Mexico Set

14

I drove back to London listening to Ingrid Haebler playing Mozart piano concertos. I turned the car's tape player up very loud as I tried to disentangle the thoughts and theories whirling endlessly in my brain. Had I been less tired, and less concerned with the death of MacKenzie, I might have taken reasonable precautions when entering my home. As it was, what should have been adequate warning for any man – the mortise unlocked and the letterbox flap still partly open after some hand had gripped the door to push it – did not register upon my thoughts. I walked through the front door and found all the downstairs lights burning.

I walked through the hall. There was no one to be seen in the front room so I pushed the door of the kitchen and stepped back. There was a figure lost in the gloom of the tiny pantry beyond. I touched the butt of the pistol in my pocket.

'Who's there?'

'Bernard darling. I wasn't sure if you were home or not.'

'Tessa. How did you get in?'

'You gave me a door key, Bernard, Surely you remember.'

'Of course.'

'I'm putting frozen soup and fish fingers into the freezer, my love. Your children are coming home tomorrow. Or have you forgotten that?' She spoke over her shoulder. I could see her more clearly now in the dark shadows of the pantry. Her long fair hair was falling over her face as she stretched forward to reach into the freezer, the dark pantry ceiling made a firmament by the glittering diamond rings on her fingers. And around her there was the swirling 'smoke' of frozen air.

'No,' I said. But I had forgotten.

'I spoke on the phone with your nanny. She's a good girl but she'll need food for them. You wouldn't want her to go out shopping and leave the children at home. And she won't want to drag them round the shops.'

'It's very kind of you, Tessa.'

She put the last packet into place and then closed the lid of the freezer chest with a loud thump. 'So what about a drink?' she said. She slapped her hands to remove the crystals of dry ice. She was dressed in a loose-fitting button-through dress of natural cotton, and under it a shiny pink blouse that went so well with her fair hair.

I looked at my watch. It was nearly midnight. 'What would you like, Tessa?'

'Did I see a bottle of champagne in the fridge? Or is that being kept for a tête-à-tête with the gorgeous Gloria?'

'News travels fast,' I said, taking off my coat and getting glasses and the bottle of champagne. I put the contents of the ice tray into the champagne bucket and put the bottle into it with water.

'It's so stylish to have a proper ice bucket,' said Tessa. 'Did I tell you that George bought a solid-silver one and someone swiped it.'

'Stole it? Who?'

'We never found out, darling. It was a party we had for car people. Some bastard stole the champagne bucket. I wondered if they knew it was solid silver or if they just took it for a lark. Oh, yes, I heard all about the exotic creature you took over there to dinner. I had coffee with Daphne.'

'Daphne Cruyer? I thought you and Daphne… That is, I thought…'

'Spit it out, Bernard darling. You mean you thought Daphne and I should be at each other's throats since I had a little fling with Dandy Dicky?'

'Yes,' I gave all my attention to the champagne cork. After some difficulty it opened with a bang and I spilled some before pouring.

'Daphne's not like that, darling. Daphne is a lovely person. I wouldn't have done it if I'd thought that Daphne would be hurt.'

'Wasn't she hurt?'

'Of course not. Daphne thinks it's all a most wonderful hoot.'

'Why would Daphne think it's a hoot for you to have an affair with Dicky?'

'An affair. How romantic. It wasn't an affair, darling. No one could have an affair with Dicky; he's having an imperishable love affair with himself. What woman could compete with Dicky's first and only love?'

'So what was it?' I passed her the glass.

'It was a whim. A caprice. A sudden fancy. It was all over in a couple of weeks or so.'

'Fiona said it lasted nearly three months.'

'Not at all.'

'Fiona had a good memory for that sort of thing. I'm sure it was three months.'

'Well, three months. Don't go on about it. Three months, how long is that? I can't believe Daphne worried. She knew I wasn't going to run off with him. Could you imagine me running off with Dicky? And now Daphne has him right under her thumb.'

'Does she?'

