The Merciless Ladies (34 page)

I kissed her again. ‘Give.'

She licked her lips. ‘ Perhaps ‘‘The Blue Peter'' isn't such a good idea after all.'

‘Carried without a vote. What were you going to say?'

‘Nothing. Not now.'

‘Is Maud ever back early?'

She laughed. ‘Never.'

I looked at the clock. ‘So we've rather more than an hour.'

‘All of that. Can you keep me interested?'

I kept her interested.

An odd thing about love-making is that it unlocks the tongue. Or perhaps it isn't odd. And perhaps love-making is an old-fashioned expression – anyhow for what happened between Olive and me. In spite of her obvious sexuality, there was something spinsterish about her which resisted self-surrender until almost too late. But when it came, there were no restraints then.

And when it was all over, although her cool wits and sharp tongue were soon in evidence, they were not for a while in such control. And of course we had drunk quite a bit.

‘Did I spit at you?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘Well, you smacked my face.'

‘A love tap.'

‘The old male assertion, you bastard. But I must say it's better that way – fighting.'

‘Do you behave so with your other lovers?'

‘I haven't any – as you know damned well.'

‘Oh, come. With all your social life, there must be occasions which lead invitingly up the stairs.'

‘My social life! … What sort of social life d'you think I really have? Did you really fall for that hokum of tonight being my only free night in two weeks?'

‘Then why say so?'

‘To impress you, I suppose.'

‘To impress me? You don't need to do that. Anyway, you must be in great demand.'

‘Demand!' she said vehemently. ‘D'you know any single divorced woman who's greatly in demand?
Do
you? Not in this society, not with half the men killed in the war! It's all right for a man – there's always room for him – the odd one at the dinner table, someone to make up numbers for a weekend. How often does a
woman
get an invitation like that?'

‘You have friends—'

‘Of
course
we had friends! But those who didn't take Paul's side, well, they asked me out a few times and then conveniently forgot about it. There's no room for a single woman in this society! You're just an odd one out, a left-over, a has-been …'

‘At your age, with your looks?'

‘Of course I could have a life of a sort, if I were prepared to be a tart. There are always men looking out for that. But as for marriage … Oh, I know I'm pretty and still fairly young … but d'you think I get worthwhile offers every week? Or every quarter? Or every
year
? Even if I were willing to consider any of them.'

‘You did with Peter Sharble.'

Her eyes went hard. ‘Men are such suckers for flattery, for appeals to their protective nature. Although they'd deny it, most of them don't really want an equal – they want a little woman they can keep at home and
patronize
… Peter was bright enough – we could have made something of life together – but he chose to fall for that little creep he met on the cruise … I often wonder if Paul poisoned his mind against me.'

‘
Paul
? Whatever d'you mean?'

‘Peter was a member of the Hanover. No doubt they met and talked.'

‘You can set your mind at rest on that! Paul was only anxious to get a divorce. Sharble was his one chance. He wouldn't have been such a fool.'

She glanced at the clock. ‘ Maybe. But after the divorce …'

‘It's not like you to think so unclearly. If you'd married Sharble Paul would have been free of alimony. That's the thing he wanted most – wants most now in all the world.'

She sighed. ‘So we're back on the forbidden topic, aren't we? My fault this time, was it? Bill …'

‘Yes?'

‘I don't feel like ‘‘The Blue Peter'' now. It's time you went.'

‘Yes …'

‘God, you're good for me! Pity
we
couldn't marry … But it would be hell in a week.'

‘I know.'

‘But once in a while like this.'

I moved to get up. ‘ Olive, what were you going to tell me before this happened?'

‘Oh … that.' Her eyes grew amused. ‘Guess.'

‘Can't.'

‘It'll bring up the
verboten
subject.'

‘Does it matter now?'

‘It matters that it's twenty to twelve. Buck up.'

She gave me a push.

‘When you've told me.'

‘Well … you know I'm leaving this flat – can't afford it. The expense is crippling. I'm going to be able to afford precious little. My mother hasn't much to spare … So I've taken a house – a small house – guess where.'

