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  ‘I really wished to speak to him personally on a confidential matter. Am I speaking to Mrs Bell, by any chance?’

  Antonia decided that a white lie was not only excusable, but opportune.

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘I wonder . . . is your husband away from home?’ ‘Away? No. He’s at work.’

  ‘Only I’ve sent a number of letters over the last month asking him to come and see me, and received no reply.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s a reason.’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’

  ‘I’ll ask him to get in touch.’

  ‘Would you? These things are better discussed man to man, so to speak. I’m sure we’ll reach an amicable arrangement.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Thank you. Goodbye, Mrs Bell.’

  She heard the click and the purring note before she replaced the receiver, thinking about the amicable arrangement that Barry was expected to reach with his bank manager. She returned to the kitchen as the kettle was boiling.

  ‘That was Mr Roberts, the manager of the Westminster Bank.’

  ‘Really? What did he want?’

  ‘A word with Barry. I told him he wasn’t here.’

  ‘Stupid man. What does he expect if he rings up in the middle of the morning?’

  ‘He’s written several letters.’

  ‘To Barry? Yes, he has. One arrived this morning.’

  ‘He’s been asking Barry to come and see him. Barry hasn’t replied.’

  ‘I can’t understand that. He’s awfully efficient. I wonder what this is about.’

  Antonia handed her a cup of tea. ‘It’s staring you in

  the face, sweetie. He’s overdrawn at the bank.’

  ‘That’s impossible. We live quite frugally. I haven’t had a new dress since the war and he’s still wearing the same suit. We don’t even use our clothing coupons.’

  ‘What about his nights out?’

  ‘Oh, he doesn’t believe in spending much on his women. Never more than a couple of drinks and the price of a cheap hotel room for an hour. It’s a matter of pride with Barry.’

  ‘In that case, I apologize.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For misleading you. Obviously I was wrong.’ ‘About what?’

  ‘For pity’s sake, darling – the child. There is a child. Barry’s in the red because he’s keeping up two households. You can’t do that on the money a civil service clerk takes home.’

  Rose put down her cup. The colour drained from her face. It was a long time before she spoke and then her voice came as a whisper.

  ‘It’s not true.’

  Antonia took an unopened letter from behind the clock on the mantelpiece, glanced at the typed address and then propped it against Rose’s teacup. Rose shook her head.

  ‘I couldn’t. He’d know.’

  Antonia took out her lighter and put the flame to the gas ring. Steam gushed from the kettle again. She picked up the letter and held the back of it to the spout.

  ‘He won’t find out.’

  When it was quite moist, she placed the letter in Rose’s hand, at the same time squeezing her arm. Rose started peeling back the flap.

  ‘From the bottom, darling. You don’t want to tear it.’

  She took out the letter, read it and threw it down.

  ‘He’s overdrawn six hundred and ninety pounds, the swine. The rotten, beastly swine. I could cheerfully kill him.’

  Antonia returned the letter to its envelope and pressed the flap to the seal.

  ‘This might want just a smear of glue.’

  The letter was lying on Barry’s plate when he got in. Rose had ripped it open at the top.

  She eyed him accusingly. ‘I suppose she lives in style while I count every blessed penny.’

  ‘Not at all. I send her something to help with the child, that’s all.’

  ‘The child? You talk about him as if you had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Rosie, I’m trying to spare your feelings.’

  ‘Thanks! It’s a bit late for that.’

  ‘All right, I should have told you. I’ve been sending twenty pounds on the first of each month. Michael will be starting school soon.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear about him.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  He took her at her word. She was glad of a minute or two’s respite. She busied herself with the herrings she was grilling and tried to look unconcerned. She didn’t speak again until she put the plate in front of him.

  She said, ‘What are you going to do about the bank?’

  ‘I’ll speak to Roberts. Have to go and see him, I suppose. How did he sound on the phone?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I mean I was too shocked to notice.’

  ‘I’ve got a bit in National Savings. And I might be able to raise something on the insurance.’

