The Chandelier Ballroom (6 page)

In two or three leaps he was round the bed, lunging for her. She felt her head thrown sideways as a stinging swipe caught her hard across the left cheek.

She gave a yelp, her palm to the stinging flesh, and saw that his raised hand was now closed into a fist. But the blow never landed. For moments on end it hung raised, trembling in uncertainty, finally falling away. In all their married life he had never hit her, though she felt he’d come close to it many a time when riled by her plain speaking as she saw it.

Stunned, she backed away, wanting in turn to aim a blow at him for the slap but afraid. She knew that Race wasn’t one to confront when his temper was up. Many had felt the pain of his not-too-light kick and feared how far he could go. Now she felt that fear, the blaze of his blue eyes of a moment ago as if he would kill her. She wasn’t easily frightened and had stood up to many a woman in a brawl in her younger days, but that brief, insane glare in his eyes had terrified her.

Now the terror gave way to humiliation and cold anger. She would never forgive him for it. Sobered by shock, she drew herself up to stare him in the eyes, unflinching. It was the thin end of the wedge. Having struck her once, he could do so again and she wasn’t putting up with it, or with his bloody philandering.

‘Right!’ she said coldly. ‘If you want to mess about with some young tart, then you do it without me here to watch.’

Strange how her carefully studied speech had returned. ‘I’m not staying here to see you make a fool of yourself. I’m going back to where I belong and you can do what you like.’

‘Then you can bloody go!’ he returned, his tone hard.

She hadn’t expected that, had expected him to apologise for his loss of control, begin to vindicate himself by trying to convince her that there was nothing in his association with Celia Howard, that he’d let himself be carried away. But he meant what he’d said, she could tell, and her self-esteem wasn’t going to let her belittle herself by begging to stay, nor did she want to.

‘Alright, I’m doin’ just that,’ she said slowly, her cheek still stinging, her speech slipping back. ‘I’ll be off first thing in the morning and you can go back down to yer precious guests and enjoy yerself with that soppy bitch. First thing termorrer morning, I’m packing me things and going to Annie Morgan’s place. She’ll put me up at the drop of an ’at.’

Annie Morgan had been one of her best and oldest friends before Race had come into money. How she rued that windfall of his.

His face was like granite. ‘I’ll send you enough money on a regular basis so’s you can rent a decent place for yourself,’ he said.

‘Don’t bother,’ she said, but she had no money of her own and she couldn’t stay with Annie indefinitely.

‘You’ll need somewhere to live from now on.’

It sounded so definite that her heart unexpectedly sank. He was casting her off. He
wanted
to be rid of her. She hadn’t even realised. It felt like a death-knell, like being committed to prison for a crime, and none of it her fault. But she wasn’t going to crawl. It would make no difference anyway – he was besotted by this younger, prettier woman.

The thought came as she faced him: how long would it last before he was asking her to come back? If he did, would she eat humble pie and crawl back? No, she would not. Not now. She had her pride, would die before humiliating herself like some poor little abandoned woman accepting the grace of her master. She was made of sterner stuff. She was what she was.

‘Fine,’ she concluded.

She saw him give a small nod. Was it contrition, a moment of regret after all these years of marriage, or was it relief in the hope of starting a new life with someone younger and fresher? She stood very still as he turned and left the room without a single backward glance, resisting the urge to run after him, to yell abuse at him. Her heart was feeling like it was broken, as they like to say in romances, dismay flooding over her, but she fought the feeling; taking her emotions in hand she resolutely told herself that if this was what he wanted he was welcome. Their marriage was over and she was blowed if she was going to plead with him.

Straightening her back, she went over to the wardrobe and reaching up for a suitcase, lifted it down off its shelf.

There was nothing to compare with this life, this one he was now living. Six months had already passed, so fast, like lightning. There were moments he found himself missing Millie, but so much was going on – parties, new friends, new things to do. And then there was Cee, always attentive, steering him through any maudlin moments.

‘Darling, you’ve got me now. And I won’t ever leave you. You love me, don’t you, darling?’

