“Giles,” she said entering the study without knocking, “it’s time we had this thing out.”
Sir Giles looked up from his Times. “What thing?” he asked in some alarm.
“You know very well what I’m talking about. There’s no need to beat about the bush.”
Sir Giles folded the paper. “Bush, dear?” he said doubtfully.
“Don’t prevaricate,” said Lady Maud.
“I’m not prevaricating,” Sir Giles protested, “I simply don’t know what you are talking about.”
Lady Maud put her hands on the desk and leant forward menacingly. “Sex,” she snarled.
Sir Giles curdled in his chair. “Oh that,” he murmured. “What about it?”
“I’m not getting any younger.”
Sir Giles nodded sympathetically. It was one of the few things he was grateful for.
“In another year or two it will be too late.”
Thank God, thought Sir Giles, but the words remained unspoken. Instead he selected a Ramon Allones from his cigar-box. It was an unfortunate move. Lady Maud leant forward and twitched it from his fingers.
“Now you listen to me, Giles Lynchwood,” she said, “I didn’t marry you to be left a childless widow.”
“Widow?” said Sir Giles flinching.
“The operative word is childless. Whether you live or die is of no great moment to me. What is important is that I have an heir. When I married you it was on the clear understanding that you would be a father to my children. We have been married six years now. It is time for you to do your duty.”
Sir Giles crossed his legs defiantly. “We’ve been through all this before,” he muttered.
“We have never been through it at all. That is precisely what I am complaining about. You have steadfastly refused to act like a normal husband. You have -”
“We all have our little problems, dear,” Sir Giles said.
“Quite,” said Lady Maud, “so we do. Unfortunately my problem is rather more pressing than yours. I am over forty and as I have already pointed out, in a year or two I will be past the childbearing age. My family has lived in the Gorge for five hundred years and I do not intend to go to my grave with the knowledge that I am the last of the Handymans.”
“I don’t really see how you can avoid that whatever happens,” said Sir Giles. “After all, in the unlikely event of our having any children, their name would be Lynchwood.”
“I have always intended,” said Lady Maud, “changing the name by deed poll.”
“Have you indeed? Well then let me inform you that there will be no need,” said Sir Giles. “There will be no children by our marriage and that’s final.”
“In that case,” said Lady Maud, “I shall take steps to get a divorce. You will be hearing from my solicitors.”
She left the room and slammed the door. Behind her Sir Giles sat in his chair shaken but content. The years of his misery were over. He would get his divorce and keep the Hall. He had nothing more to worry about. He reached for another cigar and lit it. Upstairs he could hear his wife’s heavy movements in her bedroom. She was no doubt going out to see Mr Turnbull of Ganglion, Turnbull and Shrine, the family solicitors in Worford. Sir Giles unfolded The Times and read the letter about the cuckoo once again.
Chapter 2
Mr Turnbull of Ganglion, Turnbull and Shrine was sympathetic but unhelpful. “If you initiate proceedings on grounds as evidently insubstantial as those you have so vividly outlined,” he told Lady Maud, “the reversionary clause becomes null and void. You might well end up losing the Hall and the Estate.”
“Do you mean to sit there and tell me that I cannot divorce my husband without losing my family home?” Lady Maud demanded.
Mr Turnbull nodded. “Sir Giles has only to deny your allegations,” he explained, “and frankly I can hardly see a man in his position admitting them. I’m afraid the Court would find for him. The difficulty about this sort of case is that you can’t produce convincing proof.”
“I should have thought my virginity was proof enough,” Lady Maud told him bluntly. Mr Turnbull suppressed a shudder. The notion of Lady Maud presenting her maidenhead as Exhibit A was not one that appealed to him.
“I think we should need something a little more orthodox than that. After all, Sir Giles could claim that you had refused him his conjugal rights. It would simply be his word against yours. Of course, you could still get your divorce, but the Hall would remain legally his.”
“There must be something I can do,” Lady Maud protested. Looking at her, Mr Turnbull rather doubted it but he was tactful enough not to say so.
“And you say you have attempted a reconciliation?”
“I have told Giles that he must do his duty by me.”
“That’s not quite what I meant,” Mr Turnbull told her. “Marriage is after all a difficult relationship at the best of times. Perhaps a little tenderness on your part would…”
“Tenderness?” said Lady Maud. “Tenderness? You seem to forget that my husband is a pervert. Do you imagine that a man who finds satisfaction in being -”
“No,” said Mr Turnbull hurriedly. “I take your point. Perhaps tenderness is the wrong word. What I meant was… well… a little understanding.”
Lady Maud looked at him scornfully.
“After all tout comprendre, c’est tout pardonner,” continued Mr Turnbull, relapsing into the language he associated with sophistication in matters of the heart.
“I beg your pardon,” said Lady Maud.
“I was merely saying that to understand all is to pardon all,” Mr Turnbull explained.
“Coming from a legal man I find that remark astonishing,” said Lady Maud, “and in any case I am not interested in either understanding or in pardon. I am simply interested in bearing a child. My family have lived in the Gorge for five hundred years and I have no intention of being responsible for their not living there for another five hundred. You may find my insistence on the importance of my family romantic. I can only say that I regard it as my duty to have an heir. If my husband refuses to do his duty by me I shall find someone who will.”
“My dear Lady Maud,” said Mr Turnbull, suddenly conscious that he might be in danger of becoming the first object of her extramarital attentions, “I beg you not to do anything hasty. An act of adultery on your part would certainly allow Sir Giles to obtain a divorce on grounds which would invalidate the reversionary clause. Perhaps you would like me to have a word with him. It sometimes helps to have a third party, someone entirely impartial you understand, to bring about a reconciliation.”
Lady Maud shook her head. She was thinking about adultery.
“If Giles were to commit adultery,” she said finally, “would I be right in supposing that the Estate would revert to me?”
Mr Turnbull beamed at the prospect. “No difficulties at all in that case,” he said. “You would have an absolute right to the Estate. It’s in the settlement. No difficulties at all.”
“Good,” said Lady Maud, and stood up. She went downstairs, leaving Mr Turnbull with the distinct impression that Sir Giles Lynchwood was in for a nasty surprise and, better still, that the firm of Ganglion, Turnbull and Shrine could look forward to a protracted case with substantial fees.