Authors: Laura Wilson
Beside the gates was a small and unnecessarily ornate house, all gables and over-large chimneys in fancy brickwork. Telling himself firmly that none of it was Diana’s fault, he pulled up beside a decrepit-looking shed in the yard and clambered out of the car. On closer inspection, when he pulled his torch from his overcoat pocket, the house proved to be in a fair old mess, with half-timbering at crazy angles and moss threatening to overtake the balding thatch on the roof.
Staring upwards and caught unawares, Stratton jumped as the tiny front door swung open with a creak so stereotypically sinister that it could have been a sound effect, revealing a dishevelled-looking Diana with a candle in one hand.
‘Darling! How marvellous, you’ve got a torch – I didn’t think of it. Come in, quick – not that it’s much warmer in here than out there, but all the same … I was hoping you’d be late so I’d have a chance to sort everything out and show you how efficient I am. Unfortunately, there’s no electricity – Barbara forgot to tell me – and there doesn’t seem to be any gas either. I spent ages stumbling about in the dark looking for
this
,’ she brandished the candle in its enamel holder.
Christ, thought Stratton, that’s all I need – an evening playing at Boy Scouts.
Diana must have spotted something of this in his face, because she carried on, her tone increasingly flustered and placatory. ‘Fortunately, Barbara’s got quite a stock of them, so we can have dinner by candlelight. At least, we can if I can manage to light the range, and then we can have hot water as well. Honestly …’ she gave an embarrassed little laugh, ‘it’s more like camping than keeping house. I am sorry – I’m sure your pub is heaps more comfortable.’ Here, looking contrite, she stopped to draw breath.
Feeling sorry for her, Stratton gave her a kiss, noticing as he did so that there was a smut of coal-dust on her face and that her fingers and the borders of her nails were black with the stuff.
‘I’ll fix the range,’ he said, relieved, despite his annoyance, to have a practical task that would lessen the awkwardness he was feeling at being here, like this, in somebody else’s house. Even though he knew that Barbara (whoever she was – he’d find out later) had given permission, it still felt uncomfortably like trespassing, or being the type who’d borrow another chap’s flat for an afternoon rogering his mistress, or … well, something
not quite right
, anyway. ‘I take it,’ here, he glanced down at Diana’s hands, ‘that there is some coal, is there?’
‘Lots. I brought a couple of buckets in, and the rest’s in the shed round the corner.’
‘Good. I’ll soon have us warmed up, then. Where’s the kitchen?’
‘Looks just like our farmhouse when I was a boy.’ Stratton shone his torch over the stone sink with its cold tap, the dresser, the table, and finally across the iron monster that took up one side of the small room, with its oven and boiler. ‘My stepmother used to put the newborn lambs in our range to warm them up,’ he said, bending down to look inside and remembering the little creatures beginning to recover and stagger across the flagstones on untried legs. ‘You probably never went into the kitchen when you were a kid, did you?’
Diana’s cheeks glowed in the light of the candle she was holding. ‘Yes, I did. I used to have tea in there on Nanny’s afternoon off. So there,’ she added, sticking out her tongue at him.
‘There’s a bit too much coal in here,’ said Stratton, ‘and not enough kindling. Why don’t I start again?’
‘If I get the groceries and towels and things from the car,’ said Diana, ‘we can have some sherry while I’m cooking.’
‘Any beer?’ asked Stratton hopefully.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got that too.’
‘It’s not been lived in for a while, has it?’ said Stratton, when he’d sorted out the range and lit candles, sticking them on saucers all round the kitchen. The place looked so neglected that he’d been pleasantly surprised to find that water, and not dust, came out of the tap when he’d gone to wash his hands.
Diana, who’d poured them both drinks and was chopping vegetables with surprising dexterity, said, ‘I don’t think Barbara’s ever lived here. That’s why it’s never been brought up to date. There’s no bathroom, just an outside loo, and basins and ewers in the bedrooms.’
‘Does she own the big house as well? When I asked in the pub, they said it had burnt down.’
‘That’s right: 1949, I think.’
‘Was that …’ Stratton injected his words with deliberate nonchalance, ‘a happy accident?’
