Tremor (6 page)

Their home was in Oakbridge, a hamlet adjoining the pretty and historic small town of Concord, a few miles out of Boston. A substantial cedar-built house – always too big for them – forty years old, flanked by woods of birch and maple and a hundred yards from the main road to Lexington. The ground just here rose sharply, and the builder, advanced for his time, had constructed the house in a modern style, semi-open-plan, on two floors, with the big living-cum-dining-room on the upper floor where you were almost on a level with the tops of the trees. There was not much conventional garden but a greensward ran away in front of the house, flanked by trees, many of which Ann had planted herself: hickory, ironwood, aspen, hackberry and American beech, and most of which turned a flamboyant bronze or crimson in the fall. Ann never wanted a living-in couple, but two dailies coped with the housework. She always cooked him an evening meal, and they shared a bottle of good wine.

An amicable, happy home, a happy life. The one disappointment was that they had no family. She had conceived once and then had a miscarriage. Doctors and surgeons had been consulted, and she had insisted against his wishes on having an operation, but nothing had come of it. They had shared their disappointment, and in a way it had brought them closer together.

They had lived in this district so long that they knew many people, but most of them were acquaintance-friends rather than close friends. In a world in which marriages broke up at the drop of a hat, the very success of theirs, the uniqueness of their continuing preoccupation with each other, set them a bit apart. Also the lack of children meant the lack of a common interest that brought many couples into closer contact. He had business friends enough in Boston and was a member of the Tavern Club and the Algonquin. Although she knew so many people, a few special friends only formed an afternoon bridge circle noted for its good play and its good humour. Bridge, in her view, should be played well but for amusement, and those who came or those to whom she went shared that opinion. If there was an evening session he sometimes joined in.

They avoided drinks parties when they could, but about once a week went to the Golf Club. Sundays he played golf with a regular group, but she had given up. A dinner party once a month, and opera at the Met when it could be arranged.

The Burfords were an old Boston family, and Lee looked like one, dressed like one and behaved like one. Some people mistook his reserve for snobbery. But his father had been a Doctor of Philosophy, and they had not been at all well off in the early days. Until his aunt died Lee had been dependent on his law practice – though this was now highly prosperous. Sometimes, in other parts of America, people took him for an Englishman. Although he had no desire to be an Englishman he was not offended.

Ann came out of the same class, only more so, she being herself a direct descendant of the Paul Hayward who came over in the
Mayflower
. Her father still lived at Dartmouth near New Bedford, a retired Democratic Congressman who had established a reputation for unimpeachable integrity. Now that he was retired he complained that he also had become somewhat impoverished, and cynics attempted to connect the two.

It was a Friday in April 1959 that Lee drove in about six and whistled as he usually did when he came into the house. There was no reply but he heard a stirring in the kitchen. He went in expecting to see Ann but confronted Hannah, their Irish maid.

‘Oh, Mr Burford,' she said. ‘Mrs Burford has gone away.'

He stared. ‘Gone away? Where?'

‘I don't know, sor. She left this morning, about eleven it would be, I'm thinking. She said I was to come in this evening and see to your dinner.'

‘Oh.' So far there was no alarm in his thoughts. ‘Oh, very well. Did she say when she'd be back?'

‘No, sor. But she says to me, she says, she left a message for you in the bedroom.'

‘Ah.' More satisfied but a little irritated, he poured himself a drink before going to the bedroom. There was a pleasant little legal problem which had cropped up in a case today, and he had hoped to tell her of it. Unlike her to go off suddenly. He hoped her father was not ill. But then surely she could have telephoned his office.

The big bedroom had a wonderful view of the bare trees. All the buds were swelling but as yet the weather was too cold.

It was a big envelope and he tore it open and put on his spectacles.

Darling, darling.
I don't know how to say this, or how you will take this.
There's no way I can lead up to it tactfully. I'm leaving.

