Читать книгу The Philanderer's Wife - Katherine Trelawney - Страница 9

The day before he went away with Hilary, Paddy received a small brown parcel with foreign stamps on it.

It was from Barbara. She had sent him a tape of music, a compilation of short extracts of famous tunes, including Samuel Barber’s Adagio, individual movements from well-known concertos, and arias from operas by Puccini. Paddy would never have bought such a tape for himself (he always said that the one thing of real value his upbringing had given him was a proper musical education) but he was touched that Barbara had gone looking for the type of music that she did not listen to but thought he did. She had also written a neat list, detailing each piece with a description of what each one “meant to her”. A movement of the Bruch violin concerto reminded her of the wine bar where she used to meet Paddy, and the Barber Adagio “your more serious side, which I know you do have”. In some cases, where she clearly hadn’t been able to relate to the piece at all, she would say something like “I think that this represents complex emotions, which of course we both have.”

This provided Paddy with a very welcome distraction. He had been thinking about Cannes, and feeling more than a little guilty about his wife. Poor Joss, she would genuinely have liked to go to Cannes, and really he could so that it wasn’t a lot to ask. More than once he had thought of offering to take her. She and Hilary would co-exist all right. Besides, this thing with Hilary was just business. He would have to leave Joss to her own devices a lot, but she was quite self-sufficient, and could have taken some reading with her.

But just as he had been on the brink of relenting, Joss had always harried him with some sharp comment, some reproach, which had made him feel bad. No man wanted to be nagged into generosity by his wife. Naturally, he wanted the offer to be freely made. If only Joss could have given him a bit more space, over this one, he probably would have taken her.

Sitting in his office, and for the moment ignoring the rest of the day’s post, Paddy mused over fond memories of Barbara. She had been quite magnificent. Pretty, efficient, good at her job, with that wonderful gift of concentrating all her attention on him, making him feel the most valued person in the world. True, she was rather inflexible in nature, and that might have been a problem had their relationship ever developed. Joss had been quite unreasonable in her objections to her. But this was because Joss felt disadvantaged by having been a secretary in the same office where Barbara had been an ambitious young solicitor.

Yes, he would have been quite keen on Barbara, had he not been distracted at the time that he first knew her by his courtship of Joscelyn. Then they had had little to do with each other for some two years after his marriage. But he and Barbara had ended up working together on a big case that went to trial in a court in the North of England. They found themselves, for purely professional reasons, staying in the same hotel, and eating dinner together. One night they had even ended up in the same bed.

Paddy felt slightly uncomfortable as he recollected that experience. He had said to Barbara, what he often said on such occasions, that they should just go to bed and “see what happened”. Many women liked this approach, and in fact Paddy preferred it, too. But Barbara had not been happy to let things just happen. She wasn’t a woman to go with the flow, and made it clear that she wanted to arrive at one predetermined place. This hadn’t been very erotic. Barbara’s intensity and concentration, wonderful as it was from the distance of a few feet across a dinner table, translated at a closer quarter into simple demands.

Paddy found himself remembering Joss’s strong objections to the woman he was in bed with, and for a moment, even beginning to sympathise with them. He found himself suggesting that perhaps they were making a mistake.

“I was forgetting Joss,” he said “she allows me a lot of freedom, but I know that she worries about me getting involved with anyone from the office.”

Barbara had become very cross. She sat bolt upright in bed, breasts pointing angrily at him, and said:

“As far as I am concerned, Paddy, our relationship has nothing to do with your marriage.”

Of course, after that he had assumed all was over for good and all, but in due course Barbara had been very forgiving. When he had left the law, he had joked with her that she would keep him in touch with the legal world, and she had taken this very seriously. For a while they had regular meetings, over an evening drink, at which Barbara would present him with a file of newspaper cuttings and law reports. Sometimes the feelings of discomfort would return. Barbara had a way of referring to “how things might have been” which Paddy recognised, with some embarrassment, as a phrase of his own from their “stag night” drink. At the time, it was meant as nothing more than gallantry, unfortunately overlaid with some of the nerves that most men feel when about to enter the married state. He hadn’t meant to encourage her to think his words had any serious meaning. He had been very sad, however, when one day Barbara had announced her decision to move to Hong Kong.

But, as he sat holding this unlooked for an unexpected gesture of affection, he reflected that no harm had ever come of his dalliance with Barbara. Yes, at one time he had had his worries about getting in too deep with her. And so it would be with Hilary. In a year’s time she would be a fond memory, and someone who brightened his life with an occasional letter from a distant place.

Paddy listened to half the tape as he drove home that day and his thoughts returned to the donor. How strange that Barbara seemed to be single still. He had been quite sure that she would return oozing proud loyalty to some self-satisfied financier, younger than Paddy but old beyond his years. So there was chance for her to get a decent man yet; and he felt only a little sorrow at the fact that it would not be him.

Paddy was very happy when he got home, and consequently was rather taken aback to find that Joss was annoyed with him. She had been, during most of the day, thinking of the forthcoming trip to Cannes, and her own aggrieved feelings. She knew that she was a good wife to Paddy, she loved him of course, but she also knew that he cared very deeply for her and relied very heavily on her support. She knew his need to stray, and could love him nonetheless, but this really had upset her. She had told him that, kept telling him. And in a little corner of her heart that she had hoped, and even believed, that he would realise how she felt. That he would not push her too far. That he would change his plans and not risk damage to their marriage which had worked so well, and pain to the wife that he loved.

He arrived home a little earlier than usual and said that he would cook supper. This was obviously intended as a significant gesture, but Joss was irritated. She was being fobbed off, and besides she had prepared a casserole already.

“Put it in the freezer.” Paddy said, “I’ve bought some fresh salmon. You can eat the casserole while I’m away. You should invite Philippa over.”

