‘You bastard!’
‘And I could say... you thief!’
‘I’ll divorce you for this! You hit me!’ She was screaming at me now. ‘You’ve bruised me, you brute! God! How I hate you! I can’t go out tonight! What will they say when they see me? Swine! To hit a woman! I’ll make you pay for this! I’ll make you sorry!’
I sat in my chair and watched her. She banged her fists on her knees. Her eye was beginning to swell. She looked silly and stupid: a spoilt, hysterical child showing off. Then suddenly she began to cry. She slid off the chair and came to me, falling on her knees, her arms around my waist, burying her face against my chest.
‘Don’t let them arrest me, Steve! Don’t let them send me to prison!’
I had pity for her, but nothing else. Her clutching fingers could have aroused me to make love to her yesterday, but now they meant nothing to me.
‘Linda! Get hold of yourself!’ I could hear the hard note in my voice. ‘We have to work together on this. Come on! Get up! Sit down!’
She lifted her bruised, tear stained face, her hands moving away from me.
‘You hate me, don’t you, Steve? I suppose I deserve to be hated.’ She choked on her sobs. ‘But, Steve, get me out of this mess and I’ll be a good wife to you. I’ll...’
‘Shut up! Don’t say things you’ll regret later. Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.’
She got unsteadily to her feet.
‘God! You’re hard. I never thought...’
She flopped in her chair.
I went to the liquor cabinet and poured two stiff whiskies. As I carried them to the desk, the telephone bell rang. I set down the glasses and picked up the receiver.
‘Is Linda there?’ A woman’s voice.
‘Linda is in bed with the flu. Who is it?’
‘Lucilla. Flu? I’m so sorry. Anything I can do? You have only to ask. I could come over. I’m marvellous at making soup.’
Lucilla Bower lived in a bungalow at the far end of our road. She was a tall, rather ugly, middle-aged lesbian who, I suspected, was far too interested in some of the wives on the estate.
‘Thanks, Lucilla. No... we can manage.’
‘The poor dear. I could come over and hold her hand.’
‘Three Aspros are holding her hand at the moment. Anyway... thanks.’
‘Well... I mustn’t keep you. I know how busy you always are. I do love your magazine, Steve.’
‘Fine. Well, goodbye for now,’ and I hung up.
Linda had finished her drink. I could see she was shivering and her eye was puffy. I poured more whisky into her glass.
‘What are we going to do?’ she asked. ‘God! You’ve hurt me! What are we going to do? Can you pay this bastard the money?’
I sat down and lit a cigarette.
‘It’s blackmail. Do you think we should?’
‘Should?’ Her voice went shrill. ‘He could send me to prison!’
‘Would that scare you so much?’ I regarded her. ‘After all there is proof that you are a thief and thieves expect to go to prison if they are caught.’
‘You’re trying to frighten me! I won’t listen to you! You hate me, don’t you? You’re mad about that two-faced secretary of yours. I know you have it off with her in the office. I know!’
I leaned forward and stared at her.
‘Do you want me to hit you again? If you continue to talk like that, I will.’
‘Don’t you dare touch me! I’ll scream! I’ll call the police! Don’t you dare!’
I was sick of her and I was sick of everything.
‘Go away, Linda. Let me think about this. Just leave me.’
‘I couldn’t bear to go to prison! The disgrace of it!’ She was crying again. ‘Help me! I didn’t mean that about Jean! I’m so frightened! I don’t know why I did it. they all do it!’
I couldn’t bear this any longer. I had to think. I had to be alone. I got up and left the room.
‘Steve! Where are you going? Don’t leave me!’
Her cry of despair only made me move faster. I left the house, got in my car and drove off the estate. I passed the luxury houses, seeing groups of people gathered around their barbecues. I felt I wanted to drive off the rim of the world and drop into oblivion.
The City Hall clock was striking seven as I drove into my parking bay outside my office block.
I had to buzz for the nightman, Joey Small, who let me in.
‘Working late, Mr. Manson?’
‘That’s it.’
My office was my only refuge: a place where I could sit and think and try to come up with a solution. I travelled up in the elevator, walked down the corridor and unlocked my office door. As I entered, I heard the clack of a typewriter, coming from Jean’s room.
I was surprised she was still working although I knew from past experience she always left a clear desk before going home. I had come to regard her with tremendous respect and I knew that without her behind me The Voice of the People wouldn’t have been the success it was.
I switched on my office lights, then crossed over to her door, opened it and looked in.
She was at her desk, her expert fingers flying over the keyboard and she looked up, her eyes widening; her typing stopped.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you nearly through?’
‘What are you doing back here, Steve?’
‘I have things to think about.’
‘Wally has left me with a load, but I’m nearly through.’
I looked at her, and for the first time I looked at her as a woman and not as an efficient secretary and what I saw pleased me.
She was tall, dark and her eyes were serious and intelligent. For the first time I realised she had well-formed breasts and nice hands. Her hair reached to her shoulders and was silky. She had a lovely throat.
‘Is there anything wrong?’ she asked. ‘You look ill.’
I suddenly felt I could share this burden with her. I moved into her room, closed the door and wandered over to a chair by her desk.
‘Linda has just told me that you and I are having it off in the office,’ I said as I sat down. I didn’t look at her, but stared down at my hands.
‘Why did she say that?’ Jean’s voice was quiet and gentle.
‘I guess we’ve fallen out. She was thrashing around for an excuse to hurt.’
‘I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?’
I looked at her. She was staring at me, her eyes worried and I could see she really wanted to be helpful.
‘There’s a lot more to it than that, Jean. I’m in a jam. I can’t tell you about it. It’s not my secret. Look, let Wally wait for his report. Get off. I want to be alone to think without the sound of a typewriter. Will you do that?’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘God, no! I couldn’t eat a thing! I just want to do some thinking.’
She stood up.
‘Let’s eat. I’m hungry. Then you can come back here and think as long as you like.’
I realised this made sense. I was so goddamn tense I knew, unless I unwound, my thinking would be useless. And another thing: this would be the first time, since I had married, that I had taken a woman, except Linda, out to dinner.
‘Wise girl. Let’s go then... where?’
‘Luigi.’ She snapped off her desk light. ‘Give me three minutes?’
I went back to my office, lit a cigarette and waited. My mind was empty. I was just thankful to have company and I refused to think of Linda with her black eye, alone in our expensive house.
Jean came in, putting on a light dustcoat.
‘We’ll use my car,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
She drove me in her Porsche which had been a present from Chandler when she had left him to come to me. The traffic was heavy and parking was tricky. I realised it would have been a burden to me to have driven in my big Mercedes and she had taken this burden off my shoulders. Within ten minutes, she had found parking and we were entering Luigi’s small, comfortable restaurant: a restaurant I never used for some reason or other, but I could tell at once that Jean used it a lot. At this hour, there were only three other couples: people I didn’t know. Luigi, fat and beaming, brushed Jean’s fingers with his lips, bowed to me and took us to a corner table.