His Pretend Wife

CHAPTER SEVEN

AS ONE day slipped into the next nothing happened to disturb their peace. The district nurse called regularly to check Hetta’s progress and confirm that she was doing well. She was a comfortable, motherly woman, and the other two were soon calling her Sally.

‘Don’t be worried if she still needs to sleep a lot,’ she advised Elinor. ‘She’s been through the mill, and it’ll be a long recovery. Take everything at her pace.’

Elinor had found a letter in the kitchen explaining the house’s secrets to her, the use of each key, plus a set of keys that fitted a car in the garage that she could use. To her relief it was a modest family saloon rather than a luxurious vehicle that would have intimidated her. They began taking short trips to a nearby village where there were a few little shops. Elinor would buy a newspaper, and a few grocery items. They would have a snack in a small, rustic teashop, and then go home.

On one of these trips she tentatively put her cash card in the machine, fearing to find herself overdrawn. But the machine cheerfully reported a healthy balance. She stared. Obviously her first salary cheque had been paid in, but it seemed much larger than anything she’d expected.

She tried again, this time requesting a mini statement. Sure enough there had been a credit, which she regarded with disbelief. That much?

Obviously that was a month’s money in advance, but even so.

What was Mr Martin? A philanthropist? Or just slightly crazy?

In a short time Hetta had become so much at ease that Elinor no longer needed to be there when she awoke from her nap. She would simply come downstairs and find her mother in the grounds where she often lingered to enjoy the summer weather.

The extent of those grounds meant that there was no chance to get acquainted with the neighbours, or even see them. Whoever they were, they existed in their own mansions, deep in their own grounds. Apart from Sally nobody came to the house, and they were completely self-contained. It was like existing in a separate world, where there was only quiet, and the chance to heal.

As the tensions drained away, she wondered when in her life before she’d known such total, spirit-healing peace. Not in her wretched marriage to Tom Landers. ‘All teeth and trousers,’ her mother had said angrily. ‘You’re a fool, girl. You’ve been a fool ever since you played fast and loose with the best man you ever knew, or ever will.’

And she’d laid a desperate hand over her mother’s mouth because that had been a truth she hadn’t been able to face, even on the eve of her wedding to Tom.

Before that, the short-lived marriage to Jack Smith. No peace there, only rows and bitterness, and a desperate attempt to cope with his drinking.

And before that…

She shut the thought off. She couldn’t bear it now.

With the money now at her disposal Elinor was able to pay a few outstanding bills, plus the cost of a taxi to bring Daisy for a visit. There was a joyful reunion, Elinor persuaded her friend to stay the night, and when the taxi returned for her next morning she departed with the promise to return again soon.

There was no doubt that her visit had been good for Hetta, who was becoming bored as her strength increased. As she’d told Andrew, she longed for a dog. Failing that, a playmate of her own age. Elinor kept her amused as best she could and the two of them enjoyed the happiest times they’d ever known. But still, there were times when she knew Hetta needed more.

One morning while they were breakfasting and mulling over what to do with the day, there was a noise from the front hall, and she went out to find a letter on the mat, something that had never happened before. Mr Martin’s mail was all redirected, but this one must have slipped through the net. She picked it up and was about to lay it on the hall table when the name caught her eye.

Andrew Blake.

It was a mistake, of course. Andrew and Mr Martin were friends. He’d simply asked if he could have some of his mail sent here.

But why? And in that case why didn’t it say ‘care of’? And why had Mr Martin never called her, as Andrew had said he would? Because there was no Mr Martin. This was Andrew’s house. Of course it was. How could she have been so blind?

Or had she? Hadn’t she at least suspected, and then turned her eyes away from the thought, not wanting to confront the implications?

All this time she’d been living here on his charity. She hadn’t known it, but he had known. Had he enjoyed the thought? Despised her? Laughed at her?

Could she blame him?

Now she could see how cleverly he’d arranged matters, redirecting his mail, having his calls diverted, locking so many rooms. He’d had to take a chance with the neighbours but even there he’d been lucky. They were too distant to pose any real problem.

The air around her head seemed to be buzzing, and it was suddenly unbearable to have this hanging over her. She snatched up the phone, called the hospital and left a message on Andrew’s voice mail. He came back to her almost at once.

‘Is Hetta all right?’

‘She’s fine. I called because some mail arrived for you.’

There was a short silence that would have told her the truth if nothing else had done.

‘I’ll be there this evening,’ he said shortly, and hung up.

