I took Rose's instructions seriously, even if Simon didn't. I slept well. In fact I was beginning to notice that my sleep was beginning to improve. I was still plagued by thoughts and images of all sorts crowding in on me when I first go to bed. But then I do fall asleep for a good six to seven hours. Never quite enough, but more than I was really expecting.
I woke on Sunday morning thinking about Rose's gently pushing of my thoughts and boundaries. Had I, by accident, trapped Beth so that she couldn't confess her affair, even if she had wanted to? But she had denied it, surely she wasn't going to confess it suddenly, late on that Thursday evening. And why had she told me that she wasn't having an affair as she kissed me as she came to bed that night. But then, to be accurate, she had said she will never have an affair. That was in the future tense. So, maybe, at least her declaration that it was over was a truth. Is there some comfort in that?
I got out of bed. The sun was coming through the curtains. I opened them to find a glorious English summer's day. But then I noticed the Whitman's pool with its bright blue cover shouting in the sunlight, almost as if it was laughing at me.
I went into the bathroom. The corner of the towel rail seemed to be spotlighted. That's where Beth's little g-string bikini had been hung. What was the truth about that?
I had a shower, dressed and went down to the kitchen. There was still a very dead rose, sadly drooping sideways out of its vase, ready to fall on a piece of lilac notepaper with Beth's writing on it. Somehow it seemed symbolic, but equally it told me that I just can't go on living here surrounded by reminders. I decided that I was moving to Blindside, preferably next weekend.
Over breakfast I thought about phoning Beth and telling her of my decision. Warning her, I guess of something that could be interpreted as another step along the road to divorce. But, I didn't really fancy that conversation. So I phoned Phil instead.
"Hi, Tim. How's you?"
"Fine, I think. Are you and Denny OK?"
"Well I am, and Denny was fine when I left her."
"Oh. Where are you?"
"Walking across the car park at the surgery. What do you want, Tim?"
"Well I was hoping for a drink later. This evening?"
"Not a chance. We're out. Is it anything important?"
"No, not really. It's just that I've decided to move into that flat, and I was hoping I might talk it through with you, and work out how to tell Beth."
"Sorry I can't help you. Is lunchtime any good?"
"No. I've got a lunch with Jean, the wife of the infamous Ken."
"Oh. That could be interesting." He paused "Is there anything she's likely to know or tell you that might help?"
I hadn't even thought that Jean might know something that could change my view of Beth's behaviour. "I don't think so. I think it's just the two injured parties licking their wounds together. Anyway, if I am going to move, I'd be grateful if I could borrow your muscle power."
"Yes, sure, but isn't it only a couple of suitcases of clothes?"
"No, I think I'll be taking more than that. One of the things I've got to do is get Beth down here to agree the dividing of the spoils. I doubt whether that's going to be easy for either of us."
"No, I can image that. Glad its you and not me, but I guess that goes for this whole sorry saga." He sounded both sad and consolatory.
"So, are you around next weekend if I hire a small van. It should only be a couple of trips at the most." I asked.
"Sorry, Tim. But not next weekend."
"What you haven't got a couple of hours to spare for the whole weekend?"
"Nope. On Saturday I've got to do the Saturday surgery. In their wisdom, two senior partners have decided that it's OK for them to have their holidays at the same time. So we're pretty stretched. I'm on call all day 'til eight o'clock on Sunday morning. After surgery, I've got half an hour to get to my match, and when that finishes, I can't go to the drinks because I'm on call, and anyway I've got to come back here to check up on all the resident patients."
"So what about Sunday then. Don't tell me your going to be busy all day."
"Alright, I won't tell you. But we've got to go to lunch with Beth's parents."
"Pardon?"
"That's what I said. Apparently Mary invited us. I don't think she's interfering, or at least Denny doesn't seem to think so. She just wants to get to see us, being as we're being such good friends of Beth's in these difficult times. Something like that."
"Well. I'll count you out then."
"Sorry Tim. How about doing it one night in the week?"
"Well, it might come to that. I'll have a phone round and see if someone can give me a hand at the weekend. If I can't find anyone, then I'll give you a call."
We ended there. I sat and stared out of the window. Come on Tim, be decisive! I phoned Beth.
"Hi" she answered, somewhat neutrally I thought.
"Hi, Beth. Are you OK?"
"Oh, yes. I just wasn't expecting a call from you. Not that I haven't wanted you to call, it was just that I wasn't expecting..."
"It's OK Beth. I just wanted to phone you and warn you that I've definitely made my mind up. I'm going to move out."
There was silence at the other end. I wished I could see her face.
Eventually, she answered. "Do you really feel you've got to."
"Yes. I'm sorry Beth, but I do. At first, when this option came up I liked the idea because I just wanted to run away. But it's not like that now. It's just that this house represents so much of what we used to have, what we achieved, and I am beginning to accept that we can never have it again. It just hurts me to live here."
"I'm sorry Tim."
"Yes, well..." I didn't know what to say. "Look, Beth. I do really want you to come over one evening this week so that you can see what I'm thinking of taking."
"Oh, Tim, I've no right to demand that you leave anything that you want. I don't need to do that. But I would like to see you, perhaps to talk about something else, anything that is safe territory."
"Well, there you are then. I can't do Monday or Tuesday, but any night after that." I pushed for agreement.
"Well how about Thursday then. I'll come over at eight o'clock. Perhaps I could bring something for us to eat?"
"Yes, why not. That would be good. I'll see you on Thursday then."
"Well, look after yourself. I'll look forward to Thursday." She was almost whispering, but plaintively.
"Do give some thought to what you want to keep, I don't want to take something that is important to you, Beth."
