On the Edge [= Dead Gorgeous]

19

That night Rose had an inspiration. A stunning solution to all the problems. She was certain it would work.

To tell it right, the idea didn’t come in a blinding flash. She came to it through a process that started the moment she left Hector.

Her first thought after watching the Bentley turn in the road and sweep out of Oldfield Gardens was that she’d made a perfect fool of herself. She should never have squeezed his hand like some schoolgirl on a blind date.

She closed her front door and leaned against it with her hands clasped against the back of her neck and her eyes pressed shut and played the scene in her mind again, trying to see it from Hector’s point of view. He could have taken the gesture as what it was, a clumsy attempt to show she had his welfare at heart in spite of the hard time she’d given him. Or, more alarmingly, as a promise of passion. How she wished she hadn’t added that, ‘Tomorrow, then.’

Maybe he’d already dismissed the whole thing from his mind.

She considered this a moment and discovered that it wasn’t the comfort it should have been. Deep down, she hoped he hadn’t treated the incident as unimportant. For all Hector’s hair-raising remarks, he was a stimulating companion. And he gave you his total attention.

How Antonia could contemplate killing him was beyond belief. There was no question that she meant to do it. She’d got the death certificate ready. She’d talked about having him cremated. He was doomed. He might have been dying in agony at this minute if he’d eaten that curry.

Rose started to shake. She went through to the kitchen and opened the larder and saw the space on the shelf where the brandy had been. She gave a moan as she remembered smashing the bottle.

A cigarette, then. She found the packet and her lighter and sat at the kitchen table taking quick, shallow puffs, unable any longer to shut out the horror of what was happening.

No wonder she was in a state. She was poleaxed by the conviction that she had come so close to poisoning Hector. And angry at her own stupidity and Antonia’s deceit. Above all, she was frightened.

If Hector had died and his murder had been discovered, Antonia, up in Manchester, would have had a convincing alibi. The prime suspect would have been Rose herself.

She winced, as if the pain were physical. As a schemer Antonia was in a class of her own. She had planned from the beginning to use her. There was a price to be paid for Barry’s death. It was naïve in the extreme to suppose the favour could be repaid by cooking a few meals for Hector. He was down to be murdered.

‘Not by me,’ she said aloud. ‘There was never any suggestion of that. Never.’

Antonia seemed to think nothing of killing people. She’d pushed Barry under the train without turning a hair. She’d contrived to have Hector poisoned while she went to visit her mother. And — Rose shuddered as she remembered — she’d talked of waiting for Hector’s first wife to die — by drowning. At the time it had seemed incomprehensible. Not now.

Pull yourself together and be positive, Rose told herself. How stupid of Antonia to think that the answer to every problem is murder. Hector’s only offence is that he won’t give her a divorce. Surely they can end their unhappy marriage in some other way?

She drew more deeply on the cigarette.

Then the inspiration dawned.

If Hector won’t give Antonia a divorce because he’s a Roman Catholic, why shouldn’t she divorce him? If he’s the guilty party Antonia can take her case to court and win. She can have a share of his fortune, which she’s after, and she’ll be free to marry Vic.

Above all, Hector’s life will be saved.

Her mouth went dry as she pursued the idea. On what grounds could Antonia divorce him? Cruelty? That won’t wash. Desertion? Definitely not. Insanity? No. Failure to consummate? Unlikely.

That left adultery. Antonia had brushed aside the possibility of other women. ‘No vultures circling overhead. I’d know.’

In that case Hector has to be persuaded to take a lover.

Rose plunged a hand into her hair and gripped it hard at the roots.

It has to be me.

I can’t, she thought. Jesus Christ, it’s only three weeks since my husband died. I’m a widow. I don’t love Hector. I’ve met him on three occasions. I’ve never been so embarrassed as when he made that pass at me in the kitchen and ended up calling me a fusspot. I don’t find him attractive.

Do I?

No use questioning my motives. Suddenly to be taken out for a meal after five years of being ignored is quite head-turning, but that doesn’t come into it. I wouldn’t dream of going to bed with Hector. Not unless everything altered and made it possible, anyway. And then not for many months...

I must get this clear in my mind. I won’t be doing it for any other reason than necessity, to save him from being murdered, and myself from worse trouble than I’m in already.

She felt groggy. That brandy would have been a lifesaver at this minute. There was some ginger wine somewhere in the front room. She collected it and poured herself a large glass.

I’ll be the ‘other woman’ in a divorce case. Horrible. It’s sure to be in the newspapers. Mummy and Daddy will get to hear of it. They don’t read the gutter press, but plenty of people in the parish do. A divorce scandal is the very thing I was so desperate to avoid. I had Barry killed because I wouldn’t divorce him.

Oh, God, what’s the alternative? Hector will be killed. He’s a decent man, utterly different from Barry. He takes a pride in his work. He treats me as if I’m a member of the same species, not some lower order. He made a terrible mistake when he fell under Antonia’s charm, but I can understand exactly how it happened. Knowing the force of Antonia’s personality, I can’t believe Hector had any part in his first wife’s death. He obviously misses her. He must have been rushed into marrying Antonia when he was most vulnerable.

Killing him would be wicked. Indefensible. Yet Antonia will find some way of doing it, with my help or without. She wants him dead. And if she’s arrested, one thing is certain. She’ll name me as her accomplice.

What it comes down to is the lesser of two evils. What would you rather have your daughter be, Daddy — an adulteress or a murderess?

She lit another cigarette.

If only there were more time. To be any use at all, the thing had to be accomplished before Antonia returned from Manchester. She would come back expecting to find Hector dead. Instead, she would be handed the alternative — an admission of his adultery.

She reached for the bottle again.

How soon, then?

Tomorrow.

With an effort to suppress her fears she gave some thought to the practicality of getting Hector into bed. Or getting into bed with Hector. She didn’t think of it as seducing him. If she’d read the signals right, he wouldn’t need much prompting. She hadn’t forgotten how he’d squeezed her hand in the kitchen at Park Crescent, or how he’d made her blush with his personal remarks in Reggiori’s. He was a foreigner, yes, and they got into muddles sometimes, but to say she had legs as good as Betty Grable’s and a ‘pretty fine bust’ couldn’t be put down to faulty syntax.

She could cook a tempting meal, anyway. She’d cook that curry to perfection and serve it with a bottle of Burgundy. Then a spectacular dessert was wanted: why not peach melba?

With the menu decided, she let her thoughts creep ahead. I have set a place for Hector at the oval table in the dining room. Before he eats he invites me to join him, but I insist with a demure smile that I have come there only to cook. I serve the meal and leave him to savour every delicious mouthful, telling him I have things to attend to in the kitchen. I wash the dishes and the pans and leave everything in immaculate condition.

Then I offer him coffee.

I ask how he likes it, and he doggedly says he would like it best if I will drink it with him. I weigh the suggestion solemnly and say instead that if he is kind enough to drive me back to Pimlico I’ll make coffee for both of us there.

So I show him into the front room at Oldfield Gardens, where the fire glows warmly. I go to the kitchen to make the coffee. Presently I call out casually that if he looks in the sideboard he’ll find a bottle of champagne and two glasses waiting.

The train of thought stopped abruptly. She flinched at the prospect of sex with Hector. She hadn’t even kissed him up to now. True, she wasn’t without experience, but compared with Antonia...

She shivered.

She would see how she felt in the morning.