The Second Wife aka Wives Behaving Badly

10

Nathan never mentioned whether or not he found the Post-it.

I did not refer to it either. But I did say, in passing, ‘You’re not letting things slip at Vistemax?’

Nathan had never been a fool. ‘Do you know something?’

A nerve flickered in my cheek. ‘I don’t know anything. But it’s a jungle out there and you have to keep up.’

‘Has Gisela said something?’

‘No, but I don’t trust Roger.’

‘Shall I tell you something? Neither do I.’ He placed a finger on my shoulder and pressed down. ‘Let’s hope nothing happens. Otherwise… Well, a lot of things, but money will be a problem.’

His finger hurt. I thought of Nathan steering a path through the rough jungle. He would need all the help possible. I gave him what I had. ‘Gisela has a lover, Nathan.’

Nathan went very still. ‘Why are you telling me?’

‘I promised I wouldn’t, but I thought you should know. It might help. You’re my husband and we share things and I know whose side I’m on. He, the lover, wants Gisela to leave. But I don’t think she will.’

Nathan removed his finger. ‘Yοu never know what people are capable of doing.’

No. One was never sure. ‘Really?’ I replied, but what I really meant to say was: ‘Will you being seeing Rose again?’

Gisela rang me in the office. ‘How’s the new routine?’

I told her that, two weeks in, it was going fine, and she asked if we could have lunch. ‘I know it’s last minute,’ she said, ‘but I do have something to discuss.’

I scribbled ‘Dance? Series?’ on the article I was reading about ballerinas in Harper’s magazine, and we agreed that she’d pick me up at twelve forty-five.

She was in Roger’s Vistemax company car. The interior had been sprayed with a manufactured flower scent that made me long for the smell of Tarmac – or manure, even, anything normal. The comfort of the leather upholstery provided insulation from the real world – which, presumably, was why a company executive had favoured it.

My head was full of ideas, the ones that ached to take flight. ‘What do you think about a television series on modern dance? Salsa, tango…’ I rattled on until I noticed that Gisela was not paying attention. ‘What do you want to talk to me about?’

‘Several things,’ she replied enigmatically. ‘Vistemax for one. But let’s enjoy ourselves first.’

‘How’s Roger?’

‘A bit gloomy. A lot of boardroom activity… There’s talk of selling off the Digest, and of launching a free newspaper. Apparently the younger generation doesn’t read newspapers and the advertisers have spotted this. But Roger’s capable of dealing…’ Gisela checked herself and pointed out of the car window. ‘Did you see those shoes?’

I pictured the scene. Nathan and Roger in shirtsleeves at the gleaming boardroom table, mineral water, crystal glasses, biscuits and a plate of fruit – exotic stuff like paw-paw or star fruit, the chef’s fantasy, which no red-blooded male would dream of eating.

Gisela said dreamily, ‘Roger gives me a nice life, you know. And he’s promised me a merry widowhood. Don’t look shocked, Minty. Roger and I have discussed it many times.’

The car slid along Piccadilly and turned left, then into one of the small streets off Bond Street and stopped in front of a gallery with a bow window and discreet gold lettering, that read ‘Shipley Fine Art’.

Gisela swung gracefully out of the car, thanked the driver and instructed him to return in a couple of hours. She was wrapped in a leather jacket, so supple it was like silk, so well cut that not one wrinkle marred the line across the shoulders. ‘Come.’

The gallery was a rectangular room, painted cream with antique-stained floorboards. At one end there was a desk with a flower arrangement in pink and white and a couple of spindly chairs. There was no evidence to suggest that money changed hands, no paperwork, only a stack of catalogues.

Two men stood by a large painting at the far end of the room. It depicted three boxes of differing sizes suspended in a night sky dotted with stars and planets. The boxes looked as though they should fit into each other, but on each an attachment made it impossible. The first, painted red, had a chain looping over the sides from which hung a ball inscribed ‘Poverty’. Dozens of naked babies clung to the sides of the second, so numerous that – shockingly – a couple had let go and were falling through space. A tree grew out of the third, a pretty arching shape with withered leaves. The painting was entitled Slow Apocalypse.

‘So good,’ Gisela breathed in my ear.

‘Is it?’

She smiled. ‘We shall have to educate your eye.’

No doubt this was an oblique – and unflattering – reference to Nathan’s taste in Cornish pictures. Gisela’s eyes widened a little, but even if I had been in complete sympathy with her I could not have dropped Nathan into the black hole of flawed taste.