She replaced the receiver, and in that exact moment it came over her what a stupid thing she’d done. She could have screamed. By forcing this out into the open she’d made the place too hot to hold her, but she had nowhere else to take Hetta where she would be safe and happy. She should have endured anything rather than spoil things for Hetta. And she would have done, if she’d stopped to think.

I don’t learn, she castigated herself bitterly. Act first, talk first, and think afterwards, when it’s way too late. Just like then.

She could simply have sent the envelope on to the hospital. Andrew would have guessed what she knew when he opened it, but he could have turned a blind eye. Now she’d forced him into the open.

She would have given anything to turn the time back ten minutes.

Or twelve years.

Still in a daze she wandered out into the garden, where Hetta was piling pebbles on top of each other with fierce concentration, until they collapsed.

‘It’s lovely having a garden, Mum. I do like it here.’

So did I, she thought. It was like the Garden of Eden. But now the serpent’s poisoned everything.

‘Let’s go back in,’ she said in a strained voice. ‘You mustn’t overdo it.’

By ten o’clock that night he hadn’t shown up, and there was no message. Ten became eleven. Midnight passed.

It meant nothing. There was an emergency at the hospital.

And he wouldn’t think to call me, she thought wryly. Because he sees only the straight path ahead. No distractions. Why am I such a fool?

The call came the next morning while she was serving breakfast. As she had thought, it had been an emergency.

‘I was going to let you know,’ he said, sounding tired. ‘But things were desperate. I couldn’t call you myself and I-didn’t want anyone else to do it. I’ll be there tonight, if that’s OK?’

She assured him that it was fine. To be on the safe side she went out and bought a newspaper with details of rooms to let. And that evening it was the same, hour following hour with no sign of him. So now she knew where she stood. But why? she wondered despondently. Why be kind and then snub her like this? For the pleasure of it?

When she’d put Hetta to bed she sat downstairs for a long time, trying to make herself do something decisive, but lacking the energy. The world seemed cold and dreary.

Suddenly it was one in the morning. She’d been staring into space for more than two hours. She pulled herself together and went out into the hall to mount the stairs. As she did so, a brilliant light shone through the door window, almost blinding her. There was the sound of a car engine, then the slamming of the door. And finally the doorbell.

It couldn’t be Andrew, because he must have a key.

But it was Andrew, frowning and uneasy.

She stood back to let him pass, closed the door behind him and helped him off with his coat.

‘I’m sorry to be so late,’ he said. ‘If I hadn’t seen the lights on I’d have left. I’ve been operating all evening.’

‘Then you’d better have something to eat,’ she said. She needed time to sort out her thoughts. His face was exhausted and haggard, and he looked so different from the man she’d been picturing that she felt the ground shaking under her feet.

‘Just a snack. Don’t go to any trouble.’

‘Omelette,’ she said, heading for the kitchen. ‘I’ve got plenty of milk.’

‘Fine, I’ll have some.’

She filled a tall glass with milk, and watched him drink it. ‘Johnny used to say you drank so much milk because you were preparing for your first ulcer,’ she remembered suddenly.

‘Yes,’ he said, as though the memory had surprised him. ‘So he did.’

After that she turned away suddenly to concentrate on the omelette. He asked how Hetta was progressing, and mentioned her next appointment, and in this way they got through the next few minutes.

He ate like a man too tired to know what he was putting into his mouth.

‘When did you last eat?’ Elinor asked.

‘Staff canteen. Lunchtime.’

‘Is one omelette enough?’

‘Would you mind making another one?’ he said at once.

She smiled. ‘Of course not. Go into the other room, and I’ll bring it in.’

A few minutes later she found him on the sofa. She set the plate down on a low table beside him and he smiled his thanks.

‘I’m sorry to do this to you two nights running.’

‘Don’t be silly. Your patients come first. Was it another emergency?’

‘No, the same one. A child. He was rushed in last night, and I thought-it looked like it would be all right. But tonight he took a turn for the worse. We did our best for him, but there was never really any chance.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he said harshly. ‘It’s part of the job. You just have to go on.’ He gave a forced smile and indicated the food. ‘This is good.’

‘I’ve got some trifle. You should eat as much as you can.’

He gave a faint grin. ‘Fattening me up?’

‘You never got fat, whatever you ate. It used to make me so mad.’

‘Yes. I know.’ He added quickly, ‘Some trifle, then.’

Another mine dodged. But still the minefields stretched ahead.