I'm leaving you and leaving Concord and leaving Massachusetts and leaving America. I'm sure you'll think I'm crazy, and maybe that's true, but I'm not certifiably crazy. We've had a
wonderful
life together, Lee,
really
wonderful – thirty-five years and hardly a harsh word. People have said it's too good to last, but it
has
lasted, hasn't it. And now I'm breaking it up.

I'm going to New Zealand, Lee. How about that for a lunatic idea? I'm going out to join my cousin Althea. For years since her husband died, she has been running their small boatyard and living on small boats. You know how I adore small boats. Always when I have a week with Daddy in the summer we muck about in cutters and yachts of all sizes and even dinghies. You know all this. I've told it you so often. And I know you hate it.

There's always been that tug of the sea in my blood, and a sort of yearning. I've been a good wife, haven't I? Traveling all over the world with you. Going to conferences with you, talking over difficult law cases with you. Don't think this has been any sort of a chore for me. Darling Lee, promise you will not think that. I've really loved it, as you must know. But I have no belief in an afterlife, and I want before it is too late to lead a totally
different
life.

With luck – with luck I shall have a bit of time, a bit of
active
time to live another way.

I shan't come back. I
know
that in my bones. I have a little money, and it will do me well enough. I hope you will be able to live a comfortable and cheerful life without me. Please, please, don't grieve. Please, please understand. Please, please forgive me. I am leaving all my things behind me, which also has been a wrench. You are the only man I have ever loved and you are the only man I ever shall love. But I have to take this step.

Believe me, your ever devoted

Ann

Ann was a healthy, robust woman, nearly as tall as he; apart from her inability to have children and an operation she had had three years ago, she had enjoyed perfect health. She had kept her good looks and her good spirits; tall, blonde, very feminine, very practical. Every year, of course, she had gone down to Dartmouth, spent as long as she could be spared with old Simon Hayward, and Lee had always been happy to listen to her adventures when she came home, and happy that she had enjoyed herself. But this …

This was
impossible
.

The telephone was answered at the third ring. Living alone as Congressman Hayward did now, he was not often far from a telephone.

‘Lee? Ah, I was expecting you to ring. Yes … Only this morning. She rang me about nine … No, of course I had nothing to do with it! Except that she has talked about it often during the last few years – how she'd love to do it. It wasn't
my
suggesting, I promise you. She never mentioned it to you? … Well, it was a pipe dream, wasn't it. That's what I thought. Once you stop condemning her, you can't help but admire her … No, I suppose not; not yet. It's a terrible reason to break up a marriage, I guess. I mean, one as good as yours, Lee. But she was always crazy about the sea, though she saw so little of it. Don't forget her grandfather and her great-grandfather were both in the US Navy. I can't explain it better than that!'

Lee could picture the old man, dressed as he always was in a blue reefer jacket with brass buttons, denim trousers, sandals, open-neck shirt with big black tie tied so loosely that it was like a cravat, grey hair cut very short, gold-rimmed spectacles; rather a ‘ character' in the district, now trying to explain the inexplicable, to justify the unjustifiable.

‘Althea? She's not really a cousin but she grew up in Massachusetts, they went to school together; she married a guy from New Zealand and she's been living in North Island ever since. She's been back twice. Apparently they own a boatyard. Of course you can see the appeal … I don't know. Obviously Ann hasn't been there, but she must have seen photos and home movies, that sort of thing. Sure, Lee, she may come back, but not for a while, I'd say. Anyway we can't stop her, can we; she's kicked up her heels and gone. Which way was she travelling, d'you know? No, I guess she wouldn't tell you, would she. She certainly didn't tell me.'

The old man coughed and listened. ‘No, I certainly wouldn't go after her. Look, Lee, I'm real sorry this has happened to you. You're a fine guy, and you've done really well by Ann, and now she's played you what may seem to you like a dirty trick. But you've got to think you've had thirty-five years together, and that's a fair crack of the whip … No, I certainly don't see it as any sort of reflection on you. As I expect she said to you, she wants to lead a totally different life, a sea life, an
active
life, with boats. She hasn't got all that long – though maybe looking at myself, I'm eighty-three, and I still muck around with boats and the like – she's got a fair time. What shall you do? … No, I'm sure, you've hardly given it a thought yet. But take it easy, boy, there's a lot of water still to flow under the bridge. Like me to come over and see you? No, well, any time, just lift the phone … I suppose she's travelled pretty light, so there'll be a lot of her stuff around. I should try to carry on for a while and see how the dice roll. Of course I'll tell you if she rings.'

