Last Act of All (10 page)

He
bent over, the smell of whisky raw on his breath, and tipped her face urgently to his, bruising her lips with a hard, unloving kiss. ‘“Good-night, good-night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,”’ he said. ‘Sleep well, won’t you, my pet?’ and he was laughing as he walked to the door of the bedroom and went out, leaving it open behind him. She heard his footsteps cross the landing, his tap on the door –‘Lilian?’ — and a gurgle of laughter from the other side.

She
threw herself out of bed to slam the door against their mingled voices and stood, leaning against it, shuddering and scrubbing her mouth with her hand, like a child. She need no longer imagine there was any humiliation too gross for him to commit upon her. The metamorphosis was complete: Neville was gone, swallowed up by the monster he had created.

Indeed,
in her first wild unreason, it seemed that Lilian, too, was a mutation; that Helena and the Neville she had once loved had no more substance than wraiths, adrift forever in the limbo of things past.

*

She did not know how long she had huddled, cramped against the door into a tight, agonized ball of suffering, but the sound of footsteps brought her to instant awareness.

The
tap on the door, when it came, was gentle, even tentative, but still she fumbled for the awkward old key, persuading it to turn in the lock.

She
succeeded, but the handle was not tried. Instead, Chris’s voice spoke softly but urgently through the thick panels. ‘Helena – Helena—’

‘
Go away,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘If this is all part of the plot, I can only say that you disgust me. For god’s sake, leave me alone.’ She heard what sounded like a sigh, but he said nothing and the footsteps retreated. In a sudden frenzy, she rushed to the wall of cupboards, flinging open doors, dragging out suitcases and filling them, almost at random, with all that they would hold.

It
was seven o’clock when at last she crept out to ferry her cases down to the garage. She was on her way by ten past seven, leaving no note, and driving through the sleeping village as if all the devils in hell were at her heels.

*

Sandra Daley, sifting listlessly at the uncleared breakfast table on Tuesday morning, did not jump to answer the phone when it rang. It was more than a week since she had last scurried eagerly to pick up the phone.

Now
her voice was flat as she said, ‘Hello?’ indifferently.

‘
And what sort of greeting is that?’

A
shockwave seemed to course down her spine as she recognized the teasing, familiar, dark-brown voice.

‘
Enough to make a fellow think you didn’t want to speak to him!’

‘
N–Neville!’ she stammered. She struggled to sound cool, sophisticated, in control. ‘I – I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.’

‘Now, how can you say that?’ His voice was caressing. ‘Not expecting to hear from me, when we haven’t had a chance to talk for ten days? I’ve been thinking of nothing but how to make time to call you, but I haven’t had a moment alone when I didn’t know Jack would be at your end with his hand out, ready to pick up the phone.’

‘
Oh, Neville!’ Her eyes filled, and she didn’t care any longer that he would hear the tears in her voice. ‘What was I to think? Never a word from you, and all those pictures in the papers—’

‘
Oh, my sweet, I forget what a precious innocent you are! Look, the world I live in — it’s different. Lilian’s part of my job, and my public life — well, that belongs to my public, and to a large extent, I’m their slave. They have to get what they want, or that’s the end of the track for me.

‘
But my private life — our private life — that’s another thing. That’s special; you don’t need me to tell you that. That’s the well of freshness that gives me my inspiration.’

Lips
parted, she listened, letting him seduce her as much by the sound of his voice as by the words he used, and the remembered excitement flooded through her.

‘
Neville, I don’t know what to say…’

‘
Just say you’ll meet me — our own special place, three o’clock, Friday?’

‘
Three o’clock, Friday,’ she repeated obediently. Did she hear him laughing at her confusion as she put the phone down?

Three
o’clock, Friday. It wasn’t over, after all. He hadn’t ditched her. She was his secret inspiration, he had said so, and of course she understood about his public image. It was like royalty, really; he wasn’t free to do what he truly wanted to do, in his heart, but that was all right with her, whatever happened. He had given her back her dream of herself as special, desirable. The wicked, delicious exhilaration fizzed up in her, like champagne.

*

London received Helena back with its characteristic indifference, which was balm to her violated sense of privacy.

Old
friends had been both kind and tactful, and contacts yielded a publicity job in one of the larger theatres. It was menial work, but she was self-supporting and still in contact with her old acting world, and its undemanding nature was, for the moment, ideal. She needed time to get to know Helena Fielding,
feme
sole
.

On
Charles Morley’s recommendation, she had refused to speak to Neville except through Henry Stanton, the solicitor he had found for her for whom she felt no personal warmth, but who, having a criminal as well as a divorce practice, was more than a match for Neville, despite his determination to behave as badly as possible. As a result, Helena was able to move into a pleasant garden flat in Highgate just in time for Stephanie’s summer holiday from school.

