Jan bit her lip, fighting the lump in her throat. Its as though she only left a few minutes ago.
He would never let it be touched.
She picked up a palette knife from the table. The lump of paint dried on its tip matched exactly the colour in the foreground of the painting on the easel.
What do you think really happened that night? She was staring out at the water. A pair of mallard swam into view, the pond rippling into diamond rings around their gently paddling feet.
No one knows for sure.
The article in the American magazine said that she was pushed. That it was murder. She turned and looked at him. He was very handsome, Stellas grandson, with her colouring, if the portrait in the gallery was anything to go by, even if he had inherited his grandfathers nose. It said that she was pregnant by another man. An American.
Simons eyes narrowed. Grandfather should have sued them. But he didnt want to. He didnt want anything to do with the article. He thought everyone would forget, and her memory would be left in peace.
Instead of which I come along.
Instead of which you come along.
He told you
To tell you everything. I know. He had strolled over to the windows and was looking out, his shadow falling across the floor to the green shawl. He sighed. I expect you know about the letters. To the GI. And that he had sent so many of her drawings and paintings back to the States. That rather supports the gossip in a way. He turned and faced her. What do you think you heard in there? In the house?
People? A tape? A radio? Echoes? Ghosts? She could feel her skin beginning to shiver even though it was warm in the studio. The air was heavy suddenly with the scent of oil paint and linseed and turpentine.
Did you hear a woman laughing?
Yes, I did.
And she sounded happy?
I heard her calling him. Your grandfather. She sounded ecstatic. And then I heard her fall. She paused. She had heard the voice, but where had David Seymour been? Downstairs in the dining room with the others, or had he appeared suddenly on the landing next to her? She bit her lip. No. Surely it had been a happy voice. I think it was an accident. I think she wanted me to know that. Youve heard her too?
He nodded. I think at that last dinner party they were enjoying themselves. They were all deliriously happy. Stella and Grandfather and John and Sarah and the Daniels and Peter Cockcroft. It was wartime. There was rationing. So many of the fit young people were gone, so many of their friends had died, but Grandfather had been invalided out after being terribly wounded. He was safe. He had recovered. They were all there and they were happy. After my father was born Stella had hoped and hoped for another child but none came. Then suddenly Grandfather was back and she was pregnant again. They were, celebrating. It was the happiest moment of her life. Simon turned away from the window and looked at Jan. Im guessing. No, its more than that. Im almost certain thats what happened. Grandfather trusts you. He likes you and I think that when he heard that you had seen something heard something in the house, he knew that she trusted you too. Only nice people hear her laugh He stopped abruptly as Jans eyes flooded with tears. Oh Miss Haydon Jan Im sorry, I didnt mean to upset you. He delved into the pocket of his jacket and produced a handkerchief. It was slightly painty.
Jan wiped her eyes. You are an artist too? She was feeling rather silly.
A bit. If Ive inherited half her talent I count myself a very lucky man. Gently he steered her to the sofa. Sit down a minute. Get your breath back.
How could he bear to think of selling the house?
He cant. Not really. Hed have done it years ago if he were going to. After the inquest he went back to the war even though he wasnt really fit I dont suppose they asked too many questions they needed all the men they could get. As far as I know he never came back here, but I think he must still love the house in a way. And the house must have happy memories as well as sad ones. They shared so much here. Besides, dont you feel it? Shes still here He gestured at the easel. It was another self portrait, this time in Edwardian dress, unfinished, a few details completed: the face, which was vibrant, happy, glowing with life; the sparkling jewels around her throat and wrists; her hands, the ostrich feather fan
As they sat down Simon had left his arm around Jans shoulders. She was shivering. The sun had moved a little, and the studio was no longer lit across the water. It filled with weaving, drifting, green light.
If only she could speak to us, he went on. Give us a sign. Something to tell Grandfather that the baby was his. Its such a sad story, but at least then that last awful doubt would be gone and he would know once and for all that it was an accident; that she didnt, couldnt, have had any reason at all to kill herself.