‘Insurance, you mean?’ Diana chuckled. ‘No such luck. The insurance company wouldn’t pay the full sum because the walls were still standing, so Barbara’s family couldn’t afford to fix it – not that they could have anyway, with all the shortages of materials. There’s a picture somewhere of how it used to look.’ Putting down the knife, she took the candle back into the narrow hallway and returned with a black-and-white photograph in a wooden frame showing an impressive stone house with a colonnade in front.
‘Georgian or Regency?’
‘Or early Victorian. Lovely, wasn’t it? Now it’s just a shell, and not a very safe one, according to Barbara. She said not to go in. Pretty much all of the land’s been sold to a farmer.’
By the time they sat down to dinner, Stratton was beginning to enjoy himself. Later, in a bed dried and warmed by some stone hot-water bottles Diana had found in one of the cupboards, when she’d hugged him and said, ‘Isn’t this
fun
, Edward?’, he had to agree that it was – especially since he hadn’t thought about the investigation for two whole hours.
It was odd, he thought, as they lay sharing a cigarette, that he’d never before thought of it as ‘fun’ with Diana. Not that he’d ever make a comparison between her and Jenny – at least not knowingly – but with Jenny it had always been fun, because it was easy and companionable and because, right from the start, he’d felt no heightened expectation from her, or any pressure for things not to go wrong, so they never had. That wasn’t, of course, to say that he didn’t care – he’d wanted to please her, all right, what man wouldn’t have? But it was just …
easy
. With Diana, things were more complicated. Even at forty, her body was lovely. Stratton’s feeling, the first time he saw her naked, had been one of awe – something uncomfortably akin to worship. This, he knew, wasn’t just a physical thing. Another woman – pretty well any other woman, if you discounted film stars or royalty – could have had a body equally gorgeous, and it wouldn’t have had the same effect. This feeling had, mercifully, subsided, but he was still taken aback by how at ease she seemed with no clothes on, and how, well …
active
… she was in bed. Not that that hadn’t been a delightful surprise as well, but once he’d got over it he’d started to wonder who it was who’d taught her all those things. As it couldn’t – surely? – have been either of her husbands, this didn’t take too long, because the only possible candidate he knew of was Claude Ventriss. He knew it was stupid
to be jealous – after all, given that Diana was several leagues ahead of him in every imaginable way it was a miracle he was there at all – but he still was. Images of the two of them together, which were quite capable of encroaching at just the wrong moment, filled him with a rage that, although he knew it to be irrational, still managed to grip him like a vice.
At least, he thought, Diana never came out with any excruciating romantic stuff. In fact, the only time he’d ever said something along those lines – largely because he felt it was expected of him – she’d put a hand over his mouth and seen to it that, for the next few minutes at least, he couldn’t do anything more than gasp.
Diana nudged him. ‘Penny for them.’
‘Ohh … nothing much.’ Stratton rolled over to look at her, propping himself up on his elbow. ‘Nothing intelligent, anyway.’
Diana put the cigarette out and turned so that she was lying on her stomach, head cupped in her palms, and looked at him in a way which made it clear that he was expected to elaborate. Not being able to tell her what had actually been going through his mind – not a can of worms that could be opened in front of anybody, least of all her – he said, ‘You know what I was saying when we were eating, about going to that Foundation place?’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, it was all a bit odd.’
‘So I gathered.’
‘But the oddest thing was the first time, just when I was leaving. The boy I told you about—’
‘You mean Michael the Mighty-whatever-it-was?’
‘Yes, him. We hadn’t been introduced or anything – I mean, I don’t think he had a clue who I was – but he suddenly told me that I was carrying a burden of guilt and that if I shed the burden, then I’d be happy. He was right, but I don’t see how he could know that.’
‘He probably didn’t,’ said Diana. ‘But you could say that about practically anyone, couldn’t you? Everyone’s got something they feel guilty about, haven’t they, even if it’s not a particularly bad thing. Heavens, you should know
that
.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You must see it all the time at work.’
‘Yes, but just to come out with it like that …’
‘He’s only a child, Edward. He probably didn’t know what he was saying.’