She smoothed the sleeve of her jacket, and my uneducated eye immediately noted that her hands were trembling. ‘That’s Marcus.’ She indicated the taller of the two men.

Everything fell into place. My main reaction was surprise. This was the man with whom Gisela had a special friendship, whom she probably loved, and there was nothing out of the ordinary to single him out. Marcus wore a linen suit, rather rumpled, with a gold watch-chain. He had thick, unruly hair, smallish but nice eyes and a pleasant expression. He gestured a lot and talked fluently. ‘Simple to ship… a couple of weeks. Insurance…’ He acknowledged our presence by raising a hand.

‘OK.’ The client was American, expensively dressed. ‘I’ll phone you the details.’

Politely, Marcus ushered him out of the gallery and whipped round. ‘Hello.’ He touched Gisela’s shoulder. ‘This must be Minty’ We shook hands. ‘Forgive me, I was finalizing a sale that had been a long time cooking.’ The pleasure of the sale shone in his eyes, and his voice was surprisingly deep. ‘Good, eh? I’ve only just opened here, and the rent has to be paid.’ He lifted his shoulders in a gesture designed to include me in his despair at the iniquity of landlords. ‘Shiftaka is an extraordinary painter. I hope you’ll take a look at the rest of the exhibition.’

There was sufficient suggestion that I was extraneous, and I took the hint and moved away. But not before I saw Marcus draw Gisela close.

For a second or two, Gisela relaxed against him. ‘How are you, Marcus?’

‘You know exactly how I am.’

‘I wouldn’t have come if I’d known you were going to be difficult.’

‘Don’t bother with games, Gisela.’

And Gisela – cool, determined Gisela – still trembled. ‘Sorry’

In the back room, I studied an oblong painting, Submission. It featured a series of broad horizontal stripes running through the red palette, from brick to palest pink. The eye longed to remain anchored to the red at the top of the canvas, and it took a conscious effort to pull it down through the spectrum, which, I suppose, was the point. It was only after I had examined the bottom section of the picture that I realized the pale pink contained a misty outline of Africa. The link between the pretty pink and the implication that Africa had been bled dry was intended to shock, and it did.

In the other room, the murmur of voices was punctuated by Marcus raising his. ‘Haven’t we muddled around for too long?’

Gisela said something unintelligible, and Marcus added, ‘End of the road, Gisela.’

I edged back into the main gallery. Marcus was leaning against the desk, inspecting his shoes. Gisela was flushed and upset, fingering the necklace of Persian coral round her neck.

‘I think I should go,’ I told them.

‘I’m coming, too.’ Gisela grabbed her bag.

Marcus rolled his eyes, and levered himself upright. ‘OK.’

Gisela snapped open her bag, got out a mirror and, in a now familiar gesture, dabbed at the area below her eyes. ‘Give me a minute.’

I turned to Marcus. ‘The artist? Tell me about him.’

Without a blink, Marcus shifted into another gear. ‘Abandoned on the streets of Kyoto, he was fostered by a retired geisha. He’s a political painter…’

His gaze slid past my shoulder, and rested angrily on Gisela.

As we left, Marcus placed his hand under Gisela’s chin and forced her to look at him. ‘Dinner tomorrow. You owe me that.’

Yearning was printed all over her porcelain perfection. She seemed docile, obedient, even. ‘Tomorrow, then.’

But outside in the street she slid back into her normal self. ‘Did you like him?’

‘Very much. But, forgive me, he doesn’t seem your type.’

She tucked a hand under my elbow. ‘He isn’t. That’s the point. Isn’t life funny?’

We skirted a pile of rubbish spilling out of a black plastic bag, and stepped into the road. ‘Surely Roger knows,’ I said. ‘How do you get to see Marcus?’

‘Oh, details.’ Gisela was impatient. ‘One can always arrange them. How did you get to see Nathan? But Roger doesn’t know, and he never will. OK?’ She squeezed my elbow. ‘OK?’

I crossed my fingers. ‘OK.’

We reached the opposite side of the street, and Gisela said, ‘I met Marcus when I was eighteen and already married to Nicholas, who was my godfather. Nicholas was fifty, but well-off, concerned, generous. Marcus came to catalogue his paintings and he’s been in and out of my life ever since.’

‘Why didn’t you marry him after Nicholas died?’

Gisela swivelled to a halt, and flicked her finger in the direction of the Hermès shop window on the corner of the street. Reverently framed in it, on a bed of flowing silk, was a beige Birkin bag. ‘You get used to certain things, and Marcus was very poor in those days. He says I’m a gold-digger. He’s right. I am.’