Stephanie,
despite an attempt at sophisticated acceptance of the realities of modern family life, took it badly. She had hoped to spend the first fortnight at Radnesfield House, with Angel boarded with the Wagstaffs at the Home Farm, but Neville was unhelpful. He and Lilian opened the house up only at weekends, and agreed to her coming without much enthusiasm.

When
she arrived, afterwards, in London it was clear that her poise had been considerably shaken. Stephanie’s veneer of indifference was not proof against seeing another woman in her mother’s place, and neither Neville nor Lilian had done anything to make the child’s awkward position more bearable.

Neville,
after an initial, extravagant fuss over her arrival, had hardly been there, sometimes out in the village (‘Playing squire,’ observed Stephanie acidly), sometimes further afield. Lilian slept late, exercised in the mini-gym, then prepared herself to be taken out in the evening. Stephanie had spent most of the weekend in the stable, the rest in her bedroom.

Helena
did her best to organize a pleasant holiday, with tickets for shows and excursions every day, but the girl was lonely while she was at work, and though Emily Morley came to stay for a week, she clearly had far too much time for brooding. By the end, she was thin and tense, longing to get back to school and desperate to be reunited with Angel, since, apart from a few days when she was visiting the Morleys, she had not seen her pony at all. She had refused to return to Radnesfield House; Helena did not force the issue, and Neville offered no specific invitation. ‘Daddy’s different,’ was all Stephanie would say.

It
was a relief to them both when she returned to Darnley Hall, and an anxious visit midway through September reassured her; Stephanie had regained weight, and seemed happily absorbed in the familiar world of school. In times of stress, children liked what they knew, and temporarily at least her friends had more influence than her family.

Helena
returned to London feeling lighter of heart than she had felt for a very long time. She was very grateful for the bossy determination with which Jennifer Morley had insisted that Stephanie be sent to Darnley Hall.

She
was, however, considerably less delighted at that lady’s next attempt at running her life.

Chapter Six

It was one of the warm, still nights of an Indian summer, and since the flat boasted a little walled courtyard, Helena went out to sit in the dwindling rays of the sun, sipping a glass of white wine and admiring the plane tree in a neighbouring garden whose leaves were beginning to show the first streaks of gold. The buzz of the doorbell was an intrusion, but she went light-heartedly enough to open the door, blinking in the darkness inside.

She
had to shield her eyes before she could make out the details of the figure on the doorstep, and when she did, made no effort to disguise her distaste.

‘
You!’ she said. ‘How did you find my address?’

Chris
Dyer, resplendent in a vivid pink shirt open almost to the waist, a gold medallion lurking in the mat of hair on his chest, regarded her with mocking assurance. ‘And to think I thought you might be pleased to see me! Jennifer Morley was sure you would be delighted to catch up with an old friend.’

Damn
Jennifer, she thought, but said only, ‘Old friend?’ as she stood squarely in the doorway, determined to make no gesture, physical or verbal, which could be construed as an invitation to enter.

‘Still the same lovely Nella, prickly as a handful of barbed wire. It does lend a certain spice to the chase, and you always secretly liked it, didn’t you, my darling? Go on, admit to yourself that you enjoyed our little spats.’ He leaned against the doorpost, oppressing her as much by his aggressive masculinity as his bulk.

She
drew a deep breath. ‘Chris, may I be perfectly frank with you?’ This was one occasion when she felt, like Gwendolen Fairfax, that speaking one’s mind ceased to be a moral duty and became a pleasure.

‘
While I was Neville’s wife I had no option but to tolerate you, for business reasons. I disliked having to do that, very much. I hated the coarseness of your attitude to me, and I hated what you did to Neville through your unspeakable Harry. You encouraged Neville to glory in decadence and sadism and depravity and — and sheer nastiness, and though I can blame you for the break-up of our rather shaky marriage, I do blame you for the manner of it.

‘
But now, thank god, I’m a free agent, and one of the joys of my freedom is that I only have to suit myself. So no, I’m not pleased to see you. I never have been, and I would like you to go away and leave me alone.’

Surely
a few sips of Chablis couldn’t have quite such an uninhibiting effect! The old Helena Fielding had never in her life been so blatantly rude to anyone; to discover that she could do it was an experience as invigorating as a cold shower.

She
had given no thought to his reaction, but she no longer cared. Bluster, anger, even violence: she felt ready for anything he might choose to do.