“I saw Philippa for lunch yesterday.”

“Yes, but you’ll want to see her next week when I’m away.”

“Paddy, I think that I should be the judge of that.”

Joscelyn left Paddy to his cooking. After half an hour, recovering her composure somewhat, she found a bottle of wine from the cellar and carried it purposefully back to the kitchen. She would speak clearly to Paddy about her feelings. It was too late for any arrangements to be changed now, but if they could just understand each other, this would be the best thing for the future.

Paddy had emptied his briefcase, a large bulging leather bag of almost suitcase-like proportions, on the kitchen table.

“You do have a study for all this,” said Joss.

“I needed to check something. You can move it if you like.”

“I think you mean ‘Joss, would you mind putting all my papers in the study’,” Joss said.

“Joss, would you mind putting all my papers in the study, seeing as I am so busy cooking you a delicious meal.”

Joscelyn gathered up the untidy assortment of papers. Then, amongst them she saw the tape, and a letter in the irritatingly neat handwriting of Barbara Irvine, former solicitor at Slater, June and Warbeck.

“And this,”“she shouted, “is from bloody Barbara.”

Paddy was startled. His wife’s outburst of rage seemed to come from nowhere.

“What is she doing sending you tapes? You told me that you weren’t in touch with her any more.”

Paddy thought. Yes, he might have said something like that, months and months ago.

“Well, if I did it was a statement of fact, not any kind of promise. And I haven’t been in touch with her. I had forgotten all about her. She sent me a message a couple of weeks ago. She has left Hong Kong and is taking some time out before coming home.”

Joss remembered. This was the “Something” that had been winging its way when the last letter was sent. She had been so caught up in the house and the upset over Cannes, she had forgotten.

“Well, that’s all I need. If it weren’t bad enough that you are taking Hilary to Cannes, which you knew was what I wanted more than anything else in the world, now you are getting presents from that awful woman. And keeping it from me. How can I trust you any more?”

Paddy was upset by this accusation.

“Joss, we’ve been through this before. I will take you to Cannes, just not now. And I was not keeping Barbara from you. There is nothing to conceal, anyway. You saw the tape; it was there on the kitchen table with my papers. I asked you to clear it up for me. You really do get Barbara all out of proportion. Of course I’m flattered that she still thinks of me, but I never thought of her before the other day.”

“Why is she sending you tapes of music?” Joscelyn held the offending object up in the air.

“I don’t know. She’s probably lonely. Actually I don’t think she has many friends, and she must be unlucky in love because she doesn’t seem to be bringing a man back with her. Strange, really, when she has so much going for her. I suppose she puts too much effort into her job, and it cuts out the social life.”

“Nonsense,” said Joscelyn. “I know that she is competent, but Barbara isn’t a career woman. Her problem is that she hasn’t yet found anyone prepared to offer her complete devotion, a total absence of criticism and all his time and money.”

“I think you are a little hard on her, but you know that I wouldn’t be offering her that.”

“I know. But what you do offer her gives her the illusion of having it. You see her, lavish her with charm, tell her how wonderful she is, and she goes away thinking that you are just what she deserves. Can’t you see how galling it is for me?”

“But she doesn’t have me. You do.”

“She likes to think she does. In her mind, you’re all hers. The fact that various others talk to you, live with you, sleep and eat with you wouldn’t stop Barbara from deluding herself that she was really your number one.”

“Joscelyn, I cannot be responsible for what Barbara thinks. I don’t know what Barbara thinks. You’re the one who seems to be able to read people’s minds.”

“You encourage her.”

Joscelyn sat, hunched, sad and angry, looking at the kitchen table, the mess of papers and the tape. She picked it up and looked at it. Barbara was trying to give Paddy music that he liked, but not being a fan of classical music herself; she had chosen a compilation of easy pieces. She had probably listened to the tape through herself, before sending it, or (as was more likely) she had not wanted to break the plastic seal, and had bought another one for herself. Early in her courtship with Paddy, Joss had bought him a CD of a well-known soprano singing a variety of famous arias. They had been to Madame Butterfly together, and Joscelyn, who had never been to an opera before, had been quite overcome. Paddy, however, had been very stern about the gift.

“These songs,” he had lectured her, “are the culmination of emotional and musical high points of lots of different operas. They are not meant to be heard all together. It is quite wrong to have to listen to one after the other.”

Joscelyn looked bitterly at her husband:

“These pieces seem to be ‘the emotional and dramatic high points of serious pieces of music strung all together’. But you don’t seem to mind when she gives them to you.”

“Joss, I have no idea what you are talking about. Is this something you’ve got from one of your lectures?”

“No. It’s what you said about that opera tape I gave you after we went to see Madame Butterfly that first time.”

“Oh yes,” he said, “I do remember. Your dreadful diva CD. It was very sweet, but I knew that you were capable of something better. Besides, I wanted to marry you.”

Joscelyn sat a little longer, and then she burst into tears.

Paddy was genuinely surprised, and worried. He came and put his arms around his wife. Joss threw the Barbara tape across the room. Paddy sat with her for a moment, uncertain what to do.

Then he went and picked up the tape, and the plastic case. He walked over to the kitchen bin, and placed both inside.

“You really don’t like this tape,” he said.

Joscelyn looked up, and smiled wanly. Paddy looked at her, waiting for her response.

“Shall I open a bottle of wine?” she said.

They drank some wine, Paddy cooked supper, and they ate together. They both felt relieved. Disposing of Barbara’s tape seemed to have done away with all the tensions between them. After supper, they moved into the garden room, lit a fire, and made love on the thick rug in front of it. They fell asleep together, and woke later when the flames had all died down; underclothed and cold, and ready for the warmth of the matrimonial bed.