When he’d finished eating he yawned, then leaned his head back against the chair, eyes closed. She could clearly see the shape and line of each feature. The straight, uncompromising nose, the strong chin that could only have belonged to a stubborn man, and the mouth that somehow didn’t fit with the rest of the face. It was expressive, mobile, suggesting sensitivity, although it had hardened somewhat since they’d loved each other years ago. There were two deep lines on either side of it now, and more lines at the corners of his eyes. It was the face of a man who spent most of his life being tired, and refusing to admit it.

For years she’d resisted the memory of his kisses, and her own frustrated desire for him. But the really dangerous memory was more recent. Just a few short weeks ago his arms had held her as he’d soothed her sobs in the hospital garden. She could feel him now, drawing her head against his shoulder, murmuring soft words of comfort, and against this memory she had no defence at all.

The mouth that now lay relaxed might, or might not, have kissed her hair that night. She couldn’t be sure. At the time she’d had no thought for anything but Hetta. It was only afterwards, reliving the moment, that she’d thought she’d felt the soft pressure of his lips. Or maybe not.

His eyes opened so slowly that she had time to avert her gaze, but she didn’t try. Nor did he. He only looked at her sadly, and his mouth quirked wryly as though he could see a joke against them both.

‘I still can’t believe this,’ he said. ‘And perhaps it isn’t really true.’

‘That’s how I’ve felt,’ she admitted. ‘Since that first day when I saw you in the hospital corridor-I tried not to believe it. I’ve always wondered what I would say to you if we met again, but in twelve years I’ve never found the answer. “I’m sorry” sounds so inadequate.’

‘Good grief! Skip that! I hate apologies. I don’t know how to make them myself and it embarrasses me when other people try. Could I have a cup of coffee?’

Domestic tasks were useful for getting over the awkward moments. She made some fresh coffee and when she returned he was studying the newspaper, open at the ‘To Let’ page, that she’d left on the sofa.

‘It was stupid of me to think that you wouldn’t find out.’

‘This is your house?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Mr Martin?’

‘He doesn’t exist.’

‘So it was all you, including the money you’ve been paying into my account?’

He shrugged. ‘You really are doing me a favour by occupying the house. I don’t like it to be empty.’

‘You could have employed a house sitter for a quarter of the price. This was just a device for-for-’

‘Helping out an old friend?’

‘Is that what you call it? To me it looks like charity.’

He frowned. ‘Are you angry with me?’

To her own dismay, she found that she was. She’d resolved to play it cool, but she’d reckoned without the humiliation that burned in her when she thought of living on his handouts.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said hastily, trying to control herself.

‘It matters to me. As I said, it was for an old friend-’

‘We were never friends,’ she flashed.

‘No, we were lovers, until the day you found another lover that you preferred. But you had every right to do that, and if I can draw a line under it, why can’t you?’

‘Because you’ve been giving me money,’ she said. ‘It’s-it’s insulting.’

‘I didn’t mean to insult you. I just did what I thought you needed.’ He gave a grunt of laughter. ‘One thing hasn’t changed. You always had a genius for putting me in the wrong. I never knew where I was. I suppose that was part of your charm.’

She’d pulled herself together. ‘It’s only charming in a seventeen year old,’ she said. ‘In a middle-aged woman it’s a pesky nuisance.’

‘You’re not middle-aged,’ he said quickly. ‘You’re not even thirty.’

‘I look forty and I feel fifty.’ She sighed. ‘But I’m acting like a ten year old, aren’t I? I’m sorry, Andrew. It’s just that there’s something about taking money-’

‘Will you drop the subject?’ He sounded strained.

‘Yes.’ Casting around for another subject, she said brightly, ‘Your house is wonderful.’

‘Is it?’ He sounded barely interested.

‘You know it is. You did it. You got where you said you wanted. I always knew you would.’

‘Is that what this place says to you? Success?’

‘Of course. And the car.’

‘Oh, yes. I never knew that my character included a strain of the flashy and vulgar until I found I could afford the toys to play with. And I enjoyed them for a while. I still enjoy the car.’ He shook his head as though trying to clear it. ‘Forgive me.’

‘Forgive you?’

‘For not telling you the truth. I meant it for the best, but I should have known that you wouldn’t want anything to do with it.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, anyway-there’s no need for this.’ He indicated the paper.

‘I thought you’d want me to go when I found out.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because you took so much trouble to stop me knowing.’

He gave a faint grin, directed at himself. ‘You don’t know the half of it. I came back here that night and went through the place, hiding anything that could have betrayed me. I stocked the freezer from an all-night supermarket about a mile away. Then I had my phone calls redirected, and my mail rerouted-not that much usually comes here anyway. I did anything I could think of.’

‘But why?’