When he got off the telephone Hannah came back into the room. ‘Will I bring in the supper, sor?'

‘Not yet. I'll take another drink first. I'll ring the bell when I want you. Is Della here?'

‘No, she's went long since. Mrs Burford specially asked me to be here this evening. She seemed to think it would be better.'

‘OK. I'll not keep you too late, otherwise your husband will be getting anxious.'

‘Oh, no, sor, he knows. I said I'd be home by eleven.'

Lee didn't ask if her husband knew why she'd been called in or knew that Ann had left. Anyway it would soon be all over the village.

‘Oh, sor, before I leave you, Mrs Heinz is downstairs. She said she'd like to see you.'

Was this another link in the chain? ‘Of course. Send her up.'

Letty Heinz said: ‘ Yes, I knew about it, Mr Burford. But only since Wednesday.'

‘What did you know?'

‘That she was thinking she might leave. It was not till she came back from Concord and said she had been to the travel agent that I supposed she was in real earnest.'

Letty Heinz was a recent friend. One of Ann's peculiarities – for Ann had none of Lee's reserve – was a tendency to take a sudden fancy to someone she had just met and make a fuss of them. It sprang from goodwill and a genuine interest in other people's lives. When Letty had first appeared at their bridge table Lee had not been taken with her. He looked on her as one of Ann's lame ducks, and a not particularly well-educated lame duck at that. She seemed to know nothing about music or to be even reasonably well-read.

Letty Heinz was half Norwegian, half English, it seemed, and had come to America during the war, had married Carl Heinz, a long-distance truck driver, and they had a son called Leon; she was separated from her husband, and her son, instead of going on to college, had fallen for one of the new psychedelic beliefs while still at his state school and was now a drop-out, living in a commune in New York.

She didn't seem quite the companion for Ann – never had – but when Ann had to have an operation for removal of a cyst she invited Letty to come to the house and look after her for a few days, and this had been a success. Letty unexpectedly turned out to be a good bridge player, so she had stayed a month. Thereafter she had quite often come in for an afternoon's bridge, and had also partnered Ann at duplicate – a form of bridge that Lee disliked.

She was a pretty woman, slim, almost petite; and partly because of her slightness she looked younger than thirty-eight, which she said she was. He had felt once or twice in the last year or so that Ann and Letty had confidences between each other that they did not share with him. His resentment was vague and unspecified and certainly not a reason for any complaint. Anyway his trust in Ann had been complete. But he looked at Letty now without warmth.

‘Why have you come?'

‘Come? Here, you mean? I came to see you, Mr Burford.'

‘For some reason?'

‘Well, yes, I heard what had happened and I thought I might be of some help in this – this trouble you are in.'

‘You can only help me by telling me anything you knew of her plans, what she has said to you.'

Letty shrugged her shoulders. ‘ Oh, we have talked of it now and then. Yes, I must say that. But there was never any hint of criticism of
you
in this talk. You have always been the good husband, the kind, thoughtful husband, and she, I think, I think Mrs Burford has always been the kind, thoughtful wife.'

Lee nodded.

‘I guess,' she said, ‘there's often articles in magazines giving reasons why this sort of thing can happen: middle age, change of life, but … But I do not believe it was that with her. It is a – a dream which she has wished to realize. You know? Now, perhaps, with God's help, she will be able to realize it.'

‘But not with my help,' said Lee bitterly.

‘It is hard for me to say the right thing,' Letty said. ‘I have only known Mrs Burford a few years – you also that long, but you mainly at a distance. But I think you have given Ann a wonderful life, have given her every comfort and all your affectionate attention.'