He
surprised her. The bull-like head dropped, like that animal overpowered, and when he raised his eyes to meet hers, they were free from any glint of sexual challenge.

‘
You don’t pull your punches,’ he said ruefully. ‘OK, I had you figured wrong, and I’m sorry. You’re difficult to read, you know that? I thought it was a touch of the old
odi
et
amo
, to tell you the truth.’

‘
Well – no.’ His response deflated her; feeling, now, that she had been needlessly cruel, she added more temperately, ‘I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been so rude. Let’s just say that we simply have nothing in common.’

‘
Neville.’ He said it flatly, and though she shook her head in vehement denial, she fell back a pace, weakening her intransigent posture.

‘
Look, can I come in? You’ve got a bottle of wine on the table out there that looks inviting, and you’ll have a headache if you drink it all by yourself.’

His
rallying tone had returned, and she was quick to reply tartly, ‘I was planning to cork the bottle and keep the rest for another day,’ but she was standing aside as she spoke.

His
male presence was almost overpowering in the little courtyard as he took the second chair, looking awkwardly large for its delicate wrought-iron frame. She poured him a glass of the cool wine, and he emptied half of it in a long swallow before he spoke.

‘
Cards on the table, Nella – Helena, sorry.’ He changed it hastily, seeing her expression. ‘I had two reasons for coming tonight. First of all, I thought the dust might have settled, and I wanted to get to you before someone else did. That stand-off-don’t-touch-me act drives strong men mad, you know.’

Helena,
suddenly very aware of his proximity, felt the warmth creeping up her cheeks and lowered her eyes, hastily taking a sip of wine.

He
smiled sardonically, but to her relief added, ‘Still, we’ll let that pass. Neville is the other reason.’

Here
she was on firmer ground. ‘Neville Fielding, I am thankful to say, has nothing whatsoever to do with me—’

‘
Don’t be facile. You were married to him for – what? Sixteen, seventeen years? Just because you’re getting a nice, quick, uncontested divorce doesn’t mean you can shrug it off. Helena, I mean this. I am really, seriously worried about him.’

After
her outburst she was silent, only pursing her lips, and he went on, ‘OK, I’ll accept that I was a bad influence, or at least Harry was. I agree with it all, decadence, sadism – what was the other word you used? Oh yes, depravity. That too. But I swear by every successful series I ever hope to have, Helena, that what I created was a character, not a person. When I found Neville, he seemed great for the part. How was I to know he would try to be Harry?’

‘
Oh, Dr Frankenstein, how awful for you.’ She was still unsympathetic.

‘
So if the guy acting Faustus sells his soul to the devil it’s Marlowe’s fault, is that it?’ He controlled his rising temper with difficulty. ‘Helena, I’m in deadly earnest. What I’m trying to say is that something is going to blow up with Neville. It’s as if each new thing he does has to be more outrageous than the last – as if he’s trying to see how far he can go before the sulphurous flames actually spring up and engulf him. And there’s nothing to stop him now.’

‘
Lilian—’

‘
Lilian!’ he jeered. ‘As long as Lilian has the limelight and every glamorous luxury she can think of, she won’t rock any boats. They’re quite a good match, actually; both totally insensitive, totally self-absorbed, and quite indifferent to anyone’s interests but their own.’

His
concern for Neville seemed genuine, and against her will she found herself relenting. ‘Chris, I’m not saying I don’t believe you. But I wasn’t having any effect on Neville anyway. Oh, I used to, but that was before Radnesfield and all it stood for came into our lives. After that, I was only another victim, and playing fly to his wanton boy wasn’t one of the roles I fancied. So—’

He
looked awkward. ‘I know, I know. After that night—’

‘
No.’ She rose, decisively. ‘I’m not going to discuss that. Finished, OK? I think you’d better go, Chris. I’m sorry if things are going badly.’

‘
Badly? Christ!’ Chris struck his forehead with a clenched fist. ‘He’s baiting George Wagstaff about the Home Farm. He’s carrying on an affair with Sandra Daley under Lilian’s nose, and driving Daley off his head with jealousy. He’s leering at every passing village maiden — and that’s only the things I know about.’

She
sighed helplessly. ‘All right, it’s disastrous, but he’s got his head now, and I shouldn’t think anyone can stop him. If there are consequences, so be it. Maybe he’ll learn something. I’m sorry if that sounds callous, but I don’t know why you think it’s the end of the world if Neville has to face the music.’

He
had followed her, without demur, to the door. ‘I think he’ll kill someone, eventually, because that’s all that’s left that he hasn’t done,’ he said sombrely. ‘Or someone will kill him.