"Oh, its all important to me, Tim. But you can take whatever you want."
This conversation was drifting out of hand. I wasn't sure whether it was like a Noel Coward play, it was all going on under the actual words, or like a teenage lovers call, neither wanting to say goodbye. That would take someone more independent than me to decide. In the end, it was Beth that managed to bring the conversation to an end. It left me with a feeling of so much unsaid, so much sadness.
I got myself a coffee, pulled myself together and threw away that dead rose and the sheet of notepaper, but I noticed that I didn't crumple it up, I just laid it in the bin - just in case I wanted to retrieve it later. Symbolism.
---
I found Jean in the bar of the Carlton Hotel, she was sitting at a table in the corner by herself, with an untouched drink in front of her. I went over and kissed her on both cheeks, and sat down. We were just getting through the opening pleasantries when a waiter came over for my drinks order and to leave two menu's on the table in front of us.
"So, Tim, how have you really been?" She asked, implying that my earlier reply had been pure politeness, which it was.
"OK, I suppose. It all takes some getting used to. Beth is living with her parents, and I'm still at the house, but I've found a flat and I shall be moving there very soon."
"So you and Beth are splitting up then?"
"Yes. I can't see a way back. I assume you and Ken are going to divorce?" I asked, but immediately regretted it. That isn't the sort of question I should be asking, what if they were reconciled and happy. So I quickly added "From what you said that morning, I assume that's what you're doing."
"Yes, I'm putting everything in hand to get rid of the bastard. But I'll tell you about that later. I'm just so sorry that you and Beth are splitting up over this. You were the perfect couple and I hate to think that that little weasel has caused you all this pain. I should have chopped his balls off years ago. I suspect you're not the only husband who would have been protected"
The waiter brought me my gin and tonic and I took a leisurely sip. "One of the few things I clearly remember from that morning was you saying 'they're both adults'. It was as much her as him, I'm sure. He didn't **** her, or not serially anyway."
She looked at me. "Well Ken and myself haven't been happy for years, but I was quite jealous of what you and Beth had. I remember it made me cry for what I should have had once."
"Oh." I'm not sure what I was meant to say to that, so I asked the simple question "When was that then?"
"Oh, a couple of years ago now, not long after we moved in. I got back late one Friday with a large brief to read. So, after breakfast on the Saturday I thought the best thing to do was get it over and done with. I set up a chair in the garden, right next to the hedge to your place, and settled down to read. Then you and Beth came out and were wandering around, planning on how you were going to lay out your garden."
She stopped for a sip of her drink, so I interjected, "We had lots of those sessions. Planning the garden was one of the hardest bits. Certainly harder than actually doing it."
"Well," she continued "I just sat there listening to you two. And you had such a loving way of talking to each other. I guess my job makes me listen to witnesses, picking up nuances and use of words, but you two were so gentle with each other. One of you would tentatively put forward an idea, the other would quietly disregard it if they didn't like it or add something extra to it if they did, and then feed it back. It was a ballet of gentle words. It made me weep, because I don't think I ever got to that level of relationship with Ken, and I certainly wasn't going to then. It was something I was never going to have, that sort of complete relationship. And that made me sad then and it still does. But now it's worse, because it's all spoilt for you as well."
She looked up at me with wet eyes. Then she took a little lace handkerchief out of her handbag and dabbed the corner of her eyes. There was nothing I could say.
So a change of subject seemed a good idea. I picked up the menu and studied it, before announcing I was going for the traditional Sunday roast, carved from the trolley. Jean said that she thought that was a good idea. She signalled to the waiter and then gave her order, and ordering wine without even looking at the wine list, just a simple "And a bottle of your very best claret."
We didn't talk about personal issues again until we were sitting down with our roast beef in front of us. When Jean said, "Let me tell you about myself and Ken."
"Go on." I encouraged.
"Well, we've been married for twenty two years. To start with it was a good, not wonderful, but we were both very ambitious and we supported each other well. I think both of us were happy. I'm sure Ken played around a bit in those days, but he always came home and I managed to ignore it. I blocked it out. That was Ken, he liked to think of himself as God's gift to women, it was his little ego trip. I did quite well in my job, despite taking time out to have the boys. Ken was doing very well at the same time, although I always, year in year out, earned more than he did. But some years, only just. Ken did very well, he was in charge of the air fuels division of Masham Oils and on their main board. But, about ten years ago, there was an attempted takeover, and there had to be economies and Ken was an economy."
"I didn't realise that he had held such a senior executive position." I said.
"I'm surprised he didn't tell you. He told most people at the first possible opportunity."
"No, he was more noted for telling them about his Bentley."
"Ah, Yes! His Bentley." she paused, looking into space, but then continued, "Well, after that, he tried to set himself up as a consultant to the airlines, but it never took off, if that isn't a pun for that particular business. Most years it cost money, and my career and earnings were going from strength to strength. Despite all his talk, Ken was a kept man, and had been for the last ten years."
"Good heavens. I would never have guessed." I was genuinely surprised.
"Well, I didn't say anything, and Ken seemed to need the ego boost of being seen as a success. That's his weakness, he likes nice clothes, nice cars and a very expensive lifestyle."
"So what happened that ended you up where you are now?"
"Well, maybe it was his ego, maybe he did really love her, I don't know. But about eight years ago Ken had an affair, with a woman who worked for one of the airlines. When I found out, I threw him out. I was going to get a divorce. But he was so repentant, and the boys were eight and ten and they needed their father. So like a fool, I took him back."
"So that's why you weren't surprised that he'd done it again." I observed, as I added some horseradish sauce to my mouthful of beef.
