied. Bottles were in a trolley shaped like a miniature horsecart, near the window. She saw him looking at them.

‘Oh, would you like a drink, or something?’

‘No, no thank you.’

‘Some food? When did you last eat?’

She looked at his clothes, again recognizing the neglect. ‘No, really. I couldn’t eat a thing,’ he lied. ‘I had a meal before I came here.’

The door lock grated and they stopped, both looking expectantly at the entrance. Adrian saw a tall, willowy girl enter, long blonde hair looped to her shoulders. She was small-busted but surprisingly attractive. She wore a brown cashmere sweater under a Chanel suit and had hardly any makeup on. Adrian thought she was quite lovely.

‘Oh,’ she said, smiling, her teeth perfect. ‘Hello.’

Adrian was confused, mentally prepared for tweeds and mannishness, suddenly confronted by such obvious femininity. Did that mean that Anita was …?

‘Anne,’ said Anita, easily, ‘this is Adrian.’

She stayed smiling and reached out. Hesitatingly he took her hand. The shake was soft and womanlike.

‘She won’t bite you, Adrian,’ said Anita. ‘We don’t all wear trousers and smoke pipes, you know.’

‘Don’t, Anita,’ rebuked Anne Sinclair.

‘Hello,’ said Adrian, remaining standing. He was aware of the feeling between the two women. He felt like a Peeping Tom.

‘Oh, do sit down,’ she said. ‘Has Anita offered you a drink? Some brandy? Or some wine perhaps? We’ve got some in the fridge.’

At Eton Adrian had twice a year gone to tea in his housemaster’s study and been served slightly burned scones and weak tea by the man’s wife.

She had recognized his shyness and favoured him just slightly above the other boys, giving him, just once every six months, thirty minutes of favoured attention, listening to him intently, as if what he said mattered, drawing opinions from him and then deferring to them and Adrian had thought she was the most wonderful woman in the world. He found himself comparing her to the blonde woman before him.

‘Yes … no,’ said Adrian, blushing under the attention. ‘She’s offered me a drink, but I refused …’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Adrian doesn’t want to put us to any inconvenience, not even one duty glass,’ said Anita, the jeer quite clear.

‘Do stop it, Anita,’ said Anne. She turned to Adrian. ‘Did you have any difficulty finding the flat?’ she said, pleasantly. ‘We gave a housewarming the other night and some people took hours to get here.’

Just like the housemaster’s tea party. A cosy room, pleasant, easily handled small talk, like a friendly game of table tennis where you lob the ball over the net towards the other person’s bat.

‘No, not really. I thought it was quite easy,’ said Adrian. They’d probably discuss the weather and that year’s holiday, he thought. He controlled a snigger at the stupidity of it, the social conversation with his wife’s lover. Unasked, Anita poured a brandy and took it to the other girl, who accepted it without thanks, acknowledging a well established ritual. For a few seconds they looked at one another and Adrian felt an interloper again.

‘We’re going to have some supper in a while,’ said Anne, turning back to him. ‘Why don’t you stay?’

‘Thank you, that’s very kind …’ began Adrian, but his wife cut in. ‘But he can’t,’ said Anita. ‘He’s already eaten and couldn’t manage another thing.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Adrian, reminded. ‘I’ve already eaten. And I have a couple of things to do tonight.’

His stomach yawned at the thought of food.

Anita is enjoying my discomfort, thought Adrian, suddenly. The bitch is gloating, happy at her odd security, enjoying my crumpled suit and filthy shirt and knowing I haven’t eaten. She probably even guesses there weren’t any eggs for breakfast.

‘You’re staring at me,’ grinned Anne and if he had been unaware of the circumstances, Adrian would have said she was flirting with him.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said, flushing and regretting it. Anita suddenly became aware of the exchange and Adrian saw her go white. He wondered if Anne were playing some odd sort of love game.

Anita began to talk, trying to reduce her husband before the other woman.

‘Adrian at his best,’ she said, ‘apologizing.’ Anne said nothing, merely holding up an empty glass which Anita hurriedly took from her and refilled. Adrian realized that despite her apparent femininity, Anne was the dominant character. Oddly, he felt regret.

‘I think I’d better get going,’ he said.

‘Oh, really,’ said Anne. ‘Surely you can stay on a little longer? Why not change your mind and have a meal?’

‘He has to go,’ said Anita, the jealousy obvious.

To her Adrian said, ‘You’ll let me have the address of a solicitor?’

It occurred to him that it would have been easier for them to arrange the whole thing by letter. It had been Anita who had insisted on the meeting and he suddenly realized she had purposely schemed his humiliation with Anne, creating the comparison between two rivals.

‘Yes,’ said Anita. ‘I’ll give you a solicitor’s name.’

‘You have my new number, in case you want to call me,’ said Adrian, still feeling sympathy.

His wife nodded.

‘Goodbye,’ he said, to Anne. She smiled and walked with him to the door.

‘Maybe I’ll see you again.’

‘Maybe,’ he said, automatically.

Downstairs the lift gave its tiny bump and Adrian emerged into the lobby. The porter grinned. ‘Not staying long,’ he said, as if he knew.

Adrian started to ignore him, and then stopped. ‘That the Military Medal?’ he asked. The porter smiled, preparing himself for the rehearsed speech. Adrian cut him off. ‘It’s on upside down,’ he said. It wasn’t a great victory, but Adrian walked out into the night nursing a small feeling of contentment.

‘I’ve had an idea,’ said Minevsky. Actually it had occurred to him several days before, but he had waited, assessing the moment of maximum impact.

‘What?’ asked Kaganov.

‘Why don’t we expel a British diplomat? We can create a situation around one of the embassy staff. London is sure to retaliate and expel one of our men. It will keep everything boiling.’

‘Good idea,’ conceded Heirar, reluctantly. ‘Who’ll it be?’

Minevsky shrugged. ‘Doesn’t really matter. I suppose the military attaché is the most obvious choice.’

‘All right,’ said Kaganov. ‘Let’s use the military attaché.’

‘What’s his name?’ asked Minevsky, not really wanting to know, but anxious to extend the recording. The other two men stared at him, curiously. ‘Haven’t the slightest idea,’ said Kaganov. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’

‘No,’ agreed Minevsky. ‘Of course not.’