‘Would you have accepted if you’d known it was me?’

‘I wouldn’t have wanted to,’ she said after a moment’s thought. ‘But I’d have had no choice.’

‘Exactly. You’d have come here reluctantly, been horribly embarrassed, and got out as soon as you could. I didn’t want that.’

‘Was that why you knocked on the door tonight instead of using your key?’

‘I don’t have a key. That is-I do, but not on me. It’s locked in my desk, in the study here. This is your house, while you need it. You couldn’t feel like that if I could come and go here without your permission.’

‘Andrew, I’m sorry,’ she said impulsively. ‘I backed you into a corner about this, but I never meant to.’

‘What do you mean, backed me into a corner?’

‘When you found me having hysterics in the garden that night, it was a kind of emotional blackmail.’

‘I never felt that. I just felt that I wanted to help you. I couldn’t tell you the truth because I knew I wasn’t your favourite person.’

‘Shouldn’t that be my line? I gave you every reason to hate me.’

‘I’ve never hated you, Ellie. Well, yes, perhaps at the beginning. I was young then, and my pride had been hurt. Pride’s damnably important when you’re twenty-six. But I recovered my sense of proportion. It’s a great leveller, a sense of proportion. It helps you see that the things that once seemed earth-shattering didn’t matter so much after all. Certainly not enough to hate someone.’

‘I’m glad,’ she said quietly.

‘And you did me a favour. I wasn’t ready to marry. I still had my way to make.’

‘I seem to recall your mother warning you about that at the time,’ Elinor said.

‘Yes, and I wouldn’t listen. Which was stupid of me.’ Abruptly he changed the subject. ‘Are you taking care of yourself?’

‘I’m all right. Hetta’s the sick one.’

‘No, Hetta’s the recovering one. If you’re not careful you’re going to be the sick one. The strain on you has been enormous. You’ve been fighting to be strong, for her, but who’s strong for you?’

Only you, she thought. Ever. But I can’t say that.

‘Just make sure you look after yourself now,’ he said firmly. ‘You need to heal as well.’

‘Well, this is the right place to do it,’ she agreed. ‘Where are you living? I haven’t forced you to move into a hotel, have I?’

‘No, I’ve got a little place near the hospital. I’m used to spending most of my time there. I bought this house for my wife, a few years ago.’

‘Your-wife?’

‘Until recently. The divorce was finalised a few weeks back. I offered her the house as part of the settlement, but she preferred money, so I still have it. I’ll get around to selling it soon.’

‘Perhaps it still means something to you?’

‘No, I’m not clinging onto “happy memories”. There aren’t any. We knew it was a mistake fairly soon, and the end was always inevitable. All we’ve had in common for years has been our son. It was a “good” marriage, but not a happy one.’

‘Good?’

‘Suitable for a young man with his way to make. I wanted to get onto Elmer Rylance’s team because he was the best heart surgeon in the world. Half the techniques in use today were invented, or at least perfected, by him. I could have learned them from others, but that wasn’t good enough for me. Only the master would do. Lord, I was conceited in those days!

‘The difficulty was, getting myself noticed among so many competing for his attention. Then I met Myra at some medical charity function. She’s his niece.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Elinor said quietly.

‘Yes, it was as cynical and planned as that. Not the first meeting. That was accident. But dancing with her, trying to turn her head, establishing myself as her escort, all that was done with a purpose. Not very attractive behaviour, but it’s the way the world works. At least it does for a certain kind of man, and that was the kind of man I was. Nice, eh?’

‘You’re very hard on yourself. Why?’

‘Because I like to face the truth, and the truth about myself isn’t pretty. When I want something I go for it like a bulldozer, and I don’t notice who I’m mowing down in the process. You of all people have reason to know that.’

The hint that he blamed himself for their past, rather than her, took her by surprise. She looked at him sadly, not knowing what to say.

‘What happened to you afterwards?’ he asked.

‘I got married to Jack Smith, and it was a disaster. He was every bad thing you warned me about, and in my heart I knew it all the time.’

‘Then why-?’

‘Because I’d backed myself into a corner,’ she said bitterly. ‘I just couldn’t admit I was wrong. You warned me he was a bad lot, so I had to marry him to prove he wasn’t. But he was. After two years I gave up.’

‘And Tom Landers?’

‘He was my new start, a demonstration to the world that I didn’t foul up every time. Except that he was worse than Jack. Hetta was the only good thing to come out of our marriage. After that I swore no more men.’

‘Very wise,’ he mused. ‘You were always a rotten picker.’

‘Not always,’ she said, and let it go at that.