An Accidental Man (48 page)

‘I said
where is she
?'

‘If you mean Dorina,' said Matthew, and his voice was shaky too, ‘I don't know.' He felt sick and frightened and very sorry for himself indeed.

‘You called her name as you came in.'

‘I thought she might have come back here.'

‘Come
back
?'

Oh God, thought Matthew. But he must know anyway. Yet how, and what can I say to him, and what is going to happen?

‘She
was
here,' said Austin. ‘It's true. I could hardly believe it. Where is she now?
Where is she now?
' He came close to Matthew.

‘I don't know,' said Matthew. He looked into the glaring eyes. ‘Have a drink.'

Austin knocked the glass out of his hand and it joined the fragments upon the floor.

‘Do you mind if I have a drink?' said Matthew. ‘This is all rather a shock.' He poured some whisky into the other glass.

‘Where is she?' Austin repeated. His voice was thick and bubbling with anger and he could hardly gasp out the words.

‘I've told you,' said Matthew. ‘I don't know where she is. I swear to you that I do not know where she is. That is true.'

‘You're hiding her somewhere,' said Austin. ‘You've got her somewhere, somewhere secret. I've looked all through the house. I can't see her. I thought she might be here. I found one of her things, oh God — she left a — handkerchief — in one of the — bedrooms — I knew it was hers — it had a — ladybird on it — Where is she — is she here — are you expecting her — now — why was the door open — why did you call her name —'

‘Austin, I don't know where she is,' said Matthew. ‘I thought — I thought she might call on me if she came back. But I had no special reason to think this. You know how we've all been looking for her. I don't know any more about her going away than you do.'

‘But she was here — You had her here when I called to see her at — and they told me she was lying down — then they told me she was gone — and all the time — she was here — with you — oh God I'll —' Austin's voice broke on a sob.

‘No, no, everything they told you at Valmorana was true, I promise, I swear.'

‘Your false — words — how can I listen — lying swine — she was here, you said so yourself — and her little handkerchief — in a bedroom —'

‘Dorina was here,' said Matthew, ‘just for one night — I'll explain —' What was the best lie to tell now? Whatever was said Austin would believe more than the truth. It hardly mattered now what was said.

‘Three nights — they said — but I knew more — all that time — she was here —'

‘Who told you?' said Matthew.

‘Never mind, I always find out about you, you can't hide from me, you kept her here, upstairs, while I was in torment —'

‘Stop it, Austin,' said Matthew. ‘I'll tell you exactly what happened,
listen
, will you. Dorina came here looking for Charlotte. She didn't even know I was here. It was a night when there was a rainstorm and as it was quite late she stayed here overnight and went back to Valmorana in the morning. Then later on she left Valmorana and disappeared. That was how it was. I promise you, honestly.'

‘Do you swear on your very deepest honour that every word of this is true?'

‘Yes.'

‘I can tell you're lying. I can always tell when people are lying. And especially you, you have such a rotten — look. What you say can't be true. Why didn't Dorina answer my letters? And she knew where Charlotte was, I told her myself —'

‘She'd forgotten.'

‘Forgotten! You got her here, you kept her here, you made love to her, you —'

‘Austin, I did not make love to Dorina, nor even conceive of it, I swear on my knees, how can I make you believe the truth, look —' Matthew picked up a sharp fragment of cut-glass tumbler from the floor and squeezed it violently into the palm of his right hand. He let the glass fall. Blood streamed over his fingers.

Austin, who had been standing close to him, bent forward swaying from the waist and gave a long shuddering breath. He stared at the blood as if examining it and then sat down heavily in one of the armchairs. Matthew, almost crying with the sudden pain, fumbled for a handkerchief. He wrapped the hand in the white handkerchief and watched the bright red stain spreading.

‘Austin, I didn't —'

Austin leaned back in the chair. He let something fall with a crack on to the carpet beside him. It was a piece of cast iron, part of the leg of a cast-iron table, something which might have been seen in a nearby rubbish tip.

‘You made love to Betty,' said Austin.

‘I did not,' said Matthew. He felt a little faint. He sat down too and found that his eyes were swimming with tears.

‘You did. I have the proof.'

‘Austin,' said Matthew, and he had now to control a whimper in his voice, ‘when will you and I find the truth? I did not ever make love to Betty or dream of such a thing, or Dorina either.'

‘You used to meet Betty secretly in London. People saw you together. And I found a letter — torn up — in your flat —'

Matthew gave a long sigh. ‘Let us get rid of this anyway,' he said, ‘at last. I met Betty secretly once because we were going to buy you a birthday present. It was her idea, and her present. We were going to buy a tennis racket. You remember that time when you got so keen on tennis. Betty wanted to give you a new racket, but as she didn't really know about tennis rackets she asked me to come with her to Lillywhites to choose one. That's all
that
was. It was a secret because she wanted to surprise you. She loved you. Dorina loves you. God knows why.'

‘I don't believe you,' said Austin. ‘You've just invented that.' He was leaning forward now, drooping his head, mopping his mouth, his hair flopping before his face.

‘Would you like some evidence?' said Matthew. ‘I can give it to you.' He got up and went to the desk. He returned with a piece of folded paper which he gave to Austin.

It was an old faded letter. Austin stared at it, his lips trembling. Betty's writing.

Austin crumpled the letter and threw it on the ground. ‘Why did you keep this?

‘Because — because I thought you might need to see it — one day.'

‘So you were carrying on with Betty all the same. This is an alibi which you arranged between you. You go round the world, but you have this all ready to show me. Why else did you keep the letter except to get yourself out of trouble?'