We continued our progress towards the restaurant where Gisela was taking me for lunch, traffic wailing, shop windows crammed with desirable objects. ‘Marcus and I would have worn each other out,’ she said at last. ‘I didn’t want that, Minty’ She pushed me towards a door that looked expensive. ‘I want to give you a good lunch.’

As I was being helped off with my coat in the hushed restaurant, my mobile rang. ‘Yes?’ I answered.

‘Minty.’ I felt the hairs rise on my arms. ‘It’s Rose.’

Maybe Rose had seen me outside her flat after all and she was ringing to say, ‘Please don’t do that again’. Or, ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’

I stiffened with dismay. ‘Rose, this isn’t a good moment. Can I call you back?’

Rose’s voice veered uncharacteristically from its normal modulations. She sucked in her breath, with evident effort. ‘Minty, is anyone with you?… I’m afraid… you must prepare yourself. Minty… Minty… Nathan.’ She collected herself. ‘Minty, I think you must come at once. Nathan isn’t very well, and it would be best if you came – ‘

Where?’ I said. Alarmed by my tone, Gisela laid a hand on my arm. ‘Where should I come?’

‘My flat. As soon as you can.’

Gisela asked almost shrilly, ‘What’s happened?’

‘It’s Nathan. Something’s wrong. That was Rose. He’s at her flat.’

‘Oh, my God – I hadn’t imagined -’ She checked herself. ‘Right. I’ll cancel the car. It will be quicker to get a taxi and I’m coming with you.’

‘What’s he doing with her? Gisela, what can have happened?’

‘Let’s get the taxi.’ She pulled out her mobile and called the Vistemax driver, spoke briefly and disconnected.

I can’t remember much about what happened next, apart from staring hard at a set of traffic-lights. Then there was the motorcyclist who edged so close to us that the driver shouted at him.

‘You shouldn’t have come,’ I said to Gisela. ‘There’s no need.’

Gisela was matter-of-fact. ‘It did sound urgent but it’s probably nothing. Anyway, I’d like to meet the famous Rose.’

‘Gisela,’ I repeated, ‘what is Nathan doing at Rose’s?’

She did not meet my eye. ‘There’s probably a very good reason.’

I stared out of the window. Nathan and Rose. Old times.

Keeping one hand on my leg to anchor me, Gisela hunched forward on the seat and issued instructions to the driver. Once, she asked me for more precise details and I heard myself giving them: ‘It’s left at the bottom of the street, then right…’

Was Nathan really ill? He had rung me that morning on my way to work. It had been a relaxed, easy conversation, almost intimate.

‘Lost my glasses.’

‘I saw you put them in your briefcase.’

‘Ah.’

‘What have you got on today?’

‘Roger wants to see me about something. Probably to do with the supplement on Africa we’re planning for the autumn. How we can help it without inflicting Western values at the expense of indigenous ones, that sort of stuff. Doesn’t stand a prayer of enlightening anyone because it’ll be so politically correct it’ll be utter rubbish.’

I had laughed and now, in the speeding taxi, with anxiety beating a rising crescendo in my ears, I wondered if he’d heard that laugh.

Surely there could be nothing wrong with Nathan. But perhaps there was. Perhaps Nathan so missed the nice, loving things that happy couples say to each other that he had gone to Rose and said, ‘Let’s go back to where we were,’ and the effort had made him ill.

He had been pale lately.

When we arrived at Rose’s gleaming-windowed flat, Gisela gathered up her handbag and I searched in mine for the fare. ‘I think I should stay with you, Minty. It might be that Nathan’s had a shock.’

My eyes narrowed. ‘Gisela, what do you know?’

She pushed aside the notes in my hand. ‘I’ll pay.’

The front door to the flat appeared to open of its own volition and Rose was on the doorstep. She was white – whiter than a clown. I had never seen anyone quite so drained of colour, and there were black streaks on her cheeks. She looked from Gisela to me, and back to Gisela. ‘You’d better bring Minty in.’

I stepped into a small hallway painted mushroom and white, with sanded floorboards. It flashed through my mind that this was a place I would like to be.

‘I have something to tell you,’ said Rose, directing a warning look at Gisela. She took both my hands in hers. Her touch burned. ‘Minty, will you come and sit down in the kitchen? Please?’

I was silent. ‘Where’s Nathan?’ Rose snatched my hands away, and my anxiety changed to fear. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘Please, Minty,’ said Rose. ‘C-come and sit down.’ Awkward and stammering, she seemed completely at a loss. Then she pulled herself together. ‘Come into the kitchen.’ Again, she looked at Gisela. ‘Could you help me, please?’