"Oh, it's worse than that. About five years ago he had another affair. I had suspected him of having plenty of dalliances in between, but this one was so blatant. It was a neighbour, and their au-pair knew all about it. That's why we bought the house here, to get him away from her and London."
"Nasty. That must have been a pretty rough time for you, especially as it was the second time around. That's what I'm scared of." was all I could say.
"So, I threw him out again, and this time I served the divorce papers. Then he got pathetically desperate. Begging to come back. Of course it was a moments aberration, he was so sorry, never again, the whole works. Well, I thought about it, the boys were still in their middle teens. And somewhere I clung to the idea that we could recapture something we once had. But I wanted some guarantee that it would be for good, that there was some motive that would stop him from straying again. So, in the end, I had the guys at work draw up a pre-reconciliation agreement."
That was a new idea to me, "I've heard of pre-nuptial and divorce settlements, but not pre-reconciliation."
"Yes, well it is a bit odd ball. But in it he recognises that all the assets of the marriage were paid for by my earnings or my inheritances, and that he has no claim on any of them. In the event that he gives me a cause to divorce him through anymore adultery, then he accepts that the settlement would be that he walks away with none of the assets, and a clean break where he is totally dependent on his own earning power. What's more he is responsible for half the maintenance and education of the boys until they are twenty-one or in full time employment, whichever comes first."
"Is that sort of agreement legal?"
"Possibly not, it would have to be proved in Court. But it was drawn up by the best divorce lawyers in London. If he wants to fight it he'll have to go to Court, and then he's going to have to find a good lawyer, and the best ones are colleagues of mine, and he'll need a very deep pocket for their fees. I reckon I'll get away with it."
"So Ken doesn't have very good prospects."
"I reckon he is down in Spain, in a house that is going to be sold over his head in a couple of months, trying to work out how he can preserve a decent way of life. He'll be a very worried man. I reckon that he'll be on state support within the year. And that feels very good!" she said with a satisfied smile.
"Surely, he's got nothing to lose if he fights it? He might as well try." I observed.
"So, I shall offer him a small bonus over the basic agreement. I'll let him off the bit about paying for the boys, I wouldn't want them dependent on him anyway. And then I'll offer him a small lump sum to settle. Just enough to last him three months say. He'll take it, he'll be desperate enough, especially if I threaten to take a long time to settle if he fights."
"You really have got this sorted out. No wonder you're a success in your job."
By now the waiter was back to clear the table and offer us the dessert menu. I chose apple pie, she chose nothing.
When I had my pie in front of me she went on with her plans "I'll sell the house here, although I am wondering whether I'll lease it out for the next year, and then sell it. I shall also sell the villa in Spain, especially if Ken can still be there when the agents turn up, just as a nasty surprise for him. I'll then buy myself something bigger in London, and get on with life."
"Well, it sounds as if you've got your act together. I suppose it was all a less of a shock to you." I said.
"But that's not the best bit, Tim. I've still got my revenge."
"Pushing Ken into poverty isn't enough? I would have thought that he would have got a message out of that." I observed.
"Oh, no. He knew all that was coming, or at least he knew that it was what he was risking. No, this is personal. I've had too many nights lying in an empty bed planning my revenge, and now is my moment." She paused for effect, and looked over the table at me.
"So what have you got planned? Does it involve rusty scissors.?" I said, slightly disturbed that Jean seemed to be enjoying this a little too much.
"Well, what is Ken's most precious possession? What gave him the most pride of ownership?" she asked.
"I don't know. I guess it can't be you, seeing how he's treated you. The boys?"
"No. He's fond of them, and he has been a good father. But they are young men now. They don't need him very much. Of course they are welcome to keep in touch if they want. But, no, they aren't his weak spot."
I admitted, "OK. I give up. I don't know."
"His Bentley!" she said, in triumph.
I paused to think about it, and yes, it was obvious. "I can imagine that. He's very proud of it."
"Well it doesn't interest me at all. But to Ken it was the height of his ambitions. He was a Bentley expert since he was a schoolboy. I bought that car for him for our tenth wedding anniversary, with some money a rich uncle had left me. It's a 1933 Mulliner body, built to specification for Lord Someone-or-Other. Its got lots of features that are unique, built especially for His Lordship. And another load that are first time fittings for Mulliner on any car. We've got all the documents and its history from the hand written specification onwards. Lord Whatever-his-name-was took delivery and then died in 1934. His widow used it a bit, but she led a very quite life at their country house. The ****** moth-balled it at the outbreak of war in 1939, and it didn't come out again until they used it for the Coronation in 1953. Then it was bought by a distant nephew in 1960, which is why he had access to all the ****** papers from His Lordship. He also started a log of every journey, every service, almost every time he cleaned the bloody thing, which we've got. I bought it for Ken from his estate. Apparently, it is a unique car, and Ken is so proud of it."
The more I thought about it, the more I did remember how much Ken loved that car. "I remember talking to him once when he had it out. He was like a new *** with his first born son. To be honest I went back to Beth and said he was a bit freaky about it. For the whole time we were talking I don't think he took his eyes off it, and he would keep gently polishing away some mark that he thought he saw, then he would stand back and spot another mark that wasn't there. He must be seriously pissed that he hasn't got it anymore."
"Oh Yes. I fully expect that he will try to get it back as part of a settlement. Fat chance. I have better plans for it."
"Tell me." I was intrigued.