'Of course she does, darling. He's feeling as guilty as hell, and so he should. He can't do enough for Daphne nowadays; he even buys her flowers. Umm, that's delicious champagne. I told you my doctor has put me on a special diet – lots of champagne but no other sort of alcohol and no sugar or fat.' She turned the bottle so that she could read the lable. 'Bollinger, and vintage too. My very favourite champagne. How extravagant you are becoming. Is this something to do with Gloria?'

'I wish you'd shut up about Gloria,' I said. 'That bottle of Bollinger is the last bottle from the case you gave us as a present last Christmas.'

'How silly I am,' said Tessa. 'How too too embarrassing.'

'It was very kind of you, Tessa. And thank you for bringing the food for the children.' I held up the glass as if in toast, and then drank to her.

'But that's not everything,' said Tessa, who had a childlike need for praise. 'I've had their room cleaned, and brought some new toys, and bedlinen patterned with huge dragons breathing fire. Pillows too. You should see them, Bernard. I wish they made them adult-bed size. Dragons; I would love them on my bed, wouldn't you, darling?'

'Talking of bed…'

'Am I keeping you up, Bernard? You look tired. I'm sorry to come over here so late but I can't let my bridge partner down. We were playing until past eleven. And he's the one with the frozen-food wholesale place where I get all this stuff. He put it in the back of his car. It was all packed with dry ice. You needn't worry.'

'I'm not worrying.'

'Can I have a splash more of that champagne?' She poured it without waiting for a reply. 'Oh, there's lots. More for you? Then I really must go home.'

'Thanks, Tessa. Yes.'

We both drank and then suddenly, as if seeing me for the first time, she said, 'Bernard. Where have you been, darling? You look absolutely ghastly.'

'I've been working. What do you mean?'

She stared at me. 'You look positively ill, darling. You've changed. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it. In just a couple of days you've aged ten years, Bernard. Are you ill?'

'Easy does it, Tessa.'

'Seriously, my love. You look frightful. You haven't had an accident in the car? You haven't run over someone or something like that?'

'Of course not.'

'George had a bad accident a couple of years ago and I remember he went quite grey-haired overnight. And he looked as you do; green, darling. You look green and quite old.'

I picked up the champagne and said, 'If we're going to finish this bottle we might as well sit down and talk in comfort.' I led the way into the front room, switched on the lights and we sat down. I said, 'I'm just a bit tired, that's all.'

'I know. All this business with Fiona; it must be absolutely rotten for you. And now, with Daddy making himself an absolute arsehole about the children, you must be having quite a time of it. And money must be a problem too. Daddy says you're selling this house. You're not, are you?' Tessa seemed tired too; at least she was not her usual high-spirited self. She let her hair swing across her face as if she wanted to hide behind it, like a child behind a curtain playing peekaboo.

'Not for the time being.'

'Hang on to it, Bernard. Daddy says it's too big. But it's a sweet little house and you must have a playroom for the children as well as a bedroom. And if nanny didn't have that large bedroom, she'd want a sitting room too.'

'Your father said it was too big because he wants the children with him at Leith Hill.'

'I know. I told him it was a stupid idea.' Her face twitched and for a moment I wondered if she was going to cry but she pushed her knuckle against her face and recovered her composure. 'He'd never tolerate the noise the children make, and can you imagine him playing with them or reading to them at bedtime?'

'No,' I said.

'He just wants the children as ornaments. Just like those suits of armour in the hall, and that ridiculous library, filled with expensive first editions that he never looks at, except when he calls a valuer in to renew the insurance. And then he goes off to tell everyone at his club what a wonderful investment he made.'

'I suppose he has his good points,' I said, more because of the distress she was showing than because I could think of any.

'He keeps them well hidden,' she said, and laughed as if shaking off her sudden bout of sadness. She got to her feet, reached for the champagne bottle and filled her glass and mine before going back to the sofa. Then she slipped off her shoes and, leaning one elbow on the sofa end, tucked her feet under herself.

'Do you want to phone George?' I offered. 'Does he know where you are?'

'The answer is no to both questions,' she said. 'And the answer to the next question is that he doesn't care either.'

'Are things all right between you and George?'

