Dance While You Can (21 page)

I was appalled to think that I could have lived with Jessica for so long, and not known anything of the pain she was suffering. In fact, I probably
had
known, the trouble was I hadn’t really cared. Now I was simply grateful for the opportunity to try, in whatever way I could, to make it up to her.

I saw to it that we spent every possible minute together. One of my favourite ways of relaxing was to sit in the corner of her muddled studio, now once again filled with bright and vivid colours, and watch as, naked – and it had to be naked, she assured me – she tied a paint brush to each hand and rotated so that the tips of the brushes swept over the canvas. I was no more
au fait
with her peculiar form of art than I had been before, but it reminded me of our days at Oxford, and that touch of nostalgia drew us even closer together.

I noticed quite early on how much she was drinking, but if I ever mentioned it she became defensive. ‘I’m just having a bit of fun,’ she hiccoughed, when I came home early one afternoon and found her sprawled on the sofa, the best part of the way through a bottle of gin.

‘But Jess, darling, that bottle was full last night.’

‘Are you having a go at me, oh Godalmighty Alexander? Why are you home early, anyway?’

‘I live here, remember? Now come along, let’s get some coffee inside you.’

‘Not one of your little babies?’ She giggled as she saw me flinch. ‘Still haven’t got me pregnant, have you, Alexander?’

‘Jess, stop before you say something you regret.’

Suddenly she burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know what I’m doing any more. You confuse me. You’ve never loved me before, and now that you do, I don’t know how to handle it. What shall we do? Shall we go and see someone? I know you want to have a baby.
Well I’m not damned well giving you one!
’

I walked out of the room, knowing it was pointless to stay. When she sobered up we’d talk again. And maybe she was right, we should go and see a specialist – after all, we’d been trying long enough with no results. But how could we even think about having a baby with Jess in this state?

So we muddled on from row to row, each more acrimonious than the last. But I was certain that once she was pregnant, everything would change; then at last she would allow herself to believe how much I cared for her. To have something in our lives that, we could share and love together was what we both needed.

It was on the day Jessica and I finally plucked up the courage to go for our fertility tests that I received instructions in the Pinto case. No one – with the possible exception of Raddish, the clerk at chambers – was more surprised that I was. It was a case that had been in and out of the press for some time and I came across it when I had to attend a Section I at the magistrates’court. The committal proceedings were brief, and I barely met Ruth Pinto. However, I succeeded in getting her bail, and it was because of this, her solicitor told me, that she later insisted I should be the one to continue with her case. He was determined to make it abundantly clear that the decision had nothing to do with him.

The British Government, or more precisely, the Ministry of Defence, had accused Ruth Pinto of stealing top-secret defence documents and selling them to one of the hundred and five Russian diplomats who were subsequently expelled from Britain. These documents, I was told – I never got to see them – outlined certain key details of Royal Naval manoeuvres in the Baltic.

The case, with much press coverage, lasted four days, and the interaction between myself and prosecuting counsel was bitter, amusing and, for me, increasingly exhilarating as my certain, and public, victory drew closer.

The night before the final day of the trial Jessica and I dined at home. I was edgy because of an unexpected turn in court that day, when Pinto’s boyfriend took the stand and all but handed the prosecution their case on a plate. I’d have my work cut out preparing my summing up before I went into court the following morning, so I was even more depressed than usual when I realised that Jessica was drunk.

I watched her across the table as she helped herself to minestrone. She slapped the ladle back into the bowl and I stared pointedly at the mess she had made. She glared back at me, then picking up the ladle, she emptied it over the salt and pepper.

Swallowing hard on my anger, I held out my hand for the ladle. ‘I’d like some of that soup, please.’ For a moment I thought she was going to throw it at me. Instead she burst out laughing, and soon I found that I was laughing too.

She stopped. ‘Why are you laughing?’

‘I was laughing because you were.’

‘But you don’t know why I was laughing, do you? I was laughing at you, Alexander, so you were laughing at yourself. The great Alexander Belmayne, he who knows everything. I suppose you think you know what’s wrong with me tonight, don’t you? Yes, of course you do, because you know everything. But even if you did know, which you don’t, what would you care? What do you care about anything, except yourself?’