"Well, I've found a video company, and I'm going to have a video properly made for Ken's entertainment. A director, two cameras, a cameraman and a sound man, proper editing, the works. And I've found Ken's favourite Bentley expert. He's a nice old fool, and very cheap to hire. So, I'll have a video of him bringing the car out of the garage, and going over it with a running commentary, singing its praises. Ken will be so proud. And then he can value it. I'm expecting somewhere between seventy-five and a hundred thousand. Then we'll have a little film of me, or you if you like, taking the expert back to the station in it, waving him off on the platform and all that. Then we'll take the car back to park it in the middle of the drive. And we'll have a big scene, of me pouring ten litres of strong paint-stripper all over it."
"Ughh!" was all I could say, thinking what damage that would do.
"And when that's finished bubbling away. We can have another big scene of me pouring twenty litres of petrol over it!"
"Oh, you wouldn't."
"Oh yes I would. With a close up of me striking the match. Think about it, Ken is facing poverty. And he sees me making a bonfire of one hundred thousand pounds, and its pride and joy car. I reckon it will reduce him to tears."
"I would think so!"
"Well we'll have some closing scenes of the truck coming to collect the wreck, taking it off and dropping it into a crusher. Did you know, you can hire the crusher in our local scrap yard for individual crushings? I haven't made my mind up yet as to whether I'll bother to send Ken the little cube of his crushed Bentley, just as a little keepsake."
She finished with a triumphant smile. I was stunned. Neither of us said anything for a while. The waiter came to clear the table and to bring our coffee.
Then I thought I had to mention the obvious fault in the plan, before she decided to do it for real. "Don't you think it would be rather a pity to destroy an important piece of motoring history, let alone so much money?"
"Well I can afford it, just this once, as a special treat. But, yes, destroying it is the bit I don't like. Personally, I don't give a damn about the car. But I guess it would be a bit naughty to deliberately destroy it. That's why I've come up with an alternative ending."
"Which is?" I asked, relieved.
"Well it will be a shorter film, but it will start exactly the same. The valuation and trip to the station and all that - the bits that Ken will like. But then it'll be me speaking straight to camera, and I've got to script it absolutely right, to lead him all the way up to the edge of the cliff before I push him over. It'll be about how the car is important. How I know it was Ken's pride and joy, but it is a remnant of a marriage that is over, and I've got to do something with it. Something where the car will be looked after, is in the hands of a safe and caring owner. So, maybe its time to make some reparation. All the sorts of phrases that will give him hope. Then I shall, on screen, transfer ownership to you, Tim."
I was struck dumb. Eventually, I managed "You can't."
Jean was smiling broadly. "Of course I can. It's my car and I can do what I like with it. And in my book, Ken took the most precious thing you had away from you, it's only fair that you get the most precious thing he had. I might use that phrase on film, it sums up the transaction rather nicely, I think, don't you?."
"No, you can't give me a hundred thousand pound car. And anyway, what would I want with a vintage Bentley. No! Jean. You can't. I'm sorry. It's a nice idea, but..."
"Oh yes I can. All I ask is that we have a contract that you will keep it for five years, long enough for Ken to give up hope. For those five years I'll pay for all servicing and insurance - I would've had to do that for Ken if we were together, so that's no skin off my nose." Again she smiled sweetly.
"But I don't want it. I wouldn't know what to do with it." I protested.
"Well, it's a simple choice. You can accept it. Or you can watch a bonfire. It's your choice, Tim."
She looked at me, and I knew she was serious.
"I guess you leave me no choice. Thank you."
"Cheer up. Enjoy it. It can add a certain panache to a day at the races or a country picnic. And it's not going to cost you a penny for the first five years."
"Well, all I can say is thank you."
"My pleasure. Eight years of living in doubt, with a dying marriage, I deserve a little revenge. And this is legal!" she was still smiling "I have to remember that, I'm a professional lawyer after all."
We sat in silence, looking at each other, Jean smiling triumphantly. But then I began to warm to her plans, I began to smile "Is there any chance I could do a piece to camera?"
"Yes, of course there is. What do you want to say?" she looked interested.
"Well I'd have to script it carefully, rather like you for your bit, but I was thinking along the lines of 'how I understand that the car truly belongs to him - Ken - but it won't matter if I use it for a while. It might be a bit of fun to use it in the afternoons, it'll probably be pleased that it's out being driven, nothing serious. It doesn't mean anything.' That sort of thing, plenty of innuendo."
"Oh, yes. I like it. Don't say anything you don't feel happy with, but along the lines of 'It'll be a good ride for the afternoon.' I know how Ken talks and thinks, I might even be able to find some phrases he's used about one of his women."
"I'm beginning to think this might be fun." I laughed, and leant across the table conspiratorially.
"I was going to have a scene of you just driving off into the sunset." Jean was inventing again "but how about that you drive a little carelessly, nothing serious, just enough to worry him. Or crash the gears..."
"And then I'll look to camera again, shrug my shoulders and say 'It's only a car, nothing important - like another man's wife!" I smiled across to Jean, who was laughing happily.
There was not a lot more to say after that. I asked when all of this was going to happen. Apparently not until after Ken had agreed to the divorce and the settlement. And, whatever the settlement was going to finally be, I was convinced that she would keep the Bentley out of it, and make sure that she never had to hand it over to Ken, just so as she could have her revenge on film.
As we parted, on the steps of the hotel, Jean turned to me, "The Bentley is not conditional on your relationship to Beth. But Tim, you're a nice guy. Please don't make my mistake. Don't think you can build a happy marriage with a cheater. She's done it once, she will probably do it again, and even if she doesn't, the marriage will die in that arid world of doubt and suspicion. My advice is to get rid of her and start again. It may seem hard, but I know, I've been there. Now, look after yourself and I'll be in touch."