'George doesn't love me any more. George hates me. He's just looking for some way to get rid of me so that he can go off with someone else.'

'Does George have someone else? Does he have affairs?'

'How can I be sure? Sex is like crime. Only one per cent motivation and ninety-nine per cent opportunity.' She drank some wine. 'I can't blame him, can I? I've been the worst wife any man ever had. George always wanted children.' She rummaged through her handbag to get a handkerchief. 'Oh, don't look so alarmed, Bernard. I'm not going to start sobbing or anything.' Despite this assurance she dabbed her eyes and gave every sign of doing so. 'Why did I marry him?'

'Why did you?'

'He asked me. It's as simple as that.'

'I'm sure many other men asked you.'

'George asked me when I was feeling low. He asked me at a time when I suddenly wanted to be married. You wouldn't understand; men never feel like that. Men just get married for peace and comfort. They never feel frightened of not being married the way women do sometimes.'

I was embarrassed by the intensity of her feelings. 'How do you know George has someone else? Has he told you so?'

'A wife doesn't have to be told. It's obvious that he doesn't love me. He has someone else; of course he does.' She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief before looking up at me. She blinked and gave a brave little smile. 'He's taking her off to South Africa.'

'Women always tend to imagine men have other women,' I said. 'If he hasn't mentioned another woman, there possibly isn't one.'

'George might have begun to hate all women. Is that what you mean? Maybe George just wants a bit of peace and quiet away from me? Away from all women. Drinking and laughing with his friends in the car business.'

It was exactly what I thought. 'No,' I said. 'Of course not. But George is very wrapped up in his work. He always has been, you know that. And the economy is still not picking up the way everyone hoped it would. Perhaps he needs to give a lot of thought to his business.'

'You men always stick together.'

'I hardly know George, but he always seemed a decent sort of chap. But you've led him a merry dance, Tess. It can't have been easy for him. I mean you haven't exactly been discreet with these little affairs, have you?'

'And, if you were George, the chance of being in South Africa, a few thousand miles away from me, would be a wonderful opportunity. And certainly not one to be marred by taking a wife along with you. I mean, women are everywhere, aren't they? You can rent them by the hour. Or rent them by the dozen. There are women available from the Arctic to the Pacific, from Persia to Peking.'

'Women are available everywhere,' I said. 'But marriages, reasonably happy marriages, are extremely rare.'

'I've been a fool, Bernard. George has always been a good husband. He's never made a fuss about money, and until last week I never thought of George with other women.'

'What happened last week?'

'Did I tell you he went to Italy, the Ferrari factory, last week? He's been there before and I know the hotel he always stays in. So I phoned them and asked if Mrs Kosinski was staying there. The switchboard girl said Mr and Mrs Kosinski were not in their room but there was another gentleman occupying the second bedroom of the suite if I'd like to speak with him or leave a message with him.'

'And did you speak with this "him"?'

'No, I got scared and rang off.'

'Who was the other man?'

'One of the people from the factory, or perhaps it was George's general manager. He goes along on these trips sometimes.'

'And have you tackled George about it?'

'I tried a little test. He's going to South Africa on some business deal. I've never been to South Africa so I said I'd go with him. He gave me a strange look and said he couldn't change the arrangements, and he is going alone.'

'Is that all?'

'He's going with a woman. Surely that's obvious. He's taking her to South Africa with him.'

'He's always going off on business trips. Are you saying he's always taken women with him?'

'I don't know. I've hardly ever gone with him on a business trip before. It's always so boring to meet all these car salesmen. It was bad enough when he brought them home. All they ever talk about is delivery dates, advertising schedules and profit margins. They never talk about motor cars unless it's rally driving or the Grand Prix. Have you ever been to a motor race, Bernard?'

'I don't think so. I don't remember it.'

'Then you haven't been to one. Because if you'd been to a motor race you'd never forget it. George took me to the Monte Carlo one year. It sounded as if it might be fun. George got a suite at the Hotel de Paris, and a girl I was at school with lives in Monte Carlo with her family. Well, Bernard, I knew I'd done the wrong thing when I phoned my friend and her maid told me that they always leave town when the race is on. Because the noise is deafening and it goes on non-stop day and night. Endless, darling. I put a pillow over my head and screamed.'

