Last Act of All (12 page)

Chris
had, in fact, paid little attention. The network was satisfied, the ratings were terrific, and Neville had his own success so bound up in Harry that he could not afford to walk off the set.

He
had therefore been completely unprepared when his assistant producer, gibbering with rage, phoned from London to tell Chris he had just been carpeted by the Head of Light Entertainment, waving an embargoed press release to say that Neville was pulling out of the television production of ‘Bradman’ and — wait for it — making a Harry movie instead.

Edward,
listening intently, interrupted at this. ‘But surely he can’t do that? Surely you have him under contract?’

Chris
groaned. ‘Only for one series at a time. When you’re as hot a property as Neville, you can dictate your terms. And his agent was smart enough to keep the character of Harry as Neville’s property — they insisted on that, right from the start — and frankly, Neville
was
Harry. The public would never have accepted a substitute if Neville had quit.’

‘
Go on, Chris.’ Helena had drunk more than half the whisky in the big crystal glass.

It
got worse. Neville wanted more scope, but they weren’t queuing up to offer finance even for a low-budget film. So — ‘And this,’ said Chris maliciously, ‘is where it suddenly becomes your business’ — he had decided to liquidate everything and put up the money himself.

‘Straight from the horse’s mouth, I got this. Naturally, I got on the blower, and there he was, incredibly pleased with himself in that bloody insufferable way he has. He’s going to sell everything, right down to the shoes on his feet, and put everything into a Bradman Trust. That way, he has no money, and no one can make any claims on him. According to him, anyway.’

‘
That’s Stephanie,’ Helena interpolated, her knuckles white round the glass. ‘Chris asked him about Steph, and all he said was, “It won’t do her any harm to forget about that fancy school. I didn’t have ponies and gracious living at the local comprehensive.”’

Edward
’s arm went round her shoulders. ‘Perhaps we can manage something—’ but Helena cried in fury, ‘Why should you? Why shouldn’t Neville support his own child? It’s only to feed his appalling, overweening vanity, and I don’t see why you should be sacrificed.’

‘
So he’ll be selling Radnesfield House.’ Edward was troubled. ‘Well, I only hope he can be persuaded to take care who he sells it to. The village needs someone who will have the right ideas.’

Dyer
sneered. ‘Oh, he’s been careful, all right. That, Radley, is the cream of the jest. He’s got an offer with god knows how many nothings on the end from a developer who has the planning department in his pocket. They’ve been looking for a new development area. Three hundred executive homes, they reckon, including the acreage of the Home Farm. So George Wagstaff will be ready to plant a ploughshare in his skull. And won’t Radnesfield be pleased? The Old ‘Uns, as they always put it, will be whizzing round in the graveyards like spinning tops.’

*

On Friday afternoon, Sandra was in the stuffy little office behind the petrol pumps, going through the garage accounts. She had always had a good head for figures and it saved Jack the expense of a book-keeper. But today she was finding it hard to concentrate.

It
was still brilliant with Neville, of course it was. There were a million women who would give anything to be in her size fours. And when she was with him, it was still as romantic and fantastic and exciting as ever.

But
somehow, she was uneasy. Neville made all the right noises, but sometimes he left her without a word for days, and then reckoned she would come running. And the trouble was, she did, didn’t she?

And
then there was Jack. Jack had stopped giving her the third degree, but he’d stopped making love to her, too. He was a different person these days, surly and bitter instead of sharp and quick and funny the way he used to be. She felt really bad about that.

The
other thing that was getting to her was the thought of the future. At the start, she’d been happy to live for the moment, but now she was wondering unhappily where this affair was leading. Could she bear it if he dumped her, and she was left with nothing but a ruined marriage? Or even no marriage at all. Jack sure as hell wouldn’t put up with this for ever.

Impatiently
she shook her head, and was tapping figures into a calculator when Jack came into the office. He came round to stand silently in front of her, leaning on the desk.

She
would not look up until she had finished the column of figures. When she did, he was regarding her with an unpleasant smile, his face too close to her own.

She
drew back. ‘Whatever’s got into you, Jack?’

‘
So you haven’t heard.’ He laughed harshly, and stood up. ‘You wouldn’t be looking like that if you had, would you?’

‘
Heard what?’ She composed her face into a hard, defensive mask.