Jan smiled. What sort of sign? This was scarcely objective research, but she was beginning to enjoy the feeling of his arm, so lightly draped over the back of the sofa.
I dont know. Move something. Say something. Ill leave it to her. Anything. He grinned. Listen, Grandfather asked me to take you back to tea. He wants to lend you her letters and diaries.
Then he really does trust me.
Simon nodded slowly. I told you. He wants the whole story of her life to be known at last. He said he was too old for them to hang him.
But thats admitting
No. Its not admitting anything, except that he loved Stella more than life itself. Simon stood up. He held out his hand. Lets go back to the house.
For a moment she didnt move, then, reluctantly, she stood up. For a second she stood looking down at the face on the easel, then she followed him outside.
At the back door of the house she stopped. Can I go in once more? To see the dining room?
Of course. He stood back so that she could go ahead of him through the kitchen and out into the corridor. The dining room door stood open, a wedge of light pouring from it across the floor.
They could both hear the music. Glen Miller. And the talk and laughter. The chink of knives and forks on crockery; they could both smell the cigar smoke, and through it all the faintest trace of oil paint.
Jan found she was holding Simons hand. She was trembling, but she could not resist going nearer. Slowly, step by step, they crept towards the dining room as gradually the noise of the dinner party got louder. She could smell other things now. Cooking. Carefully hoarded coffee. Wine. A womans scent. One hand firmly clutching Simons, she reached forward with the other and gently she pushed the door open a fraction.
The room was empty.
In the echoing silence she gave a little sob of disappointment.
It was Simon who spotted the soft curl of an ostrich feather drifting on the bare boards.
The Drop Out
Of course he wouldnt really come. The idea was too bizarre. But then, a husband is a husband, even if this one had hardly fulfilled his matrimonial duties to the letter.
Zara leaned forward and gazed into the mirror. If he did come he was going to see quite a change in her after all this time. She vaguely recollected that her hair had been not only a different style but a different colour then. Her figure had improved out of recognition and maturity had brought sophistication and confidence.
Of course he wouldnt really come. The idea was too bizarre. But then, a husband is a husband, even if this one had hardly fulfilled his matrimonial duties to the letter.
Zara leaned forward and gazed into the mirror. If he did come he was going to see quite a change in her after all this time. She vaguely recollected that her hair had been not only a different style but a different colour then. Her figure had improved out of recognition and maturity had brought sophistication and confidence.
I wonder if hes got a paunch? she asked her reflection out loud. And giggled. Gerald with a paunch was unthinkable.
She looked at the letter again. It began, Darling, That too was unlike him. Gerald had never been one for endearments. He must be in trouble, she decided as she slipped on her elegant silk suit.
Money? She had always understood that he had plenty. He had been something in the city when they married. She had never bothered to find out what. Certainly he had from time to time continued to pay handsome amounts into her account. For old times sake and when he remembered, she always thought, rather than for any mundane idea that he should support his wife. Not that she had needed supporting for years, of course, thank God. But, come to think of it, there had been no money now for nearly a year.
She stood sideways to the mirror and ran a critical hand down her flat stomach. No. She was the kind of woman who did well in business and thrived on it. Geralds conscience money or whatever it was had brought her some nice little extras, like the small Mercedes in the driveway. It had in no way gone towards her upkeep.
Well. If not money, what? Women. She knew some wives were called on to extricate their husbands from the clutches of too-persistent girlfriends, but Gerald had never had that problem. She had heard in fact that he merely turned the latest woman onto the last with a cold-blooded delight which often shocked both parties into flight. She paused for a moment. Perhaps he wanted a divorce? No. It was unthinkable. He, like her, found the state of absentee matrimony far too useful and pleasant an arrangement to end it.
The police? She looked at the mirror for a moment, her eyes wide, and then shrugged the idea away. It was too ridiculous to contemplate.
Zara gave up the idle speculation with a glance at her watch, ran downstairs, collected the car keys from the mantelpiece and went to the door. She was not usually given to conjecture and certainly not to day dreaming, and she had made herself uncharacteristically late for the board meeting.
He was sitting on the doorstep.
In rags.