We kissed and parted. I felt she was a bitter and unhappy woman, even if she was now taking her life into her own hands. I didn't want to end up like her. I must make the right decisions for my life, not let it drift into that 'arid world of doubt and suspicion' before it is too late.
I woke on Sunday morning thinking about Rose's gently pushing of my thoughts and boundaries. Had I, by accident, trapped Beth so that she couldn't confess her affair, even if she had wanted to? But she had denied it, surely she wasn't going to confess it suddenly, late on that Thursday evening. And why had she told me that she wasn't having an affair as she kissed me as she came to bed that night. But then, to be accurate, she had said she will never have an affair. That was in the future tense. So, maybe, at least her declaration that it was over was a truth. Is there some comfort in that?
I got out of bed. The sun was coming through the curtains. I opened them to find a glorious English summer's day. But then I noticed the Whitman's pool with its bright blue cover shouting in the sunlight, almost as if it was laughing at me.
I went into the bathroom. The corner of the towel rail seemed to be spotlighted. That's where Beth's little g-string bikini had been hung. What was the truth about that?
I had a shower, dressed and went down to the kitchen. There was still a very dead rose, sadly drooping sideways out of its vase, ready to fall on a piece of lilac notepaper with Beth's writing on it. Somehow it seemed symbolic, but equally it told me that I just can't go on living here surrounded by reminders. I decided that I was moving to Blindside, preferably next weekend.
Over breakfast I thought about phoning Beth and telling her of my decision. Warning her, I guess of something that could be interpreted as another step along the road to divorce. But, I didn't really fancy that conversation. So I phoned Phil instead.
"Hi, Tim. How's you?"
"Fine, I think. Are you and Denny OK?"
"Well I am, and Denny was fine when I left her."
"Oh. Where are you?"
"Walking across the car park at the surgery. What do you want, Tim?"
"Well I was hoping for a drink later. This evening?"
"Not a chance. We're out. Is it anything important?"
"No, not really. It's just that I've decided to move into that flat, and I was hoping I might talk it through with you, and work out how to tell Beth."
"Sorry I can't help you. Is lunchtime any good?"
"No. I've got a lunch with Jean, the wife of the infamous Ken."
"Oh. That could be interesting." He paused "Is there anything she's likely to know or tell you that might help?"
I hadn't even thought that Jean might know something that could change my view of Beth's behaviour. "I don't think so. I think it's just the two injured parties licking their wounds together. Anyway, if I am going to move, I'd be grateful if I could borrow your muscle power."
"Yes, sure, but isn't it only a couple of suitcases of clothes?"
"No, I think I'll be taking more than that. One of the things I've got to do is get Beth down here to agree the dividing of the spoils. I doubt whether that's going to be easy for either of us."
"No, I can image that. Glad its you and not me, but I guess that goes for this whole sorry saga." He sounded both sad and consolatory.
"So, are you around next weekend if I hire a small van. It should only be a couple of trips at the most." I asked.
"Sorry, Tim. But not next weekend."
"What you haven't got a couple of hours to spare for the whole weekend?"
"Nope. On Saturday I've got to do the Saturday surgery. In their wisdom, two senior partners have decided that it's OK for them to have their holidays at the same time. So we're pretty stretched. I'm on call all day 'til eight o'clock on Sunday morning. After surgery, I've got half an hour to get to my match, and when that finishes, I can't go to the drinks because I'm on call, and anyway I've got to come back here to check up on all the resident patients."
"So what about Sunday then. Don't tell me your going to be busy all day."
"Alright, I won't tell you. But we've got to go to lunch with Beth's parents."
"Pardon?"
"That's what I said. Apparently Mary invited us. I don't think she's interfering, or at least Denny doesn't seem to think so. She just wants to get to see us, being as we're being such good friends of Beth's in these difficult times. Something like that."
"Well. I'll count you out then."
"Sorry Tim. How about doing it one night in the week?"
"Well, it might come to that. I'll have a phone round and see if someone can give me a hand at the weekend. If I can't find anyone, then I'll give you a call."
We ended there. I sat and stared out of the window. Come on Tim, be decisive! I phoned Beth.
"Hi" she answered, somewhat neutrally I thought.
"Hi, Beth. Are you OK?"
"Oh, yes. I just wasn't expecting a call from you. Not that I haven't wanted you to call, it was just that I wasn't expecting..."
"It's OK Beth. I just wanted to phone you and warn you that I've definitely made my mind up. I'm going to move out."
There was silence at the other end. I wished I could see her face.
Eventually, she answered. "Do you really feel you've got to."
"Yes. I'm sorry Beth, but I do. At first, when this option came up I liked the idea because I just wanted to run away. But it's not like that now. It's just that this house represents so much of what we used to have, what we achieved, and I am beginning to accept that we can never have it again. It just hurts me to live here."
"I'm sorry Tim."
"Yes, well..." I didn't know what to say. "Look, Beth. I do really want you to come over one evening this week so that you can see what I'm thinking of taking."
"Oh, Tim, I've no right to demand that you leave anything that you want. I don't need to do that. But I would like to see you, perhaps to talk about something else, anything that is safe territory."
"Well, there you are then. I can't do Monday or Tuesday, but any night after that." I pushed for agreement.
"Well how about Thursday then. I'll come over at eight o'clock. Perhaps I could bring something for us to eat?"
"Yes, why not. That would be good. I'll see you on Thursday then."
"Well, look after yourself. I'll look forward to Thursday." She was almost whispering, but plaintively.
"Do give some thought to what you want to keep, I don't want to take something that is important to you, Beth."
"Oh, its all important to me, Tim. But you can take whatever you want."