‘
Your precious Neville. Selling up and going away, isn’t he? Oh, didn’t he tell you? Well, that’s tough. Perhaps he doesn’t think you mattered that much.’

She
bit her lips together. She wouldn’t reply, she wouldn’t react, she wouldn’t!

‘
Sold to a developer, he has. Five hundred houses, they say, going to fill the village with strangers.’

‘
Good thing too, as far as I’m concerned.’ She picked up a sheaf of invoices, pretending to study them.

‘
He’s got a lot of people not very pleased with him, come to that.’

Her
‘Oh?’ was as indifferent as she could make it.

‘
Jenny Bateman’s dad’s not very pleased with him. Been carrying on with her, it turns out — ooh, six months or more. The silly little bitch burst into tears when she found out he was going, and told her mum. Her dad’s taken a strap to her, and they’re saying Vic Ede’s doing the same to his wife, for much the same reason.’

It
wasn’t true, it wasn’t true! She wanted to put her hands over her ears, blot out the hateful stories Jack was making up.

‘
Talking about seeing if he’s got a taste for a bit of rough music, they are. Not that I’d have anything to do with that kind of thing. I wouldn’t have any call to, by what you’ve said. Though they do say actions speak louder than words, don’t they?’

Then
he bent down, till he was only six inches away from her averted face; she could smell the beer on his breath. ‘You poor, silly, dirty little cow,’ he said with venom, and left, slamming the door so that the plate glass rattled.

She
did not move after he had left, for a long time. She sat, with head bent, staring unseeing at the accounts for spark plugs and shock absorbers and replacement fan belts, and slowly her smooth, white, manicured hands curled into little scarlet-tipped claws.

Chapter Seven

There was an almost tangible atmosphere in the car coming from London to Radnesfield on Friday afternoon. Lilian, in lilac mohair, was hunched in her seat, her mouth curved down in pettish lines. Every so often she threw a smouldering glance at Neville, which seemed only to have the effect of deepening his contented smile.

At
last, finding silence unrewarding, Lilian spoke. ‘You won’t have a friend left in the world once you’ve done this, you know. And you won’t have a wife, either, because if you go on with this lunacy, I shall walk out.’

Neville
threw back his head to laugh with genuine amusement. ‘Now, my sweet, aren’t you being just the tiniest bit impulsive? It might be wiser to wait and see how successful I am first. Think how utterly infuriating it would be if you left me just before I made a real killing.’

She
checked noticeably at the suggestion, but only for a moment. ‘Everyone knows you’re going to fail,’ she said scornfully. ‘You’re nothing on your own, nothing — without Chris, without me.’

It
nettled him to spite. ‘Now that, blossom, is true self-delusion. Didn’t I mention it? Even for the TV series, even for “Bradman” as it stands, we had all agreed you’d served your turn. Death or divorce — we hadn’t decided which, but you were definitely being written out of the next series.’

‘
That’s a lie!’

Neville
shook his head. ‘True, alas. Ask Chris if you don’t believe me. You were starting to cramp Harry’s style, and his public wouldn’t stand for it.’

He
shot a sideways glance to assess the effect of this barb. The look of purest hatred she directed at him was clearly satisfactory, since he shouted with laughter once more.

‘
It had occurred to me to wonder whether any emotion you felt was genuine, and now I know, don’t I? Damage your interests, and you’ll fight like a wildcat. Is that right?’

She
only glared at him, relapsing into a seething silence. All right, so it might suit her to play the dumb blonde, but he didn’t have to treat her as if he believed it, did he? She was his wife, after all, entitled to be consulted about their joint future. That patronizing bastard had made it clear he didn’t rate her enough even to sweet-talk her once he had made up what he was pleased to call his mind. He had got a lot to learn, and he was about to learn it painfully, if she had anything to do with it.

As
tough, grubby little Lily O’Connor with her scouse accent and her buck teeth, she had needed resourcefulness and determination to get where she wanted to go, not to mention the courage to get in the way of her father’s drunken fists so she could get her teeth fixed on the National Health. He’d landed in gaol over it, too, which just went to show that you shouldn’t underestimate children and dumb blondes.

Milking
situations was her big talent. It had needed to be. And if you wrapped self-interest round you like a comfort blanket, life became a whole lot simpler. In the end, everyone stopped expecting all the fiddly boring gestures to other people’s concerns and it saved a lot of hassle. It left you free to concentrate on getting what you wanted.