For fully two minutes Zara looked down at her husband without speaking. Then, bleakly, she stood back and motioned him into the house, wrinkling her nose ostentatiously as he passed in front of her.
He walked straight to the drinks table and poured himself a Scotch. Then he turned and looked her up and down. He was slim still, no sign of a paunch, lean and hard, brown and fit, and his eyes twinkled mischievously.
Go and run me a bath, Za-Za, dear. Then you can stop holding your nose, and we can talk.
But, Gerald! Her usually well-modulated voice had risen to a squeak. Whats happened to you?
Fate hasnt been kind, lady. He put on what sounded like a very professional whine. But still his face was laughing. Go on woman, before my fleas start hopping onto your Persian rugs.
With a cry of horror she fled upstairs and, turning both taps on full, groped for the small bottle of Dettol in the medicine cabinet. It smelled very strong in the steam, but anything was better than Geralds aroma.
While he bathed she washed his glass assiduously, sponged the outside of the whisky bottle and then got out the vacuum cleaner and ran it over the carpet where he had been standing. Fleas indeed! She shuddered.
With a sudden pang of guilt that she could so completely have forgotten her meeting she went to the phone and called the office to instruct her PA. I dont feel too well, she explained quietly into the receiver and was amazed to find it was the truth. She felt sick and slightly feverish.
He reappeared in half an hour wearing her bathrobe. Voluminous on her, it sat on him like an outgrown coat on a gangly schoolboy, exposing long muscular legs and arms, and an expanse of hard brown chest.
No sign of a man up there, he commented as he threw himself down on the leather sofa. I could have borrowed his razor. He sounded faintly aggrieved.
I suppose youre hungry? Zara ignored his remark loftily. She was indignant to find that her heart had started to bang rather hard beneath her ribs as it had, she distinctly remembered, when she first knew him.
Im starving, lady. Not eaten since the day before yesterday. He reverted to his whine. She ignored it.
I hope you dont still expect oysters for breakfast, she commented sarcastically from the kitchen as she filled the kettle, remembering some of his more extravagant tastes. Her hands were shaking.
A crust will do, lady, just a crust. He appeared immediately behind her suddenly, and put his hands gently on her shoulders. I suppose you want an explanation?
I think I do rather. She gave a small laugh.
You could say Id been down on my luck. He looked at her hopefully, then on second thoughts shook his head. No, I know. Its not me is it. Would you believe that I did it on purpose? He paused. Youd never credit the things people put in their dustbins, Za-Za. Someone ought to write a monograph on it: The worlds great untapped source of wealth.
Im sure the dustmen tap it successfully, she commented acidly, slipping two slices of bread into the toaster. Judging by the things they nail to the fronts of their vans.
Teddies, Gerald said reflectively. Your dustman here nails teddies to his van. I saw him as I came up the road. How anyone could bear to throw their teddy out I shall never know. Its worse than homicide.
Gerald! You never kept yours!
I did! Her perched on the edge of the breakfast table to take the toast as it popped up, snatched his fingers away and blew on them hastily. Didnt you even search my trunks and the things I left?
Of course not. They were private.
Gerald stared at her. You are truly a wonderful woman Za-Za. I wonder why I left you? He buttered the piece of toast thoughtfully. She was also, he noted, slimmer, taller, if that were possible, and overall a thousand times more stunning than he remembered her.
You couldnt stand me, dear. She smiled. Its a shame because I really rather liked you.
Liked? He raised an eyebrow.
Loved, then.
Still in the past tense?
She smiled. Stop fishing Gerald and tell me what youve been up to.
The black coffee had steadied her, and she sat down opposite him, elegantly crossing her legs, waiting for him to begin.
For a few minutes he ate in silence, giving every impression that he really hadnt eaten for days, then he sat back with a sigh and reached for his own cup.
One morning on the way to office, I thought, Gerald, old chap, what does it all mean? You know, the way one does? I couldnt find a convincing answer. So I thought, Right. If theres no reason for doing it, dont. He grinned and reached for the sugar.
Theres always the need for money, Gerald. She tried not to sound prim.