  ‘Where does that leave me if you drop dead?’

  ‘What else do you suggest?’

  ‘Why don’t you pawn my wedding ring? It doesn’t mean a thing to me any more.’

  ‘This isn’t like you, Rose.’

  ‘Oh, dry up, will you?’ ‘Do you want a divorce?’

  ‘So that you can clear off and marry your tart and settle all your problems? Smart thinking, Barry. I’ve got to hand it to you – you’re no fool, whatever else you are. No, I don’t want a divorce. It would just about kill my parents, and you know it. Better think again.’ They finished the meal in silence.

  Barry drew aside the bedroom curtains in the morning about 6.30 as he always did. There was heavy condensation on the glass so he used the sleeve of his pyjamas to wipe one of the panes clear. ‘Bloody hell!’

  Rose stirred under the bedclothes.

  ‘What is it now?’

  ‘Come and see.’

  ‘It’s too cold.’

  His voice took on an odd, shrill note. ‘I won’t stand for this. It’s enough to turn your stomach. I’ll get on to the council. See if I don’t. Bloody liberty. As if we haven’t got enough to put up with.’

  When Barry had gone out to the bathroom, Rose slipped out of bed and went to the window. She, too, was profoundly disturbed by what she saw. She had heard some workmen hammering the day before and she had assumed they were fencing off the bomb site to keep the children from playing there.

  They had erected a vast hoarding filled with the white face of a woman, a face unmistakably stricken with grief. Her pallor was set against the black hat with drapes and veil and the black high-necked dress that she wore. The lips were bloodless and the grey eyes stared upwards, focusing on nothing. The slogan under the face was ‘KEEP DEATH OFF THE ROAD’. Under it, in smaller lettering, ‘Carelessness Kills’.

  6

  The next Friday afternoon about half past five Rose opened the door to a man with a bicycle pump tucked under his arm like a swagger stick. He raised his hat. The horrid poster behind him was gleaming in the lamplight, throwing him into silhouette.

  ‘Mrs Bell?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Smart.’ As if no more was needed to be said he stooped to remove his cycle clips.

  Rose held on to the door. The metal plate on their door-post to discourage hawkers and circulars had gone in the bombing, and she was wary of being pestered. It was a nuisance having a front door that opened directly on to the street.

  He stood up straight and stepped closer. ‘Arnold Smart. Don’t you remember?’

  Faintly she did. There was something about the nasal twang in the voice.

  ‘I call once a month to collect the premium. Your husband usually comes to the door.’

  ‘Oh, insurance.’

  ‘Obviously I’ve come at an awkward moment, but as your husband mentioned some urgency in the matter . . . ’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘ . . . I thought I’d drop the form in now. Isn’t he at home?’

  ‘He’s always late on Fridays. I’ll give him the form if you like. What is it exactly?’

  He fingere
d his necktie. ‘Might I step inside and wait? I don’t wish to be a nuisance but I’d like to offer him some professional advice if I may.’

  ‘I don’t expect him until ten at the earliest.’

  ‘Ten? That is rather late. I’d better come back another day. I do think a word in confidence might be advisable.’

  She lost her patience. ‘For heaven’s sake, what’s all the mystery for? I’m his wife. He doesn’t do anything without consulting me.’

  ‘You’ve discussed this with him?’

  ‘Frequently.’

  ‘Forgive me, then. I wasn’t aware of that. It’s entirely up to Wing Commander Bell, of course, but I’d weigh the advantages very carefully before surrendering a policy as valuable as his.’

  Alarm bells sounded in her head, but she managed to give the impression she’d heard nothing new. ‘You mean cashing it in? What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘It’s a lot to sacrifice for a short-term gain. You’d get only a fraction of the five thousand you would realize on maturity – or if anything should happen to him. Far be it from me to frighten you, but I’m constantly hearing of good men struck down in their prime. None of us knows what fate has in store for us.’

  ‘I’ll mention it. Perhaps we ought to think again.’

  ‘I strongly recommend that you do. If it’s a temporary difficulty you have, we could talk about a loan of equivalent value.’