So
now the question was, what could she get out of the present mess? She didn’t care a stuff about Neville; didn’t begin to understand him, in fact. ‘My wife doesn’t understand me.’ He’d used that corny line often enough, but then she hadn’t tried, had she? Other people’s hang-ups were deathly boring — until, as now, they posed a threat.

She
had suffered, all her life, from what she simply called The Dream. It happened when she felt stressed or vulnerable, this dream where she stood outside, naked, in a biting wind with frost on the ground and a cold merciless moon shining in the night sky. She couldn’t move, even to rub her arms or huddle for warmth, with the breath which was freezing on the air in front of her face beginning to freeze in her lungs until at last she would wake, gasping and shivering in terror. She kept brandy at her bedside, and a thick folded mohair rug; she would sit, swaddled, until the warm searing of the drink reassured her and the tears of fright dried.

For
a moment, now, she caught a glimpse of a bleak future, and felt that familiar cold paralysis of fear. But she hardened her mind against the image. He would find he had a fight on his hands, even if she wasn’t yet sure of the best way to go about it.

She
could try taking him to court, but the man Neville had retained was the sharpest operator in the business, and she didn’t fancy her chances. Lawsuits were the surest way to ruin, and anyway, once the word was out that you were likely to sue, any future prospect would have a lawyer along on every date and a palimony agreement ready to sign before you exchanged the first kiss.

She
had never, god knew, been romantic about marriage. Life hadn’t encouraged her to be romantic, and anyway, what did marriage to Neville really consist of? In private, they shared some fairly expert love-making and a lot of discussion of ‘Bradman’; apart from that, it was a relationship conducted almost entirely in public.

The
best thing about it was that it had given her, on a silver plate, all she needed at present. He was her passport to success and financial security — and he had, she knew, his reasons too, selfish and probably perverse, though she had never really bothered to wonder what they might be. It had been a bargain, no less binding because it had been dressed up in the language of soap opera.

She
had been content to be used, provided that payment was made in full, but anyone attempting to bilk languid Lilian Sheldon was going to find her true to her ancestry of street-fighters who had come over on the Irish boat and never learned the meaning of a clean fight.

*

The asthmatic tick of the long-case clock in the Red House sitting-room had always seemed to Helena an almost uncannily soothing sound, easing away the cares of the day with every swing of the pendulum.

Tonight,
however, the charm had lost its potency. She was restless, deeply troubled about Stephanie’s future, and Edward, unnaturally silent, was clearly both worried and depressed.

It
was shortly after nine o’clock when she first became aware of the noise. Uncertain at first, she glanced at Edward, and realized that he too had heard it, and stiffened.

‘
What on earth is that?’ she said, getting to her feet as the sound became more distinct; the noise of a crowd in movement, with shouts and a strange, metallic banging.

It
was dark now, though they had not yet closed the curtains, and she could just make out a mass of people moving in the little square outside.

‘
Switch off the lamp, Edward — I can’t see properly,’ she said over her shoulder, and as he complied the scene sprang into sharp focus.

Under
the yellow street-lamp by the old horse-trough, about twenty-five dark-clad people had gathered; men, she imagined, though, since their faces were covered by hoods or black balaclava-style masks, it was impossible to be sure. Four or five held up pitch torches, flaming smokily; the rest carried pots, pans, or metal bin lids which they were striking with thick wooden sticks in a rhythm almost tribal in its intensity.

As
she gazed in horrified incomprehension, a ragged cheer went up as another group marched into the square together, carrying on their shoulders a chair on poles in which lolled an effigy, stuffed and dressed as if in early preparation for Bonfire Night.

The
crowd parted before it, and it was carried in triumph to the centre under the street-lamp, where a phalanx formed about it. It was only at that moment, as the light fell on the guy’s tweed jacket and jaunty trilby hat, that Helena understood.

‘
Oh, dear god,’ she whispered. ‘It’s Neville — it’s meant to be Neville!’

She
sensed Edward shifting uneasily in the dimness behind her. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

‘
But Edward, whatever is going on? We must do something, stop them — oh no, look, they’re moving off!’

At
a brisk, determined pace, they were marching off in the direction of Radnesfield House, the shouts more threatening in tone now, the banging louder and more insistent than ever.

