Читать книгу The Judgement of Strangers - Andrew Taylor, Andrew Taylor - Страница 17

If it hadn’t been for sex, or rather the lack of it, Vanessa and I would probably still be married. There was real friendship between us, and much tenderness. We filled some of the empty corners in each other’s lives. A semi-detached marriage? Perhaps. If so, the arrangement suited us both. Vanessa had her job, I had mine.

One of the things I loved most was her sense of humour, which was so dry that at times I barely noticed it. On one occasion she almost reduced Audrey to tears – of rage – by suggesting that we invited the pop group that played on Saturday nights at the Queen’s Head to perform at Evensong. ‘It would encourage young people to come to church, don’t you think?’

On another occasion, one afternoon early in August, Vanessa and I were in our little library on the green. Vanessa took her books to the issue desk, to be stamped by Mrs Finch, the librarian. Audrey was hovering like a buzzard poised to strike in front of the section devoted to detective stories.

‘I’d also like to make a reservation for a book that’s coming out in the autumn,’ Vanessa said in a clear, carrying voice. ‘The Female Eunuch by Germaine Greer.’

I glanced up in time to see a look of outrage flash between Mrs Finch and Audrey.

Mrs Finch closed the last of Vanessa’s library books, placed it on top of the others and pushed the pile across the issue desk. She jabbed the book cards into the tickets; the cardboard buckled and creased under the strain. She directed her venom at inanimate objects because by and large she was too timid to direct it at people.

While Vanessa was filling in the reservation card, I joined her at the issue desk to have my own books stamped. Audrey swooped on us; today her colour was high, perhaps because of the heat. ‘So glad I caught you,’ she said, her eyes flicking from me to Vanessa. ‘I wanted a word about the fete.’

I did not dare look at Vanessa. The annual church fete was a delicate subject. It was held in my garden on the last Saturday in August. Audrey had organized it for the past nine years. Although she would almost certainly have resisted any attempt to relieve her of the responsibility, she felt organizing the church fete was properly the job of the vicar’s wife. She had made this quite clear to both Vanessa and me in a number of indirect ways in the past few weeks.

Vanessa, on the other hand, was determined not to act as my unpaid curate in this capacity or in any other, and I respected her for the decision. We had agreed this before our marriage. She had a demanding and full-time job of her own, and had little enough spare time as it was: I could not expect her suddenly to take on more work, even if she had wanted to.

This year we had another problem to deal with. This was the suburbs, so many of our patrons came in cars. In recent years, the Bramleys had allowed us to use their paddock, a field which lay immediately behind the church and the Vicarage, as a car park. Unfortunately, they had suddenly left Roth Park at the beginning of June. They had sold the house and grounds without telling anyone. Bills had not been paid. There were rumours – relayed by Audrey – that litigation was pending.

The new owner of Roth Park had not yet moved in, so we had not been able to ask whether we could have the paddock. It would not be easy to find an alternative.

‘Time’s beginning to gallop,’ Audrey told us. ‘We really must put our thinking caps on.’

‘Perhaps they could park in Manor Farm Lane,’ I suggested.

‘But they’d have to walk miles. Besides, it’s not a very safe place to leave cars. We have to face it: without the paddock, we’re hamstrung. I even rang the estate agents. But they were most unhelpful.’

‘We’ve still got several weeks. And if the worst comes to the worst, perhaps we can do without a car park.’

‘Quite impossible,’ Audrey snapped. ‘If people can’t park their cars, they simply won’t come.’

It wasn’t what she said – it was the way in which she said it. Her tone was almost vindictive. In the silence, Audrey looked from Vanessa to me. Audrey’s face was moist and pink. Mrs Finch studied us all from her ringside seat from behind the issue desk. The library was very quiet. A wasp with a long yellow-and-black tail flew through the open doors into the library and settled on the edge of the metal rubbish bin. Lorries ground their way down the main road. The heat was oppressive.

Audrey snorted, making a sound like steam squirting from a valve, relieving the pressure of her invisible boiler. She turned and dropped the novels she was carrying on to the trolley for returned books.

‘I’ve got a headache,’ she said. ‘Not that any of you need concern yourselves about it. I shall go home and rest.’

Mrs Finch and Vanessa began to speak at once.

‘My mother always said that a cold flannel and a darkened room …’ began Mrs Finch.

Vanessa said, ‘I’m so sorry. Is there anything we …?’

Both women stopped talking in mid-sentence because Audrey clearly wasn’t listening, and had no intention of listening. She walked very quickly out of the library. I noticed that her dress was stained with sweat under the armpits. In a moment, the doorway was empty. I stared through it at the green beyond, at the main road, the tower of the church and the oaks of Roth Park. I heard the faint but unmistakable sound of a wolf whistle. I wondered if one of the youths were baiting Audrey as she scurried round the green to the sanctuary of Tudor Cottage.

‘That’ll be one shilling, Mrs Byfield.’ Mrs Finch held out her hand for the reservation card. ‘Five pence. We’ll do our best, of course, but I can’t guarantee anything. The stock editor decides which books we buy. He may not think this is suitable.’

Vanessa smiled at Mrs Finch and gallantly resisted the temptation to reply. A moment later, she and I walked back along the south side of the green towards the Vicarage.

‘Is Audrey often like that?’ she asked.

‘She gets very involved with the fete.’ I felt I had to explain Audrey to Vanessa, even to apologize for her. ‘It’s the high point of the year for her.’

‘I wonder why.’ Vanessa glanced up at me. ‘Tell me, is she normally so irritable?’

I felt uncomfortable. ‘She did seem a little tetchy.’

‘I wonder how old she is. Getting on for fifty? Do you think she might be going through the menopause?’

‘I suppose it’s possible. Why?’

‘It would explain a great deal.’

‘Yes.’ I was in fact unclear what the change of life could mean for a woman. I put on speed, as if trying to walk away from this faintly unsavoury topic. ‘But was she really acting so unusually? She did say she had a headache.’

‘David.’ Vanessa put a hand on my arm, forcing me to stop and look at her. ‘You’ve known Audrey for so long that I don’t think you realize how odd she is.’

‘Surely not.’

We moved on to the main road. We waited for a gap in the traffic.

‘I’d better look in on her this evening,’ I said. ‘See how she is.’

‘I wouldn’t. Fuel to feed the flame.’

‘Flame? Don’t be silly.’

In silence, we crossed the road and went into the drive of the Vicarage.

‘It’s not that I want to see her this evening,’ I went on, wondering if Vanessa might conceivably be jealous. ‘People like Audrey are part of my job.’

Vanessa thrust her key into the lock of the front door. ‘You sometimes sound such a prig.’

I stared at her. This was the nearest we had ever come to a quarrel. It was the first time that either of us had spoken critically to the other.

Vanessa pushed open the door. The telephone was ringing in the study. When I picked up the receiver, the news I heard pushed both Audrey’s problems and my squabble with Vanessa into the background.