  ‘Yes, why don’t you come back and talk to my husband another evening?’

  ‘The earliest I could manage is next Thursday.’

  ‘That would be much more convenient. Why don’t you keep the surrender form until then?’

  He lifted his hat again and returned to his bicycle, propped against the kerb. He fastened the pump in place, put on the clips and pedalled away, past the great, pale face of the widow.

  Rose returned to the kitchen, pulled a chair from the table and said aloud, ‘You bastard, Barry. You stinking rotten bastard.’

  He’d meant what he said. He was about to sell off her security. If he dropped dead and she was uninsured, she would be left with nothing but his debts.

  Their marriage had become a mockery long before Barry had disclosed the existence of his second family. He’d said a number of times that Rose could have a divorce, knowing, of course, that it would break the hearts of the two dear people she had left in the world to love. For her parents’ sake she’d resolved to endure a loveless marriage to a faithless man. She’d made that decision when Barry had finally admitted to picking up women for sex. She’d lived with that humiliation long enough.

  Now he had discovered that he couldn’t keep two homes, two women and a child on his pathetic income. He proposed to surrender the insurance to pay off the overdraft. Deluded idiot. What would that achieve? The demands would only increase. The boy was growing up, starting school soon. Obviously it suited Stella Paxton to pester Barry relentlessly, destroy the marriage and take him as her husband.

  Rose wanted to say, take the swine, you’re welcome to him, yet there remained the sticking point. Because she would not consider a divorce whilst her parents were alive, she faced not only humiliation and hurt, but insolvency.

  Since the war ended she’d suffered a steep drop in her standard of living to satisfy Barry’s pride that he could support a wife. She’d made do with shapeless Utility clothes. Hadn’t been to a hairdresser’s. Hadn’t been taken to the pictures or a dance. Her sacrifices had helped to pay the premiums on that insurance. She would have enjoyed going out to work if he hadn’t made such an issue about it shaming a man. Too late now. Any money she made would go the same way as the rest.

  Realistically, nothing short of Barry being killed could make any difference. Antonia had the solution – if she was serious.

  An accident.

  Rose admitted no inconsistency in her thinking. She had been brought up by loving parents who lived by the Ten Commandments. Any breach of Holy Law that she had committed as a child had so manifestly upset them that she had taken it to be a sin against her parents, rather than against God. She had found it very easy to forget about the God who was in Heaven. The only way to survive as a vicar’s daughter was to treat your father as God. You could do anything at all so long as you kept him in blissful ignorance.

  Barry had forced her hand. She had until Thursday evening if she was to get a penny of the insurance.

  She was studying the calendar when she heard the key turn in the front door. She looked at the clock. It wasn’t even eight yet.

  Barry thrust open the kitchen door. ‘Surprised you?’ ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘What’s up? You look peeved.’ ‘My eyes are sore, that’s all.’ ‘See if these help.’

  He handed her a bunch of red roses.

  ‘Believe it or not, he expected the works.’

  Antonia’s eyes widened unusually. She hardly ever registered surprise. She had a way of treating everything as if she were hearing it for the second time. ‘And did you let him?’

  ‘Of course not. As if one bunch of flowers cancelled out all the women he’s had.’

  ‘The red roses must have cost him a packet.’

  ‘I’m not one of his Friday night tarts and I told him so. I told him to take a cold bath.’

  Antonia almost purred in approval. ‘Nice work! Did he get nasty?’

  ‘He went down to the pub until closing time. When he came in he made a clumsy effort to paw me so I bit his ear.’

  ‘Darling, after what happened last time, you’ve got some pluck.’

  ‘I was so angry I didn’t think. He let me alone after that.’

  Rose glared at a fat woman on an adjacent table who had stopped eating her blackberry flan the better to overhear what was said. They were in the marbled setting of the Strand Corner House. Any afternoon between the hours of three and four many a lapse of conduct was discussed over the silver-plated teapots. A string quartet was playing ‘My dreams are getting better all the time’. Antonia was in yet another new outfit that looked as if it came from Harrods, a white pillbox hat and an emerald green two-piece with white polka dots.