Of course he did, she was his life, his very being, couldn’t imagine himself without her now. When they made love, he was a young buck again, age no restriction, and anyway, fifty-five wasn’t old. She knew how to please a man – sometimes pliable under his body, other times playing the vamp to his extreme pleasure, taking the initiative, he totally under her control. It was unique, new, exciting. He’d never done such things with Millie even when they were first married, certain restrictions of the times dictating decorum. Cee made him feel animal, powerful, virile, revelling in her sighs and gasps of ecstasy. They played games, he the libertine and she his concubine, utterly at his mercy.

She was fun to be with, always persuading him into something new. These six months they’d gone abroad several times, flying off to Cannes on a whim to play the casinos, she daring him, squealing with excitement each time he won. He seemed always to win, any losses shrugged aside, luck his friend these days, and it was she who brought him that luck.

Money was coming in from several good investments. It seemed he couldn’t go wrong. And Cee was marvellous, giving him every attention so that he was proud to spend out on her, give her anything and everything she wanted. It made him proud to have her on his arm, flaunting the lovely clothes he’d buy her, revelling in showing off the diamonds on her delicate fingers, the pearls at her throat and on her ears.

Slender and tall, she was the same height as him. Millie had been much smaller, petite in her young days, but flesh had made her look short and dumpy. Having Cee on his arm gave him status and poise where Millie had made him conscious of the difference between them. No one questioned the fact that Millie was no longer around. He wondered if they had even noticed. She’d never been particularly liked, her own fault, but everyone crowded around Cee, wanting to be with her and, rather than being jealous, it made him proud to see the young men trying to get near her, even more proud to see her spurn them in preference to himself. Through her he was the centre of his new world.

Millie had disappeared right out of his life. She had found herself a nice little flat in Stepney Green and had all her old friends around her. So long as he sent her enough money, she seemed content, their separation far more amicable then he had hoped. She was in her element and there was no need to worry about her coming back causing trouble.

As the months went by with Cee at his side, he could see his life continuing in an endless round of bliss. No one could be so fortunate, he thought, as he collapsed in bed beside her after a huge successful party, utterly exhausted, her ecstatic cries of being brought to a climax still in his head. ‘I love you so much it hurts,’ he whispered between breaths.

‘Darling,’ she whispered back, leaning towards him to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Life was sweet. He never wanted it to end.

‘Darling, I can’t come with you, not this weekend.’

They were going to some country tennis party up in Suffolk. He looked at her a little annoyed and astonished. She’d never cried out of anything before.

‘Why not?’ His question was more in the form of a demand, but she smiled sweetly at him, her pure white, even teeth piercing his very soul, but this time with a tinge of sadness to the smile.

‘I’ve had a letter from a friend of mine, darling. She’s quite seriously ill and I must go to her. She’s living in South Kensington.’

She never spoke about friends and a shadow of suspicion passed over him. He was a jealous man, he knew, and more so of Cee. While he enjoyed seeing men trying to get close to her, comfortable in the knowledge that she loved him enough not to let male looks go to her head, he’d often feared the day when she would tire of him.

‘What’s the matter with her?’ he demanded. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Her name is Sylvia Peckham. She says she is suffering from some sort of cancer. She doesn’t say what.’ Her soft smile trembled to a saddened grimace at the thought. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

Instantly he was mortified by his attitude. ‘Then I’ll cancel the tennis party and drive you there.’

‘No, darling,’ she said sweetly. ‘It would mean you waiting about and she would not want anyone seeing her whom she doesn’t know. You do understand? You go and have a good time. I’ll get a taxi to the station. I’ll be there in a couple of hours but I might have to stay with her the weekend. I can hardly rush away. I’ll see you on Monday, darling.’

Not much he could do. The only gratifying thing was that everyone asked after her at the party, making him so proud that she was his.

On her return, it was good to have her back. He hadn’t realised how much he would miss her, even if it was only for a weekend.

‘How did it go?’ he asked the moment she got home. Her reply was to break into a flood of tears, very unusual for her, he having to hold her to him, feeling the heaving of her body against his chest.

‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ she sobbed, recovering a little. ‘I didn’t mean to break down but I’ve been so upset. She says it could be terminal, but if she can be cured it could take an awfully long time. Darling, I shall have to go and see her from time to time. I hate to leave you, but what can I do? She was my best friend before I came to you and I feel so guilty having not seen her for so long. But now I have to go and see her as often as possible to make up for it. You do understand, don’t you, darling?’

What else could he say? She wasn’t just beautiful, she was sweet, caring, she had cared for him and his welfare all this time, how could he deny her this duty as she saw it to be?

For the next few months she was with her friend almost every weekend, but not once would she allow him to go with her,

‘She looks so pitiful. She wouldn’t want a stranger seeing her like this.’

And now it was sometimes during the week, too. Each time he complained she fell into such floods of tears that his heart melted, and his was not a heart that melted easily. But every now and again she did consent to be at his side when he gave important parties.

‘I have to consider your feelings,’ she’d say quietly when he was troubled over her self-sacrifice. ‘I should be with you as often as I can.’

This Whitsun bank holiday she’d returned home early saying her friend had gone into hospital for some check-ups.

‘This is Sylvia’s brother, Ronny,’ she said, introducing the young man she had brought with her. ‘He looks after her nearly every day. He hardly gets a break so I said he should come down over the weekend for a rest from it while she is in hospital. You don’t mind, do you, darling, if we put him up for the night?’

The man had smiled self-consciously at Race’s narrow regard. ‘I hope I’m not intruding,’ he said softly. ‘I must go back tomorrow to visit Sylvia.’

‘Make yourself at home,’ Race told him sourly. The man was young, good-looking, prompting immediate wariness. But Cee came over to hold Race’s arm, cuddling against him, her eyes gazing into his with adoration glistening in them, her kiss on his cheek already promising the passion to come later.

Today had been one of his celebrated garden parties, the now setting sun having shone the whole evening, and Cee had hardly left his side. By evening, the ballroom crowded, music playing, champagne corks popping, laugher rose up to the chandelier which he hardly noticed these days, he and Cee standing arm in arm talking to this one and that, Ronny forgotten.

Exhausted by two in the morning, the last guests having left, he put his arm about her to go up to bed. Ronny Peckham had already retired to a room prepared for him. The waiters and hired staff had departed, Rosie Watts their housemaid had left for home in the village, as had Mrs Dunhill, their cook. The house lay silent. Halfway up the grand staircase, Cee sighed and moved out of his hold.

‘Darling, would you mind if I stayed down here a little while longer? I’ve such a headache. Lying down will only aggravate it. I think I’ll sit up for a little in the library, see if I can clear it. No need to stay with me.’

Grudgingly he left her making herself comfortable on a settee with a glass of hot milk and aspirin, promising to be up as soon as she felt better.

It was hard to sleep with her not there beside him. Yet he couldn’t go bothering her. After a while he drifted off, waking up to find it still dark and getting up to gaze out of the window.

A dog fox was barking somewhere in the nearby woods then all was quiet. A little later there came a series of far-off screams, high-pitched and frantic, ceasing suddenly. The fox had caught himself a rabbit. Race smiled as he turned from the window. Then he frowned. Where was Cee? How long since he’d been asleep? He looked at his bedside clock. Two thirty. He had been asleep for no more than fifteen or twenty minutes. He wondered how she was feeling.

Crossing the hallway and taking the back stairs to the old corridor below, he crept into the library. The light was off but the moon casting its glow across the room showed an empty couch. Where was she?

Coming out, he crossed the passage, stealing into the ballroom. That too was in darkness, but as he entered there came a sudden frantic flurry. Snapping down the nearest wall light switch, he saw a couple who had been lying together on one of the sofas leap to a sitting position. The girl had covered her face with an arm against the sudden glare, head bent into the crook of her elbow. She was naked, as was the man, her blonde fuzz and thighs glistening wetly in the light, her breasts too.