This conversation was drifting out of hand. I wasn't sure whether it was like a Noel Coward play, it was all going on under the actual words, or like a teenage lovers call, neither wanting to say goodbye. That would take someone more independent than me to decide. In the end, it was Beth that managed to bring the conversation to an end. It left me with a feeling of so much unsaid, so much sadness.
I got myself a coffee, pulled myself together and threw away that dead rose and the sheet of notepaper, but I noticed that I didn't crumple it up, I just laid it in the bin - just in case I wanted to retrieve it later. Symbolism.
---
I found Jean in the bar of the Carlton Hotel, she was sitting at a table in the corner by herself, with an untouched drink in front of her. I went over and kissed her on both cheeks, and sat down. We were just getting through the opening pleasantries when a waiter came over for my drinks order and to leave two menu's on the table in front of us.
"So, Tim, how have you really been?" She asked, implying that my earlier reply had been pure politeness, which it was.
"OK, I suppose. It all takes some getting used to. Beth is living with her parents, and I'm still at the house, but I've found a flat and I shall be moving there very soon."
"So you and Beth are splitting up then?"
"Yes. I can't see a way back. I assume you and Ken are going to divorce?" I asked, but immediately regretted it. That isn't the sort of question I should be asking, what if they were reconciled and happy. So I quickly added "From what you said that morning, I assume that's what you're doing."
"Yes, I'm putting everything in hand to get rid of the bastard. But I'll tell you about that later. I'm just so sorry that you and Beth are splitting up over this. You were the perfect couple and I hate to think that that little weasel has caused you all this pain. I should have chopped his balls off years ago. I suspect you're not the only husband who would have been protected"
The waiter brought me my gin and tonic and I took a leisurely sip. "One of the few things I clearly remember from that morning was you saying 'they're both adults'. It was as much her as him, I'm sure. He didn't **** her, or not serially anyway."
She looked at me. "Well Ken and myself haven't been happy for years, but I was quite jealous of what you and Beth had. I remember it made me cry for what I should have had once."
"Oh." I'm not sure what I was meant to say to that, so I asked the simple question "When was that then?"
"Oh, a couple of years ago now, not long after we moved in. I got back late one Friday with a large brief to read. So, after breakfast on the Saturday I thought the best thing to do was get it over and done with. I set up a chair in the garden, right next to the hedge to your place, and settled down to read. Then you and Beth came out and were wandering around, planning on how you were going to lay out your garden."
She stopped for a sip of her drink, so I interjected, "We had lots of those sessions. Planning the garden was one of the hardest bits. Certainly harder than actually doing it."
"Well," she continued "I just sat there listening to you two. And you had such a loving way of talking to each other. I guess my job makes me listen to witnesses, picking up nuances and use of words, but you two were so gentle with each other. One of you would tentatively put forward an idea, the other would quietly disregard it if they didn't like it or add something extra to it if they did, and then feed it back. It was a ballet of gentle words. It made me weep, because I don't think I ever got to that level of relationship with Ken, and I certainly wasn't going to then. It was something I was never going to have, that sort of complete relationship. And that made me sad then and it still does. But now it's worse, because it's all spoilt for you as well."
She looked up at me with wet eyes. Then she took a little lace handkerchief out of her handbag and dabbed the corner of her eyes. There was nothing I could say.
So a change of subject seemed a good idea. I picked up the menu and studied it, before announcing I was going for the traditional Sunday roast, carved from the trolley. Jean said that she thought that was a good idea. She signalled to the waiter and then gave her order, and ordering wine without even looking at the wine list, just a simple "And a bottle of your very best claret."
We didn't talk about personal issues again until we were sitting down with our roast beef in front of us. When Jean said, "Let me tell you about myself and Ken."
"Go on." I encouraged.
"Well, we've been married for twenty two years. To start with it was a good, not wonderful, but we were both very ambitious and we supported each other well. I think both of us were happy. I'm sure Ken played around a bit in those days, but he always came home and I managed to ignore it. I blocked it out. That was Ken, he liked to think of himself as God's gift to women, it was his little ego trip. I did quite well in my job, despite taking time out to have the boys. Ken was doing very well at the same time, although I always, year in year out, earned more than he did. But some years, only just. Ken did very well, he was in charge of the air fuels division of Masham Oils and on their main board. But, about ten years ago, there was an attempted takeover, and there had to be economies and Ken was an economy."
"I didn't realise that he had held such a senior executive position." I said.
"I'm surprised he didn't tell you. He told most people at the first possible opportunity."
"No, he was more noted for telling them about his Bentley."
"Ah, Yes! His Bentley." she paused, looking into space, but then continued, "Well, after that, he tried to set himself up as a consultant to the airlines, but it never took off, if that isn't a pun for that particular business. Most years it cost money, and my career and earnings were going from strength to strength. Despite all his talk, Ken was a kept man, and had been for the last ten years."
"Good heavens. I would never have guessed." I was genuinely surprised.
"Well, I didn't say anything, and Ken seemed to need the ego boost of being seen as a success. That's his weakness, he likes nice clothes, nice cars and a very expensive lifestyle."
"So what happened that ended you up where you are now?"
"Well, maybe it was his ego, maybe he did really love her, I don't know. But about eight years ago Ken had an affair, with a woman who worked for one of the airlines. When I found out, I threw him out. I was going to get a divorce. But he was so repentant, and the boys were eight and ten and they needed their father. So like a fool, I took him back."
"So that's why you weren't surprised that he'd done it again." I observed, as I added some horseradish sauce to my mouthful of beef.
"Oh, it's worse than that. About five years ago he had another affair. I had suspected him of having plenty of dalliances in between, but this one was so blatant. It was a neighbour, and their au-pair knew all about it. That's why we bought the house here, to get him away from her and London."