‘That’s not the impression I got. And I do feel guilty. About lots of things.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, Jenny for one. I mean, I know that’s in the past, and there’s nothing I can do about it now, but all the same … And not being closer to Pete and Monica …’
‘But you
are
close to Monica, aren’t you? I’ve always thought that you and she – especially after that business …’
‘Raymond Benson, you mean? Losing the baby?’
‘Yes. I wondered if you’d been brooding about it when we were talking about her last week.’
‘I can’t really help it, Diana. I know she loves her work, but she ought to be … you know, settling down. Thinking about getting married, a family. Or at least seeing someone, and there’s never … not that I’d expect her to tell me about it, or at least not straight away, but she’s never mentioned boyfriends or chaps at work or anything like that. I can’t believe it’s for lack of offers. I know I’m biased, but she is a nice-looking girl and all the rest of it. I’m worried that the whole experience might have put her off men for life.’
‘Are you?’
‘Of course I am! What parent wouldn’t be?’
‘I suppose they would,’ said Diana, stiffly. ‘I don’t really have any experience of things like that.’
‘It’s not a criticism,’ said Stratton, hastily. ‘I’m sorry, I always
thought … Well, I suppose I
assumed
, that you didn’t really want children. You once said – about that – that you’d lost a baby – more than one – but that you got over it, and I just thought … well … Oh, dear. I’m sorry, I’m being insensitive. Look, let’s forget about it.’
Diana wriggled round and sat propped up against the pillows, shivering and pulling the covers up to her chin. She seemed, thought Stratton, somehow far more
human
than she had several minutes ago, when he was still in the afterglow of desire. ‘No, don’t let’s,’ she said. ‘Or rather, let’s forget about me because you’re right, I never really have wanted children, but one does – or tried to do, in my case – what’s expected … But hasn’t it occurred to you that Monica might not want children, either?’
Stratton sat up, too. ‘But that’s not—’
‘Not what?’ said Diana. ‘Not
normal
? People seem to make a hell of a lot of assumptions about what’s normal, don’t they? Especially where women are concerned. They think, if you don’t want to be married and have children, you’re unfeminine or sexless by nature and you won’t find any fulfilment in life.’
Taken aback by the fierceness of her tone, Stratton said, ‘Well, it
is
normal.’
‘In that case,’ said Diana, ‘I’m abnormal, and so is Monica. And, by your reckoning, she’s a lot more abnormal than I am.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I’m here in bed with you, aren’t I?’
Stratton stared at her, bewildered. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘You’re a
man
.’
Stratton’s stomach lurched. Blood pounding in his ears, he said, ‘What are you saying, exactly?’
‘Oh, Edward … Look. What I’m saying,’ she said, gently, ‘and I’m sorry I said it like that, is that Monica – yes,
your
daughter – prefers women to men.’
Stratton’s sensation, as she spoke these last words, was that the air around him had suddenly bunched and become solid, so that he couldn’t breathe. He felt distanced from everything, suspended with no past and no future, only this moment and Diana’s words reverberating around the small bedroom, ricocheting off the wallpaper with its faded sprigs of pink flowers, the china basin and ewer on the chest of drawers and the brass bedstead as if they were trying to escape.
‘Edward? Are you all right?’ Diana put a hand on his arm and everything started to move and happen again.
Making a conscious effort to draw breath, Stratton said, ‘No, of course I’m not
all right
. What the hell made you say a thing like that?’
‘Because it’s true. The girl Monica lives with, Marion – they love each other.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘I’ve seen them together.’
‘What, holding hands? Kissing?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then how—’
‘It was obvious. Oh, they’re very discreet, and Marion doesn’t
come to the studio very often, but it’s the way they are with each other – the way they look at each other. You can tell.’
‘Rubbish! You’re imagining things. In any case, that sort of thing may be all very well for a bunch of actors and arty types, but not … not …’
‘Not people like you and your family?’ suggested Diana.
‘Yes! Well, not exactly …’ Stratton shook his head, trying to clear his mind. What he’d been about to say was nonsense. God Almighty, there were several policewomen at West End Central who were clearly … But they weren’t
his daughter
, for Christ’s sake. Which was nonsense, too, of course, but knowing that didn’t make it any better. ‘It was that bloody Benson, wasn’t it? He’s put her off men. But when she meets the right one, she’ll—’