‘I've no idea.'

‘Cumberland. I'm going to paint there. Seeking freedom for my artistic soul.'

I peered at her. ‘Rubbish. I don't believe you … Where in Cumberland?'

‘Place called Crichton Beck.'

I licked my lips. ‘ Near
Paul?
'

‘Why not? Two can play at the same game. I've taken a little four-roomed house that's been empty for some time. The owner is having it repainted and decorated. The rent is peanuts – unbelievable.'

I took a deep breath. ‘You'd die of boredom, Olive.'

‘D'you think I don't sometimes nearly die of boredom
here?
There's nowhere lonelier than London. Can you imagine me in a bed-sitter? Not damned likely. Anyway, I've only taken it for a year. Apparently it's very close to Paul and his little lame duck, so I shall be able to keep an eye on them. Call round to borrow milk or a pinch of tea. Drop in and see his latest painting. Sure he'll be glad of my advice. If I get on his nerves he can always decide to pay up and get me something better in London.'

I still stared at her. You don't really mean this, Olive.'

She moistened her lips and gave a little smile. You see if I don't.'

I lay back, thinking of it all. I thought a lot. This was the last straw. I began to think of Mr Rosse. I thought of a
dum casta
clause. Wise Mr Rosse. An hour ago I had speculated as to what would come of the evening. I hadn't supposed this.

‘Go on', she said. ‘We don't want Maud to catch us.'

‘Is she usually prompt?' I asked cautiously, thinking all round it.

‘I'm often asleep. But more often than not it's about twelve-thirty when I hear her key.'

‘Oh, there's plenty of time, then.'

‘We can't be
certain
. Her stupid sister may have toothache or something.'

I moistened my own lips. ‘But she doesn't come in here when she comes home surely?'

‘Oh, yes, she does! Puts her head round the door to see if I'm asleep or want anything. Wouldn't be Maud if she didn't. Me, the ewe lamb.'

I sighed. ‘You'll miss her.'

‘Oh, God, yes in a way. But now I want to miss you.'

I listened to the ticking of the clock.

I said: ‘ I'd like to stay the night.'

She stared. ‘Well, you
can't
! Don't be utterly ridiculous.'

‘D'you think she'd notice if the light was out?'

‘Of course she'd
notice
! Bill, don't be damned silly. It's ten to twelve. Get dressed!'

‘All right', I said. ‘On one condition.'

‘What are you
talking
about? I don't make
conditions
! What condition?'

‘That you don't go and live in Cumberland.'

There was quite along silence. She sat up very slowly and I watched her naked back disappear into a white knitted jumper.

‘Get out!' she said.

‘Olive, I don't want tonight to end in a free-for-all. Believe me. It's been – good. But I'm making a condition about leaving, and I mean to stick to it.'

She pulled on a skirt and stood up.

‘Get out!'

I said: ‘ Control yourself. You won't get me out by force. I'm stronger than you – as you know … If you go up and live as Paul's neighbour you'll drive him out of his mind! Or certainly you'll ruin his work. You can only be doing this out of pure malice. Forget it! Let me pay you something. I can let you have two hundred and fifty a year. That, with what you're getting now, will maybe enable you to keep this flat. At least you can live a decent life in London. We can – perhaps – have other evenings like this.'

She said: ‘ Has the whole thing been a trick? Just to get me in this situation so that Maud will come home and find us, and then …' She glared. ‘There's some
clause
, isn't there, about the wife? By prying on the wife the husband can prove she's immoral and save his maintenance. That's it, isn't it? Did Paul put you up to it?'

‘D'you think if it had been a put-up job from the start it would have happened between us as it's happened tonight? Don't be a fool!'

‘
You're
the fool', she said, ‘supposing Maud will tell on me.'

‘We'll have to see, won't we.'

She glared at me again, her puckish face looking like the Devil.

‘
Get out!
'

‘No …' I shook my head at her.