"Nasty. That must have been a pretty rough time for you, especially as it was the second time around. That's what I'm scared of." was all I could say.
"So, I threw him out again, and this time I served the divorce papers. Then he got pathetically desperate. Begging to come back. Of course it was a moments aberration, he was so sorry, never again, the whole works. Well, I thought about it, the boys were still in their middle teens. And somewhere I clung to the idea that we could recapture something we once had. But I wanted some guarantee that it would be for good, that there was some motive that would stop him from straying again. So, in the end, I had the guys at work draw up a pre-reconciliation agreement."
That was a new idea to me, "I've heard of pre-nuptial and divorce settlements, but not pre-reconciliation."
"Yes, well it is a bit odd ball. But in it he recognises that all the assets of the marriage were paid for by my earnings or my inheritances, and that he has no claim on any of them. In the event that he gives me a cause to divorce him through anymore adultery, then he accepts that the settlement would be that he walks away with none of the assets, and a clean break where he is totally dependent on his own earning power. What's more he is responsible for half the maintenance and education of the boys until they are twenty-one or in full time employment, whichever comes first."
"Is that sort of agreement legal?"
"Possibly not, it would have to be proved in Court. But it was drawn up by the best divorce lawyers in London. If he wants to fight it he'll have to go to Court, and then he's going to have to find a good lawyer, and the best ones are colleagues of mine, and he'll need a very deep pocket for their fees. I reckon I'll get away with it."
"So Ken doesn't have very good prospects."
"I reckon he is down in Spain, in a house that is going to be sold over his head in a couple of months, trying to work out how he can preserve a decent way of life. He'll be a very worried man. I reckon that he'll be on state support within the year. And that feels very good!" she said with a satisfied smile.
"Surely, he's got nothing to lose if he fights it? He might as well try." I observed.
"So, I shall offer him a small bonus over the basic agreement. I'll let him off the bit about paying for the boys, I wouldn't want them dependent on him anyway. And then I'll offer him a small lump sum to settle. Just enough to last him three months say. He'll take it, he'll be desperate enough, especially if I threaten to take a long time to settle if he fights."
"You really have got this sorted out. No wonder you're a success in your job."
By now the waiter was back to clear the table and offer us the dessert menu. I chose apple pie, she chose nothing.
When I had my pie in front of me she went on with her plans "I'll sell the house here, although I am wondering whether I'll lease it out for the next year, and then sell it. I shall also sell the villa in Spain, especially if Ken can still be there when the agents turn up, just as a nasty surprise for him. I'll then buy myself something bigger in London, and get on with life."
"Well, it sounds as if you've got your act together. I suppose it was all a less of a shock to you." I said.
"But that's not the best bit, Tim. I've still got my revenge."
"Pushing Ken into poverty isn't enough? I would have thought that he would have got a message out of that." I observed.
"Oh, no. He knew all that was coming, or at least he knew that it was what he was risking. No, this is personal. I've had too many nights lying in an empty bed planning my revenge, and now is my moment." She paused for effect, and looked over the table at me.
"So what have you got planned? Does it involve rusty scissors.?" I said, slightly disturbed that Jean seemed to be enjoying this a little too much.
"Well, what is Ken's most precious possession? What gave him the most pride of ownership?" she asked.
"I don't know. I guess it can't be you, seeing how he's treated you. The boys?"
"No. He's fond of them, and he has been a good father. But they are young men now. They don't need him very much. Of course they are welcome to keep in touch if they want. But, no, they aren't his weak spot."
I admitted, "OK. I give up. I don't know."
"His Bentley!" she said, in triumph.
I paused to think about it, and yes, it was obvious. "I can imagine that. He's very proud of it."
"Well it doesn't interest me at all. But to Ken it was the height of his ambitions. He was a Bentley expert since he was a schoolboy. I bought that car for him for our tenth wedding anniversary, with some money a rich uncle had left me. It's a 1933 Mulliner body, built to specification for Lord Someone-or-Other. Its got lots of features that are unique, built especially for His Lordship. And another load that are first time fittings for Mulliner on any car. We've got all the documents and its history from the hand written specification onwards. Lord Whatever-his-name-was took delivery and then died in 1934. His widow used it a bit, but she led a very quite life at their country house. The ****** moth-balled it at the outbreak of war in 1939, and it didn't come out again until they used it for the Coronation in 1953. Then it was bought by a distant nephew in 1960, which is why he had access to all the ****** papers from His Lordship. He also started a log of every journey, every service, almost every time he cleaned the bloody thing, which we've got. I bought it for Ken from his estate. Apparently, it is a unique car, and Ken is so proud of it."
The more I thought about it, the more I did remember how much Ken loved that car. "I remember talking to him once when he had it out. He was like a new *** with his first born son. To be honest I went back to Beth and said he was a bit freaky about it. For the whole time we were talking I don't think he took his eyes off it, and he would keep gently polishing away some mark that he thought he saw, then he would stand back and spot another mark that wasn't there. He must be seriously pissed that he hasn't got it anymore."
"Oh Yes. I fully expect that he will try to get it back as part of a settlement. Fat chance. I have better plans for it."
"Tell me." I was intrigued.
"Well, I've found a video company, and I'm going to have a video properly made for Ken's entertainment. A director, two cameras, a cameraman and a sound man, proper editing, the works. And I've found Ken's favourite Bentley expert. He's a nice old fool, and very cheap to hire. So, I'll have a video of him bringing the car out of the garage, and going over it with a running commentary, singing its praises. Ken will be so proud. And then he can value it. I'm expecting somewhere between seventy-five and a hundred thousand. Then we'll have a little film of me, or you if you like, taking the expert back to the station in it, waving him off on the platform and all that. Then we'll take the car back to park it in the middle of the drive. And we'll have a big scene, of me pouring ten litres of strong paint-stripper all over it."