'You didn't stay in your hotel room all through the race?'

'I'm not a complete ninny, Bernard. George had the best seats anyone could have. But after the race has been on for ten minutes, there is no way of telling which of the wretched cars is in front and which is at the back. All you see is these stinking little machines driving past you, and you choke on the petrol fumes and get deafened by the noise. And when you try to get back to your hotel you run into the Monaco policemen who are just about the most asinine gorillas in the whole world. It's their big opportunity to scream and shout and push people around and they take full advantage of it. Don't ever go, Bernard, it's absolutely ghastly.'

'I take it that was the last business trip you did with George.'

'And you guessed right, darling.' She looked at me. Her eyes were wide and very blue.

'And now you are convinced that George has found some lady who likes the noise and petrol fumes, and thinks the Monaco police are wonderful.'

'Well, it looks like that, doesn't it? My mother always said I should go with him everywhere. Mummy never lets David out of her sight. She hated the idea of my letting George go away alone. That's always how trouble, starts, my mother says.' Tessa put her face into her hands and wept in a rather restrained way. I felt sorry for her. The weeping was straight out of drama school. But I could see that, beyond the abandoned-little-woman act, she was genuinely distressed.

'It's not the end of the world, Tessa.'

'I've got no one to turn to,' she said between sobs. 'You're the only one I can talk to now that Fi has gone.'

'You have a thousand friends.'

'Name one.'

'Don't be silly. You have so many friends.'

'Is that your polite way of saying lovers, Bernard? Lovers are not friends. Not my sort of lovers anyway. The men in my life have never been friends. My love affairs have always been jokes… schoolgirl jokes. Silly pranks that no one took seriously. A squeeze, a hug, a couple of hours between the sheets in a very expensive hotel room. A weekend stay in the country house of odd people I hardly knew. Passionate embraces in ski chalets and quick cuddles in parked cars. All the flushed excitement of infatuation and then it's all over. We knew it couldn't last, didn't we? Goodbye, darling, and don't look back.'

'You always seemed so happy, Tessa.'

'I was, darling. Happy, confident Tessa, full of fun and always making jokes about my love life. But that was while I had George to go home to. Now I don't have George to go home to.'

'Do you mean…?'

'Don't look so alarmed, Bernard. I don't mean literally, darling. I don't mean that I'm moving in here with you. You should see your face.'

'I didn't mean that,' I said. 'If you leave George you can always use the boxroom. There's a bed there that we've used when my mother came to stay. It's not very comfortable.'

'Of course it's not comfortable, darling. It's a room made for mothers to stay in. It's a horrid, dark little room that would exactly suit a sister-in-law who came to stay, and who might otherwise stay too long.' She gave all her attention to the bubbles rising through the champagne and ran her fingertip down the glass to trace a line through the condensation.

'Sounds like you're determined to feel sorry for yourself.'

'But I am, darling. Why shouldn't I feel sorry for myself? My husband doesn't want me any more, and the only man I've always loved keeps looking at his lovely new watch and yawning.'

'Go back home and tell George you love him,' I said. 'You might find that everything will come out all right.'

'You must be Mrs Lonelyheart. I read your column every week.'

I picked the bottle out of the bucket and divided the last of the champagne between our two glasses. The bottle dripped icy water down my arm. She smiled. This time it was a more convincing smile. 'I've always adored you, Bernard. You know that, don't you?'

'We'll talk about that some other time, Tessa. Meanwhile do you think you can drive home, or shall I phone for a cab?'

'They don't have alcohol at the bridge club, that's the worst thing about it. No, I'm as sober as a judge. I will drive home and leave you in peace.'

'Talk to George. The two of you can sort it out.'

'You're a darling,' she said. I helped her into her smart suede car coat and she gave me a decorous kiss. 'You're the only one I can talk to.' She smiled. 'I'll be over here when nanny arrives. You get on with your work. No need to worry.'