‘For Christ’s sake, don’t you think I’ve got enough on my mind tonight of all nights, without having you and your childish tantrums to contend with. Either tell me what’s on your mind, or shut up. Frankly I don’t care which.’

We glared at each other, the air between us simmering. In the end I put my napkin on the table and stood up. ‘I’m going to do some work. Why don’t you do yourself a favour and go upstairs and fiddle around with your paintbrushes. It might improve your temper.’

I saw a dangerous gleam leap into her eyes and her fingers tightened on the knife beside her. I turned away, and as I walked into the hall the telephone began to ring, drowning the string of obscenities she was screaming after me. Suddenly I felt all the old antipathy surging back into my veins. I’d tried, I kept on trying, but there was no point; I didn’t know what she wanted, or what I had to do to make her happy. She couldn’t accept my love, and now she had me so confused I didn’t know which way to turn.

‘
Answer that bloody phone!
’ she screamed.

I picked up the receiver. ‘Someone sounds out of sorts.’

‘Father.’

‘Haven’t rung at a bad time, have I?’

‘No, as a matter of fact, you’ve rung just
in
time. How are you?’

We chatted for a while until I realised that he was actually saying nothing at all. It wasn’t in my father’s nature to indulge in idle chat – here was someone else who wouldn’t come right out and say what they were thinking. Trying to keep the irritation out of my voice, I asked him if there was something on his mind.

‘No, nothing really. Just wanted to know how you were feeling about the Pinto case. The jury goes out tomorrow, doesn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Mind if I offer a word of advice?’

I did, but nevertheless told him to go ahead.

‘Go easy on the summing up,’ he said.

I looked at the receiver, uncertain whether I had heard him right. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘You heard me. In your own and your client’s interest, go easy on the defence. That’s all. Goodnight, son. Love to Jessica.’ And he’d gone.

I slammed the receiver down and spun round to find Jessica standing in the doorway. ‘What did he want?’ she asked.

‘Good question. He’s someone else who’s talking in riddles tonight. Now, if you don’t mind I’m going to my study and I don’t want to be disturbed. By anyone!’

‘In that case, I’ll go and fiddle with some paintbrushes,’ she spat, and flounced off up the stairs.

My summing up speech would have been difficult enough to prepare without my father’s words ringing in my ears. ‘In your own interest,’ he had said. But just how could it be in my interest deliberately to lose the case which is what I supposed him to mean and see the girl go to prison? With the sort of press coverage the case was receiving I’d be on the map if I won, and there weren’t many barristers who could say that at the age of twenty-four.

Then it dawned on me: I was being subjected to government pressure . . . . Outraged, I picked up the phone, ready to demand that my father – more accurately described, under the circumstances, as the Lord Chancellor – should explain exactly what he was after. I didn’t even finish dialling; it wouldn’t be any use, he wouldn’t tell me anything. I must simply ignore him. The girl was clearly innocent, and it was my job to see that justice was done.

But the doubt had been planted, and the question that until then I had refused to ask myself – why had the government decided to proceed with the prosecution at all when the defence case was so strong? – danced about in my mind until I couldn’t see the papers in front of me. I dropped my pen and rubbed my fingers over my eyes. Something was wrong with this case, something fundamental that I must have overlooked. And I was convinced that whatever it was, was staring me full in the face – which only added to my frustration.

‘In a better mood, are we?’

I turned to see Jessica leaning against the door. ‘I told you I didn’t want to be interrupted,’ I said.

‘I was bored upstairs alone, and you know how you getting angry always turns me on. I thought you might like to play.’ She ran a hand over the thin white silk of her blouse, pulling it tightly against her skin. The pink nipple stood out enticingly.

I looked at it for a moment, then sighed as I turned away. ‘Jessica, I’m not in the mood.’

The ice clinked against the glass as she finished her gin and tonic. For a second or two there was silence, and then the glass smashed against the wall in front of me. The ice cubes melted across the pages on my desk, turning the ink to an illegible blur.

