Leaving the elevator, I walked into the apartment. Rhoda was standing by the window, looking out at the rain and the wind lashed palms.
‘So the hurricane is going to arrive after all.’ I said as I put my briefcase, containing the gun, in my desk drawer. ‘Did you see all the preparations going on?’
She didn’t turn nor speak. I frowned at her back, then shrugging, I went into the bedroom.
A suitcase lay on the bed. I paused, then crossing to the bed, I lifted the lid of the suitcase. The case contained a jumble of Rhoda’s clothes. She was the most godawful packer and when we went away, I packed for her.
I returned to the living room.
‘What’s the idea of the suitcase, honey?’ I asked, feeling suddenly uneasy.
‘I’m staying at the hotel until the hurricane is over.’ Her voice was flat and cold and she didn’t turn around. ‘Daphne (she was Rhoda’s boss) says we shall be busy as the old cows will have nothing to do except buy things. She says the streets won’t be safe, so I’m moving in, if it’s of any interest to you.’
The stiff way she was holding herself, the tone of her voice increased my uneasiness.
‘Is something biting you, honey?’
She turned. Her face was flushed and her eyes were snapping.
‘I have something to show you, you two faced jerk!’ she exclaimed. She ran to the table and picked up a copy of Vogue, turned back at a full page coloured photograph. She thrust it at me. Even upside down as she held it in her shaking hand I could see it was a photograph of Val.
I kept my face expressionless.
‘What’s so unusual about that?’ I said.
‘Don’t try to con me, you sonofabitch!’ Rhoda screamed. ‘I showed this to Bill Olson and who do you think he said it was: your gorgeous, efficient Val Dart! The tart you have been mooning about for six goddamn years! The whore you went away with, getting what she wouldn’t give you six years ago! You and your cheap diamond and emerald ring!’
She threw something at me. It struck my face and fell to the floor. I saw it was the box containing the engagement ring I had so hopefully bought Val so many years ago and which I had kept as I had thought safely at the back of my shirt drawer. With the ring, I had kept Val’s letters.
I picked up the box and put it in my pocket. A crash of thunder rattled the windows.
‘You dared to hit me, you stinker, when I said you were screwing that whore and you were screwing her all the time! You pick nose bastard! You... you...’ She rushed at me, her fingers like claws. I caught her wrists and pushed her gently but firmly into a chair.
‘All right, Rhoda, relax. Let’s talk about it. Let’s cut out the screaming and the name calling,’ I said quietly. ‘I want a divorce.’
She was struggling to get up, but when I said that she went limp and stared up at me.
‘You want... what?’
‘A divorce. Let’s be civilised about this, Rhoda. You must admit we don’t get along. We shouldn’t have married. You know as well as I do that this is a fact. You are young. You’ll find someone who will make you much happier than I do.’
She drew in a shuddering breath.
‘Are you planning to marry that bitch once you get rid of me?’ she demanded, her voice thick with rage.
‘I have no plans, Rhoda. I just want to be free, and I think you should also be free.’
‘Do you?’ Her lips twisted into a sneer. ‘How very considerate of you! So you divorce me and you’ll be free to screw that bitch whenever she feels like it. That’s the idea, isn’t it?’
‘Rhoda. Can’t we discuss this reasonably? I am asking you for a divorce for the good of both of us. Right now you are upset, but when this hurricane is over, when you are in a calmer mood, think about it. I am sure you will realise that it is as much to your advantage as it is to mine.’
‘Is that right? How nice to know! Let me tell you, Mr. Hot — pants, I don’t have to think about it! I’ve already thought about it!’ She got to her feet and marched into the bedroom.
Feeling cold and sick I went to the window and stared out at the storm.
She came back, carrying her suitcase. She had put on a mac and a plastic rain hat. She looked very immature and pretty as she dumped the case on my desk and faced me.
‘Now I’m going to give you something to think about, my dashing Casanova. When this hurricane has blown itself out, I shall come back here still as your wife! In the meantime, you will tell Mr. Henry Vidal that you are not going to work for him any longer. You will go to Massingham and ask for your job back. You do that and I’ll forget your dirty little gambol in sex. From now on, you are going to make me happy instead of that whore. You are not getting a divorce! I’m satisfied as I am. Get all that?’
‘I’m sorry, Rhoda. I want out and I am having out. I don’t want to live with you anymore. If you won’t give me a divorce, then we must each go our own ways,’ I said quietly.
‘How wrong can you be! And I’ll tell you for why. If you don’t do what I have said — quit working for Mr. Moneybags Vidal, quit sniffing around that slinky bitch, then I will write to Mr. Moneybags and tell him what you are up to. I’ve seen photos of him. He’s no cry baby. When he learns you have been screwing his wife, he’ll give you the beating you deserve and he’ll give her one too. So watch it! You quit by the time I get back or you will land in hospital and don’t come snivelling to me. I won’t care!’
She picked up her suitcase and left the apartment. The bang of the door coincided with a crash of thunder.
Eight
The bell of my alarm clock which I had set to go off at 06.00 woke me with a start. I had gone to bed early and knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep with so much on my mind I had taken three sleeping pills.
Before the pills had finally bludgeoned me into sleep I had looked at my future with despair. I was sure Rhoda was capable of writing to Vidal. Val had said with conviction that if ever Vidal found out we were lovers he would have us killed. I was sure now this was no idle warning. There was no use in confiding in Rhoda, telling her that if she gave me away I could be killed. She would only think this was an exaggeration to prevent her telling him. She just wouldn’t believe it: a beating, yes, but murder, no.
Murder?
This brought me full circle. If I killed Vidal my troubles would be over. Val would be free and Rhoda could no longer blackmail me. Even if Rhoda refused me a divorce, Val and I could go away. Once Val was back to her old efficient self, we could work together. We could disappear to Canada or to England. With our training and experience we were certain to get good jobs in some travel office and later (who knows?) by saving our money, we might even set up as travel agents on our own.
Under the drowsy influence of the sleeping pills I became more optimistic. Maybe the future wasn’t going to be so black as I had first thought. As I lay there in this half-world of sleep and wakefulness I even felt capable of murdering Vidal.
I struggled up and turned off the alarm. The sun was shining through the blinds. Sitting on the edge of the bed I ran my fingers through my hair, grimacing as my head began to throb and ache. The strange silence in the room puzzled me. It was as if I had become suddenly deaf, then I realised the wind had died down. For the past twelve hours its screaming and the noise of the wind-lashed palm trees had been deafening. I went to the window and drew up the blind.
Outside, everything dripped water, but there was no wind and the sun felt strong.
Maybe, I thought, the hurricane has already blown itself out.
It seemed strange to have the apartment to myself and not to hear Rhoda singing in the bathroom. Loneliness is a funny thing. When I had her around, she irritated me, but now, I missed her.