Her hands clutched and unclutched. She stared again, and then swung on her heel, padded like a fury to her dressing-table, wrenched open a drawer, fumbled, took something out, came back. She pointed a revolver at me.

‘Now go!'

I put my hand slowly on the side of the bed, needing stability.

‘Where the hell did you get that?'

‘I bought it after the divorce. To defend myself against unwelcome intruders. London is becoming lawless. Well, you're an unwelcome intruder. Now go.'

I looked into a little round hole, no bigger than a sixpence, from which, presumably, death or injury in the form of a small lead bullet could emerge. Her hand was trembling. Suddenly everything was out of hand. Life, ordinary life, goes on, and then the skin breaks. Clearly she didn't mean it. Clearly the thing was not loaded. And yet …

‘Olive', I said. ‘Don't be quite such an idiot.'

‘I give you two minutes to get dressed.'

I couldn't tell whether the safety catch was down. I saw her thumb moving on the little revolver and thought she was cocking it.

‘Really', I said, ‘ does one
have
to be so melodramatic? Don't we have
any
common ground between loving and killing? Listen—'

‘Get dressed', she said.

‘What time is it? It's scarcely twelve yet.'

She glanced at the clock, and as she turned her head I jumped her. It was an insane thing to do, of course; but hers had been the first hysterical move. Neither of us perhaps was sober. My own move was a compound of lust (still) and hate. Perhaps it was not only hatred of her. Knowing her body and its soft firmness inside the knitted jumper and the disarrayed skirt; seeing the bitter rancour in her eyes; it was suddenly necessary to subdue them both. Also for the over-all intent. If her malice was going to those lengths I would stop it
now
. And enjoy stopping it. Calling her bluff.

So I called her bluff.

III

There might have been a moment when she could have pulled the trigger, but in the two seconds of hesitation my hands were on her right hand, clutching it so tight that her fingers were jammed. She hit me in the face with her left hand, jarring my teeth; we fell together across the bed; I wrenched at the revolver but she would not let go. She raked my right forearm with her long nails; blood began to start; I released my left hand in time to catch hers as it went for my eyes. We rolled again and the gun went off.

I had no pain, no sense of injury or loss. She was obviously aware that something terrible had happened because she relaxed her grip and was watching me. I could feel the warm blood on my leg. Still there was no pain. She sighed and said: ‘Damn you.'

The blood ran down my leg. She was pressing me down, determined I should not move.

I said: ‘ Olive, for Christ's sake!'

And then her eyes fluttered and turned up.

Sickness in my throat; I struggled and wriggled to be free of her. I got myself free, looked down at my leg, which was thick with viscous blood. I looked at Olive. She wasn't moving. I turned her over. The revolver was still in her hand and pressed into her abdomen, just below the navel. That was where the blood was coming from.

For a moment or two I passed out. The next thing I remember is swallowing the vomit in my throat as I crawled towards the door to reach the telephone. Telephones were not so common in bedrooms in those days. But at the door I stopped. A doctor. A doctor at once. I pulled myself slowly upright and looked back. She was lying across the bed, her golden crown a little tarnished with time, her left arm raised provocatively, lying across the pillow, one leg folded. Must get a doctor. Get to the telephone. The room was still quavering. I came unsteadily a few paces back, gripped the corner of a chair, stared. Her eyes were open. But they didn't see me. Gone was the malice, the rancour, the envy, the hate. Only the beauty remained. But it was an empty beauty …

A doctor. The first thing. A doctor. Must get one soon. Quickly, quickly …

Three more steps back towards her. Fingers to her wrist. Nothing. Effort now. Great effort now. Put hand slowly under her slight breast. Nothing. Watch the mouth … Her eyes were staring at the ceiling … A doctor.

It was
impossible.

I stared down at my own leg where the thick blood was congealing. Her blood. Not mine. Her blood. Get a doctor. Then the police.

I turned away and fell on my knees and retched. I knelt and held my head in my hands and retched.

A bell. Not a doorbell but a clock bell, a chime, coming from the open door of the living-room. Midnight.