"Ughh!" was all I could say, thinking what damage that would do.
"And when that's finished bubbling away. We can have another big scene of me pouring twenty litres of petrol over it!"
"Oh, you wouldn't."
"Oh yes I would. With a close up of me striking the match. Think about it, Ken is facing poverty. And he sees me making a bonfire of one hundred thousand pounds, and its pride and joy car. I reckon it will reduce him to tears."
"I would think so!"
"Well we'll have some closing scenes of the truck coming to collect the wreck, taking it off and dropping it into a crusher. Did you know, you can hire the crusher in our local scrap yard for individual crushings? I haven't made my mind up yet as to whether I'll bother to send Ken the little cube of his crushed Bentley, just as a little keepsake."
She finished with a triumphant smile. I was stunned. Neither of us said anything for a while. The waiter came to clear the table and to bring our coffee.
Then I thought I had to mention the obvious fault in the plan, before she decided to do it for real. "Don't you think it would be rather a pity to destroy an important piece of motoring history, let alone so much money?"
"Well I can afford it, just this once, as a special treat. But, yes, destroying it is the bit I don't like. Personally, I don't give a damn about the car. But I guess it would be a bit naughty to deliberately destroy it. That's why I've come up with an alternative ending."
"Which is?" I asked, relieved.
"Well it will be a shorter film, but it will start exactly the same. The valuation and trip to the station and all that - the bits that Ken will like. But then it'll be me speaking straight to camera, and I've got to script it absolutely right, to lead him all the way up to the edge of the cliff before I push him over. It'll be about how the car is important. How I know it was Ken's pride and joy, but it is a remnant of a marriage that is over, and I've got to do something with it. Something where the car will be looked after, is in the hands of a safe and caring owner. So, maybe its time to make some reparation. All the sorts of phrases that will give him hope. Then I shall, on screen, transfer ownership to you, Tim."
I was struck dumb. Eventually, I managed "You can't."
Jean was smiling broadly. "Of course I can. It's my car and I can do what I like with it. And in my book, Ken took the most precious thing you had away from you, it's only fair that you get the most precious thing he had. I might use that phrase on film, it sums up the transaction rather nicely, I think, don't you?."
"No, you can't give me a hundred thousand pound car. And anyway, what would I want with a vintage Bentley. No! Jean. You can't. I'm sorry. It's a nice idea, but..."
"Oh yes I can. All I ask is that we have a contract that you will keep it for five years, long enough for Ken to give up hope. For those five years I'll pay for all servicing and insurance - I would've had to do that for Ken if we were together, so that's no skin off my nose." Again she smiled sweetly.
"But I don't want it. I wouldn't know what to do with it." I protested.
"Well, it's a simple choice. You can accept it. Or you can watch a bonfire. It's your choice, Tim."
She looked at me, and I knew she was serious.
"I guess you leave me no choice. Thank you."
"Cheer up. Enjoy it. It can add a certain panache to a day at the races or a country picnic. And it's not going to cost you a penny for the first five years."
"Well, all I can say is thank you."
"My pleasure. Eight years of living in doubt, with a dying marriage, I deserve a little revenge. And this is legal!" she was still smiling "I have to remember that, I'm a professional lawyer after all."
We sat in silence, looking at each other, Jean smiling triumphantly. But then I began to warm to her plans, I began to smile "Is there any chance I could do a piece to camera?"
"Yes, of course there is. What do you want to say?" she looked interested.
"Well I'd have to script it carefully, rather like you for your bit, but I was thinking along the lines of 'how I understand that the car truly belongs to him - Ken - but it won't matter if I use it for a while. It might be a bit of fun to use it in the afternoons, it'll probably be pleased that it's out being driven, nothing serious. It doesn't mean anything.' That sort of thing, plenty of innuendo."
"Oh, yes. I like it. Don't say anything you don't feel happy with, but along the lines of 'It'll be a good ride for the afternoon.' I know how Ken talks and thinks, I might even be able to find some phrases he's used about one of his women."
"I'm beginning to think this might be fun." I laughed, and leant across the table conspiratorially.
"I was going to have a scene of you just driving off into the sunset." Jean was inventing again "but how about that you drive a little carelessly, nothing serious, just enough to worry him. Or crash the gears..."
"And then I'll look to camera again, shrug my shoulders and say 'It's only a car, nothing important - like another man's wife!" I smiled across to Jean, who was laughing happily.
There was not a lot more to say after that. I asked when all of this was going to happen. Apparently not until after Ken had agreed to the divorce and the settlement. And, whatever the settlement was going to finally be, I was convinced that she would keep the Bentley out of it, and make sure that she never had to hand it over to Ken, just so as she could have her revenge on film.
As we parted, on the steps of the hotel, Jean turned to me, "The Bentley is not conditional on your relationship to Beth. But Tim, you're a nice guy. Please don't make my mistake. Don't think you can build a happy marriage with a cheater. She's done it once, she will probably do it again, and even if she doesn't, the marriage will die in that arid world of doubt and suspicion. My advice is to get rid of her and start again. It may seem hard, but I know, I've been there. Now, look after yourself and I'll be in touch."
We kissed and parted. I felt she was a bitter and unhappy woman, even if she was now taking her life into her own hands. I didn't want to end up like her. I must make the right decisions for my life, not let it drift into that 'arid world of doubt and suspicion' before it is too late.