I cried out sharply, ‘Has Nathan gone? Is that it? Tell me.’

Rose shivered. ‘I’m trying to explain to you, Minty, and I’m not sure how to do it.’

‘Something has happened to him.’

‘Yes,’ she said, and again she took possession of my hand. Her fingers pressed into mine. Yes, yes, it has.’

‘But what?’

‘Has Nathan complained of feeling ill lately?’

‘No… Yes. I’ve been a bit worried.’

Rose was drawing me towards the kitchen. ‘I must talk to you before… anything…’ She glanced at Gisela, as if for help. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name, but could you persuade Minty to come and sit down?’

I dug my heels in. ‘Just say whatever it is, Rose. Have you got something to confess?’ I paused, and threw out the first thing in my head even though I knew it would not delay whatever was making her so clown-white and shaky. ‘What are you two up to?’ I turned towards a door opening off the hall. ‘Is he in there? Nathan!’ I called. ‘Nathan, are you there?’

‘Don’t… don’t go in. Not yet.’ Rose placed her two hands on my shoulders. ‘Minty, you must prepare yourself.’

Various explanations presented themsevles. Nathan had left me. Λ doctor had given him bad news. Nathan had gone hack to Rose. ‘ You and Nathan are cooking something up.’ I was frightened – and angry that my husband should have shared the news with Rose. I tried to push past her, but she caught my arm – so hard that I winced.

‘Minty, listen – listen to me. I’m sorry, but Nathan is dead.’

Gisela gasped. Dazed, confused, I shook my head and did not reply. Eventually, my head cleared and I said, ‘Don’t be silly,’ in a conversational tone. Extraordinarily, I appeared to have this reply quite pat. ‘I was talking to him earlier. He wanted to know where his glasses were. He couldn’t find them…’ Gisela’s hand was at the small of my back, propping me up. The words slithered into silence, and I thought, The boys.

I was not prepared. It was not as though Nathan and I had had a long run in to this moment. I hadn’t written a list. Get used to idea. Read manual on bereavement… There had been no doctor saying, ‘I’m so sorry, but…’ No Nathan saying, ‘Minty, we have to face it…’

Painting and literature were stuffed with farewell scenes. Wives knelt beside the bed – not always weeping. Children were generally at the foot and wept enough for the wives. Black-clad relatives waited outside death chambers. This primary rite of passage, this moment when the strings were so tightly drawn that the merest touch would produce a note of exquisite beauty and sadness, had been rehearsed down the ages and everyone in these scenes knew their role.

An arm went round my shoulders, and I was enveloped in jasmine scent. Rose’s. But the arm was awkward. I muttered, ‘This isn’t a joke, is it, Rose?’

‘A joker?’

I disengaged myself so abruptly that Gisela reached out to steady me. When?’

‘An hour ago. I don’t know. It was… quick. Very quick. One minute Nathan was here. The next he wasn’t. He gave a little sigh. That was all.’

I examined my hands in detail. Snagged cuticle on fourth left finger and a thumbnail that required filing.

Shocked and clearly agitated, Gisela asked, ‘What can I do, Minty? Tell me.’

‘Go,’ I replied. ‘It’s best.’

Gisela shrugged the leather jacket closer round her shoulders. ‘Of course.’ The front door clicked shut.

I raised my head from the detailed observation of my hands. ‘I need to sit down.’

I allowed myself to be led into the kitchen and put into a chair. ‘You must take your time.’ Rose was so gentle, oh-so-gentle. She placed a glass of water in front of me and I stared at it. Nathan is dead.

After a while, I asked, ‘Can I see him?’

‘Of course. They haven’t moved him. It was too late by the time the ambulance came. He hasn’t been disturbed. There is nothing to be frightened of, Minty, I promise you.’ Rose’s voice beat on my eardrums. ‘The doctor will be here in a minute. Death certificate. I’m afraid it’s necessary’

‘Yes.’ I managed a sip of water – its no-taste on my tongue the accompaniment to my slide from wife to widow. I buried my face in my hands. How was I going to tell the boys? Lucas had felt sick this morning. Had he been sick? ‘Rose, I must phone home.’

‘I’ll do that for you,’ said Rose. ‘I’ll explain that you’ll be home later, but I won’t go into detail.’ She bent over me. ‘Is that best? I think so.’

After I had drunk a glass of water, Rose helped me upright and led me to the door of the sitting room. She stepped back. ‘He’s in there.’