‘I knew your insane suspicious nature,' said Matthew. ‘Of course I shouldn't have helped Betty to buy the racket, but she was always so open, I didn't want to be the one to suggest that she was married to a — I somehow couldn't get out of it — anyway I was just going abroad again — Your wife loved you, she never imagined you'd seriously think those sort of thoughts about her — she was — you know how she laughed at everything — she was a simple open person —'

‘Why did you keep the letter?'

‘At first by accident. Later because I — thought you might be —'

‘It's all a lie,' said Austin, throwing back his hair. ‘What happened to the tennis racket?'

‘I cancelled the order. Because Betty was dead.'

‘What kind was it?'

‘Slazenger.'

‘I don't believe you,' said Austin. ‘It doesn't ring true. You were carrying on with Betty just as you have been with Dorina. You're a lying adulterer.'

‘I have never made love to either of your wives, Austin. This is all in your mind.'

‘Your sort don't need to. You held their hands and fondled them and stole them. You discussed me with them. “Nervy and anxious” and so on. Poor Austin. They came to you about poor Austin. Isn't that as bad as anything? Are you so stupid that you can't see that? Do you really deny before heaven that when Dorina was here you held her hand and talked to her about me?'

Matthew was silent.

‘Where is Dorina?' said Austin.

‘
I don't know.
'

‘I came here to kill you. It's just as well you weren't in when I arrived.' Austin picked up the piece of cast iron and slung it across the room where it smashed the leg of a chair.

‘Have some whisky,' said Matthew.

‘All right.' Austin was hanging his head again. He kept sweeping back his hair and letting it fall. He took the glass without looking up. He gave a dry sob and began to drink the whisky. Matthew could hear his teeth knocking against the glass.

‘I'm sorry, Austin,' said Matthew. ‘I have never meant you any ill. One day you'll just have to forgive me.'

‘Or kill you. Could I have some more whisky? Is it Scotch?'

‘Bourbon.'

‘I thought it tasted funny.'

As Matthew sat down he brought out his notecase and began writing.

‘What are you writing there?' said Austin, regarding him from under his hair.

‘A cheque. For a hundred pounds. For you. I imagine you're short of money.'

Matthew reached the cheque over. Austin took it with the tips of his fingers, examined it and pocketed it. ‘Thanks.'

There was silence for a while. Matthew drank his whisky greedily with closed eyes. Then Austin said, ‘Well, I must be off.'

‘Shall I ring for a taxi?'

‘No, don't bother. Well, thanks for the cheque. Goodnight.'

‘Goodnight.'

Austin paused at the door. ‘Was this stuff insured, by the way?'

‘Only for the journey,' said Matthew. ‘Not otherwise.'

‘Too bad. Well, goodnight.'

Austin went away through the hall, kicking through the sea of brittle fragments as he went. The front door still stood wide open. It closed behind him.

Matthew reached for the soda siphon. Inside the cupboard he saw a white shape. It was one of the Sung bowls which, because it had a slight chip on the rim, he had put away out of sight. The soda siphon was empty.

Matthew went out into the kitchen and put his right hand under the cold tap. It was still bleeding and very painful. He began to cry.

‘So you talked to your papa on the telephone?' said Gracie.

‘Yes,' said Ludwig.

They were in the drawing-room at Pitt's Lodge. Clara and George had just gone into the country to spend the weekend with the Arbuthnots.

‘Did you have a good line, could you hear clearly?'

‘Very clearly.'

‘Isn't the telephone extraordinary. Someone rings up from America and it sounds as if they're in the next room.'

‘Yes.'

‘What time was it in America when he rang?'

‘Two o'clock in the morning.'

‘What a funny time to ring.'

‘He wanted to be sure of catching me before I went out.'

‘I never can understand that time thing and which way round it goes. What was the weather like there?'

‘We didn't talk about the weather.'

Ludwig was sitting stiffly on the sofa, his hands folded on his knees, staring very hard at a pink lustre cup on the mantelpiece. Gracie was arranging some purple and white dahlias which Karen, looking very cheerful, had brought up from the Arbuthnot's country garden and delivered briefly in person that morning.

‘Sweet of Karen to bring these, wasn't it?'

‘Yes.'

‘Karen looks marvellous in her bridesmaid's dress. Did I tell you Henrietta Sayce wants to be dressed as a page? She's such a comical little girl.'

Ludwig said nothing. Gracie glanced carefully at her fiancé and then stood back from her vase with tilted head. ‘Any news of Dorina?'

‘Of course not.'

‘Why of course not?'

‘Do you imagine,' said Ludwig, ‘that if I had any news of Dorina I would not impart it to you at once?' He turned a tense face upon her.

‘All right, all right, I just asked. Why are you so cross with me, Ludwig?'

‘Sorry, Poppy. I'm not cross with you, I'm just —'

‘You are cross with me, I think. I believe you often are but you suppress it. You shouldn't do that.'

‘Sorry, darling.'

‘Your papa has upset you. Bother him.'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, never mind. What shall we do now? I know, we'll go and have a drink in that new pub in the High Street. We could have sandwiches there too if you like. Then we take a train to Charing Cross and walk across Hungerford Bridge to the Hayward Gallery. There's that exhibish of what's-his-name we haven't seen yet. Then you can go on to the B.M. and work for a little bit, or I could tuck you up here if you like — and then —'

‘Poppy — sorry I — I feel I don't talk to you enough —'

‘Talk then. What stops you?'

‘You do. You're stopping me now.'

‘Really, Ludwig, I don't know what you mean.'

‘If I want to talk about anything that really matters you become all sort of cold and vague and change the subject. You can't stand any sort of seriousness —'