'I'm flying to Berlin in the morning.'

'How wretched for you, Bernard. You won't be here to welcome the children.'

'No, I won't be here.'

'Don't worry. I'll go to Gloriette – opposite Harrods – and get them a superb chocolate cake with 'Love from Daddy' written on the top, and I'll tell them how sorry you are to be away.'

'Thanks, Tessa.'

I opened the front door for her but she didn't leave. She turned to me and said, 'I dreamed about Fiona the other night. I dreamed that she phoned me, and I said was she speaking from Russia, and she said never mind where she was speaking from. Do you ever dream about her, Bernard?'

'No,' I said.

'It was so vivid, my dream. She said I was to meet her at London Airport. I was to tell no one. She wanted me to bring her some photos.'

'Photos?'

'Photos of your children. It's so silly when you think of it. Fiona must have taken photos with her when she went. In this dream she desperately wanted these photos of the children. I dreamed she was shouting down the phone at me the way she did when we were children and she couldn't get her own way. Wake up, she shouted. It was such a silly dream but it upset me at the time. She wanted photos of you too.'

'What photos of me?'

'It was only a dream, darling. Oh, photos of you she left at my house a couple of months ago. She forgot to take them with her one night. Photos taken recently, for your passport, I should think. Awfully dull photos, I think, and portraits of the children. Isn't it odd how one dreams such silly trivial things?'

'Which terminal?'

'What do you mean?'

'In the dream. Which terminal at London Airport did she ask you to go to?*

'Terminal 2. Don't let it upset you, Bernard. I wouldn't have mentioned it if I'd known. Mind you, it upset me at the time. It was very early in the morning and I dreamed I answered the phone and the operator asked me if I'd accept a reverse-charge call from Bosham. I ask you, darling. From what deep dark confines of my brain-box did I dredge Bosham? I've never been there.' She laughed. 'George was awfully cross when I woke him up and told him. If the phone had really rung, I would have heard it, wouldn't I, he said. And then I realized it was all a dream. Mind you, the phone often rings without George hearing it, especially if he's been boozing at his club as he had that night.'

'I'd just try and forget about it,' I said. 'It's not unusual to get strange dreams after something like that happens.'

She nodded and I squeezed her arm. Her sister's betrayal had affected her deeply. For her, as for me, it was a personal betrayal that required a fundamental rethinking of their whole relationship. And that meant a fundamental rethinking of oneself. Perhaps she knew what was in my mind, for she looked up at me and smiled as if at some secret we shared.

'Forget it,' I said again. I didn't want Tessa to worry, and, on the practical level, I didn't want her to phone the telephone exchange and check if there really was a reverse-charge call from Bosham. It could only lead on to inquiries I was trying to avoid. I could follow Fiona's reasoning. By reversing the charges, she made sure the call didn't appear on the telephone bill of the house in Bosham and thus implicate her sister.

I kissed Tessa again and told her to look after herself. I didn't like the idea of Fiona wanting passport pictures of me. She didn't want them to go beside her bed.

I watched Tessa get into her silver VW. She lowered the car window so that she could blow me a kiss. The way the headlights flashed a couple of times, and the direction indicators winked, as she backed out of the tiny parking space, made me wonder if she was telling the truth about the availability of alcohol at her bridge club.

But when I went upstairs to bed I saw MacKenzie sprawled across the floor with his brains spattered over the wallpaper. It was some sort of hallucination. But just for a moment, as I switched on the bedroom light, his image was as clear and as real as anything I've ever seen. It was the shock and the drink and the tiredness and the anxiety. Poor little sod, I thought; I sent him to his death. If he'd been an experienced agent perhaps I'd not have felt so guilty about it, but MacKenzie was not much more than a child, and a novice at the spy game. I felt guilty, and as I prepared for bed I began to suffer the delayed reaction that my body had deferred and deferred. I shook uncontrollably. I didn't want to admit, even to myself, that I was frightened. But that image of MacKenzie kept blurring into an image of myself, and my guilt was turning into fear. For fear is so unwelcome that it comes only in disguise, and guilt is its favourite one.