  ‘I wonder what he hoped to achieve.’

  From the long look Antonia gave as she spoke it was clear that she suspected Barry of plotting something. Rose knew better. ‘He’s like that. He thinks all his faults are forgiven in bed. Sometimes they have been, I don’t mind admitting. Well, forgotten, if not forgiven. I can’t live like a nun. It’s against nature. Good, she’s leaving.’

  The fat woman ostentatiously pushed aside her teacup and marched out.

  Rose hardly paused. She was coming out with things that she wouldn’t have discussed with a living soul until a few days ago. She heard herself analysing Barry’s behaviour with such steely detachment that it might have been Antonia speaking. ‘I suppose he could have been trying to sweeten me in case I raised Cain about the insurance, but I doubt it. Barry isn’t a schemer. He lives for the moment, and that’s what landed us in our present mess.’

  Antonia, evidently sensing where this was leading, attempted to head Rose off with some homespun philosophy. ‘Men like him won the war for us, but they can’t cope in peacetime.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Have some more tea.’

  ‘Damn the tea.’

  She felt entitled to some straight talking. It was obvious Antonia knew what was in her mind and was shying away from it with her platitudes about the war and her fussing with the teapot.

  ‘What I’m telling you is that I’d be better off if Barry was dead.’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Antonia smiled and seemed to want to make light of it. ‘Five thousand pounds better off.’

  ‘Not if he signs that surrender form on Thursday.’

  The point still appeared to elude Antonia. ‘So you’ve got four days to change his mind.’

  ‘Unless.’

  ‘Unless what, darling?’

  ‘Unless something happens to him.’

  There was an interval when nothing was
said. A syrupy Viennese waltz filled the silence. Antonia pushed some hair back from her forehead and looked far across the restaurant.

  ‘Well, Rose, my dear, you’d better say exactly what’s in your mind.’

  ‘I want him to have an accident, like you said the other day.’

  There was a glint of amusement in the green eyes. ‘Did I?’

  ‘Don’t tease. You know you did. Outside the Ritz.’ ‘And you believed me, darling?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Antonia, if you weren’t serious, you’d better tell me, because I am.’

  ‘An accident? Well, it’s not impossible. I’d have to think about it.’ She traced her fingertip around the rim of her cup. ‘I suppose Barry had to give up the flying when he was demobbed?’

  ‘He hasn’t seen an airfield since the war.’

  ‘Does he drive?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘We can’t afford a car on his income.’

  ‘This is difficult. Is he a swimmer?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. That is to say, I believe he can swim, but he doesn’t ever go near water. He’s not the athletic type.’

  ‘Is he the handyman type? Could he be persuaded to replace those missing tiles on your roof?’

  Desperate as she felt, Rose couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘Good idea, but definitely not. He absolutely refuses.’

  ‘We’re not getting very far, are we? Suppose we go about this another way. You tell me everything he does from the moment he gets up in the morning.’

  ‘In detail?’

  ‘The more the better.’

  ‘I’ll try.’ Rose closed her eyes and concentrated. ‘Wakes up at 6.30 when the alarm goes. Groans. Heaves himself out and reaches for his slippers. Shuffles into the bathroom and uses the toilet. You asked for everything.’

  ‘I meant it. Don’t stop now.’

  ‘Goes to the washbasin and runs the hot tap. Swears when it comes out almost cold. Swishes some over his face. Makes a lather for a shave.’

  ‘What sort of razor?’

  ‘Safety, I’m afraid. Brushes his teeth.’

  ‘Toothpowder?’

  ‘Paste. Returns to the bedroom and dresses. Woollen underwear. Blue pinstripe. White shirt and collar. Any one of three striped ties. Meanwhile, I’ve slipped downstairs in my dressing-gown and cooked some porridge and made toast. He comes down and opens the Ideal boiler and empties the ashcan. This is frightfully boring.’