Instead
of answering, Edward pulled across the curtains, then switched the light back on, leaving them blinking like owls. ‘I don’t think we saw that, my dear.’

Helena
gaped at him. ‘But — but do you know what’s happening? What are they going to do?’

‘
Now, don’t get upset. No one’s going to come to any harm. It’s a very old custom, one that ancient communities used for hundreds of years to demonstrate their anger when one of their number behaved in an intolerable way.’

She
was still bemused. ‘But what are they going to do?’

‘
All they’ll do is to serenade him with the pots and pans — rough music, they call it — then they’ll set fire to the effigy, and that will be that. It’s an uncomfortable experience for the person at the receiving end, I grant you, but then Neville hasn’t exactly been considerate of other people’s feelings. It may be quite salutary.’

‘
Edward, it’s barbaric! What if it gets out of hand — what if they attack Neville and Lilian? We’ve got to warn them, at least, or phone the police.’

‘
I think that would be asking for trouble. If you let things take their course, nothing will get out of hand. But if you warned Neville, he would probably go and fetch a shotgun. If he wants the police, he can phone them himself.’

She
felt a frightening gulf opening between them, a sense that they were talking across the divide of centuries. ‘You’re on their side, really, aren’t you?’

Distressed,
Edward tried to bridge it by physical means, drawing her to him. ‘I sympathize, yes. But I can see why you would find it threatening. In today’s world we are used to demanding that outside agencies do all our social discipline for us, whereas Radnesfield has its own rules, and unlike modern fragmented communities, has unified support for those rules, and consensus on when enough really is enough. They don’t often do this, you know; I’ve only heard of it once before.’

She
hesitated, put under pressure by his need that she should see his point of view. And yes, in a way, she could almost understand it, if not quite sympathize.

‘
You mean, this is a sort of safety-valve? It just seems so — so primitive!’

‘
Ah well, there’s no denying that.’ Sensing her softening, he laughed gently. ‘We don’t like to acknowledge it, but an awful lot of our behaviour is primitive, even in civilized society, so-called. Just look on it as a rather dramatically-presented opinion poll. Neville and Lilian will be perfectly safe, I promise you.’

She
moved out of the circle of his arm to face him. ‘But Edward, think of it from the other point of view. Neville and Lilian won’t understand that it’s only a gesture. They won’t understand that the violence will be confined to banging pots and pans.’

The
sound was more muffled now. Edward, busying himself with folding a newspaper, did not meet her eyes.

‘
In that case, perhaps he’ll give a little thought to the violence he’s inflicting on the community, and realize that he can’t hope to live in a selfish vacuum.’

She
drew breath to reply, but before she could speak he went on, trying hard to lighten the atmosphere, ‘Just “watch the wall, my darling!” It’s one of the oldest and wisest of village commandments.

‘
Now, I know it’s early, but we might as well start getting ready for bed, don’t you think? We’ve had a stressful day.’

Weakly,
she allowed him to change the subject, though she could still hear the thump-thump-thump of the improvised drums. ‘That’s putting it mildly. And tomorrow is going to be worse.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’m going to have to go and see Neville. I just can’t bear the thought of uprooting poor Steph, when she’s had such a difficult time already. I think I’ll phone and ask if we can have her home tomorrow. Neville has always professed to adore her, so she might manage to coax something out of him.’

‘
I could collect her before lunch. I said I’d go and see the vicar in the afternoon. He muttered something about the roof of the church porch, but I’m sure it’s more than that. He’s in a state about something — wringing his hands even more than usual. He said Marcia had been very much upset by Neville’s decision.’

‘Hasn’t everyone?’ Suddenly, Helena found herself yawning hugely. ‘You should never have mentioned bed so early. All at once I feel absolutely shattered.’

She
glanced at her watch, then shook it in annoyance. ‘Oh, drat the thing – it’s stopped again.’

‘
Give it to me. I’ll take it in to Willie Comberton on the way to the church tomorrow. He still takes such a pride in his clock-making skills, poor old boy.’

She
took it off obediently, struggling with a sense of unreality. The village where everyone indulged old Willie was the same village where men who looked like terrorists marched on another man’s house to scare him into good behaviour. She believed Edward when he said there would be no violence, but the distant, sinister beating still made her shiver as she went upstairs.