‘Actually, darling, it wouldn’t make a lot of difference to me if you were in the mood. What I need right now is a
real
man.’

I made no answer. I could neither trust myself to speak nor move.

‘Got any suggestions? How about one of the husbands of the hundred wives you’ve fucked?’

‘Jessica, just get out of here.’

‘At least there’s one thing you can be sure of, there won’t be any little Belmayne bastards running around anywhere, will there?’ And she swept out of the room.

I was behind her like a shot. ‘What the hell was that supposed to mean?’

She stopped, and staggered against the wall as I turned her round. ‘What do you think it means, Alexander darling?’

Blood was pounding through my ears and my hands were sweating, but I forced myself to remain calm. ‘You’ve had the results?’ I said.

‘To the little testie-westies we had? Yes.’ She started to laugh.

I caught her by the wrists and pinned her against the wall. ‘Well?’ She gave a nervous giggle and looked away. I shook her, and twisted her arms painfully behind her back. ‘Well?’

She giggled again, but couldn’t meet my eyes as she spoke. ‘Well’, she sighed, ‘it would seem that your little testie-westies simply don’t work, Alexander. It had to be one of us, didn’t it? And it’s you! Defunct, I think the word is. But don’t worry, I’ll stick by you, darling.’

‘Are you trying to tell me. . . ?’ I looked at her, and felt myself physically recoil.

‘That you’re infertile? Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. You can’t have babies, Alexander. You can’t have heirs, because what’s coming out of you is nothing.’

I let go of her. She was lying. She had to be lying.

‘What’s the matter? Not going to cry, are you? Not Alexander, the big man. It’s not the end of the world, you know, and as I said, your loving wife is prepared to take on your deficient manhood. Now how’s that for devotion?’

I walked slowly down to the sitting-room and sank into a chair. Several minutes later she followed me in, another drink in her hand. She stood in front of me, smiling, waiting for me to speak.

‘Why Jessica? Why did you have to tell me like that?’

‘You mean, with the contempt you always treat me to? Hurts, doesn’t it, Alexander? And after all you’ve put me through, all you’ve done to me, at last you’ve got what you deserve.’ She gave a sickening laugh. ‘Just look at you, all white and shaking. I wonder what your darling Elizabeth would say if she could see you now. Well, I’ll tell you something, she wouldn’t stay with you, no woman would, because you’re a sexual cripple. You’re pathetic, do you know that? Pathetic!’

Looking at her then, her bright blue eyes bloodshot and puffy, her skin mottled, I felt myself drowning in the sorrow of our lives. ‘Shall I tell you something, Jessica?’ I said quietly. ‘Shall I tell you the truth about me? The truth is, you were right. I’ve only ever loved one woman, and that was Elizabeth. She was everything to me. I begged her to marry me, but she said I was too young. I asked her again and again, because I thought if she left me I’d die – and that’s just what I have been doing, all these years, dying. But it’s my fault, because I turned my back on-her at a time when she needed me. I’ll never forgive myself for that, never. But I’m paying for it. And you, Jessica, are the price.’

– 17 –

After that night I could no longer be in any doubt about our marriage. The way I had used the one weapon I knew would wound Jessica more than any other was unforgivable, but the shock of hearing I was sterile, and the way she’d told me, had pushed me over the edge. ‘Defunct’, she had called me, ‘a sexual cripple’, and I would never forget the look on her face when she’d said it. It haunted me, persecuted me, and I started to see that same look on the face of every woman I met. Triumph and contempt. I understood it – they saw it as their just revenge – and I felt everything they meant me to feel; inadequate, futile and sick.

Somehow I dragged myself through the days that followed. Ruth Pinto was acquitted – despite the judge’s summing up, which I have to say was shamelessly biased. However, she was free to go, and as she shook me by the hand she said something that was only to make sense to me later:

‘I don’t know what will happen to my life now, Mr Belmayne. I was convinced my stupidity, coupled with your inexperience, would put me in prison.’

That evening the papers led on the case. Triumph was mine, and Henry held a party to celebrate at his flat in Eaton Square.