‘
Still, I daresay you’re right. There’s assuredly nothing I can do to stop him. Good-night, Helena. A kiss for old times’ sake?’

For
once, she did not mind turning her face up to him, and he did not take advantage. Kissing her lightly on both cheeks, he said, ‘Another time, perhaps?’ But Helena said only ‘Perhaps,’ and shut the door.

*

‘I’m beginning to feel exactly like the Salvation Army,’ Jennifer began her phone call.

‘
What, all of it, Jennifer?’ Helena, recognizing the voice at the other end, found herself amused despite her current exasperation with her caller.

‘
Well, the Missing Persons Bureau, anyway. Did the rather luscious Chris Dyer catch up with you?’

‘
I would quibble with the description, but yes, he did. And I would appreciate it if you could be a little more circumspect with your information service.’

‘
Oh, don’t be stuffy, darling. I thought he would be good for you. You’re far too young to be living like a nun anyway.’

‘
Who else, Jennifer?’

‘
Who else? Oh, I see what you mean. Well, only Edward, actually. He’s popping up to London for a few days and said he’d like to pay a neighbourly call. So I thought I’d better warn you – I don’t suppose he’s everybody’s cup of Earl Grey, and you might want to be out, or something.’

She
found herself surprisingly cross at Jennifer’s patronizing tone. ‘He was extraordinarily kind when we first went to Radnesfield, and I’ll be delighted to see him. He’s a very interesting man. If you’d run a check before you left me a prey to Chris Dyer, it might have been more to the point.’

‘
Nonsense, Helena. You really are developing a distressing tendency to be prissy and middle-aged. You can’t spend your whole life copping out. Edward’s very sweet, of course, but he’s one of the bloodless kind, whereas that caveman type is every woman’s secret fantasy.’

‘
I’ll give Charles a hint next time I see him,’ Helena retorted snappishly, stung by her remarks. She felt quite out of charity with Jennifer as she put the phone down.

*

She had been expecting Edward’s telephone call. It would have been unlike him to take her by surprise.

‘
I’d hate to impose on you, if you’d rather be left alone, but I wondered if there might be a chance of meeting up while I’m in London? Of course, I know you must be busy – lots of other friends…’

Perversely,
Helena felt irritated by this excess of diffidence. ‘It would be lovely to see you, Edward,’ she said robustly. ‘When can we meet?’

His
voice changed. ‘Oh, that’s – that’s marvellous. What do you like to do – opera, theatre—?’

Not
knowing his tastes, she suggested a play she knew to be lighthearted and competently performed; they could eat, after the show, in an unassuming bistro unlikely to be patronized by Neville or his friends.

The
evening proved surprisingly successful, and in the three days that followed, she rediscovered a sort of undemanding pleasure that she had almost forgotten. She had not felt so much at ease in male company for a very long time; with Neville there had always been an uncomfortable tinge of danger, of unpredictability.

She
had seen herself supplanted by a younger woman, and felt the cold winds of indifference that blight any middle-aged woman’s aspirations to a new career. Basking now in Edward’s uncritical admiration, she felt like a cat, bedraggled from living rough, who had been taken in, put on a silk cushion in front of a roaring fire, and given a saucer of cream.

The
last evening, after another glorious September day, they ate in the courtyard, Edward looking at ease in the chair Chris had so awkwardly overflowed. Helena had produced a simple cold meal, with strawberries and cream, and they lingered over the coffee and the last of the wine, reluctant to leave the fading sunshine and go inside. At last, a chill wind began to ripple a few leaves off the plane tree, and Helena shivered.

As
they cleared the plates away in the narrow galley kitchen, he said, ‘Well, back to Radnesfield tomorrow.’

Perhaps
it was simply the cold; Helena shivered again. By now, Radnesfield had begun to seem a strange aberration, her memories of it faint and fading like yellowing snapshots curling in a drawer.

‘
Do you want to go back?’ she said.

He
turned to face her, hesitated for a moment, then, seeming to make up his mind, took her unresisting hands.

‘
You’ve got an unfortunate impression of it, you know. It’s just an old-fashioned village, set in its ways by isolation, perhaps.

‘
But no, I don’t want to go back, because I’m leaving you here.’

She
made an involuntary movement of withdrawal, but he imprisoned her hands.

‘
Of course, of course. I know it’s far too early for me to say this, Helena. But I daren’t let the moment pass; I’ve been patient for such a long time. I’ve wanted you, you know, since the minute you stepped into my house, bringing colour and warmth and beauty, making me realize how narrow and cold my own life had been. I recognized you at once, knew you were for me — that sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it, in the circumstances? — but I knew. If you want something enough, you can always make it happen.’