Angell, Pearl and Little God

  So he went on. This isn’t quite true, Pearl said to herself; I mean, it may be all true what he says, but there’s something not true in the way he says it. Has he seen all these things or has he heard some of them? He’s talking to impress. This is a gayer, sort of younger, more disarming Wilfred than the kind, selfish, pompous, stout gentleman I married. Is he talking to impress Mr Portugal or is he talking to impress me? A braver Wilfred. But anybody less brave than Wilfred … that time I had a sore throat, he kept away from me as if he was certain it was diphtheria. He can’t bear sickness. He’s afraid of death (that aeroplane). The thought of pain … Is it all something to do with the war? Did he have some terrible experience that he won’t talk about? And yet and yet … He seems to be putting it on, not playing it down. Why does he suddenly want to appear brave? Is it something between us, something that’s happened?

  I think he’s going to want me tonight. That glance as we got in the car. Quite hot for him. So tonight these heavy uncertain inconclusive caresses. Gentlemanly perhaps even in love. And by coming with him today I had to miss the caresses of the most ungentlemanly man I know. Not that Godfrey is clumsy or – or violent at the wrong time now. Perhaps he’s learned something. But he’s wickedly, overwhelmingly expert. Submitting, one knows. Already he seems to know everything about me, every weakness, vulnerability, response. So it isn’t really submission any longer – or it doesn’t seem so at the time. Soon he’ll be as much mine as I’m his. Bad for his training; he doesn’t seem to care. Should I? Cock-sure Godfrey, confident of always being Little God, playing Little God to women. Vital, conquesting; after all the resistance I went down; he must have felt all the time that I should.

  Perhaps if I’d been honester, fallen easier and earlier, we should not now all be in this mess. What sort of wife shall I make tonight? This will be the submission, now, to Wilfred. The other is partnership. Wild, lustful, seeking, greedy, sweet, sweaty, trance-making. Deeps. Deeps within myself, I go giddy and fall. Godfrey was right, I didn’t know. I didn’t know myself. With Wilfred I never should have.

  I am fond of Wilfred still; I like his weakness, I’m grateful to him and sorry for him. But I should never have encouraged him in love.

  I don’t know myself and I no longer think. Except to think that I am lost.

  BOOK TWO

  Chapter One

  Flora Vosper came home on the 1st November. She was very weak and only able to sit up for a couple of hours a day, so Miriam engaged a nurse to look after her. But Flora still wanted Godfrey’s attention more than anyone else’s, and after three days of friction the nurse left. This satisfied Flora who said she was quite capable of looking after herself when Godfrey wasn’t in; it didn’t suit Godfrey who was training for three hours every morning and wanted an occasional afternoon off to visit Pearl. They quarrelled often, Godfrey and Lady Vosper, and shouted at each other like fishwives, but most of the time there was no one else in the flat to hear, and it was a surface abuse that did not go very deep on either side. They both laughed as easily as they cursed, and often after they had hurled obscene insults at each other – with Flora the more inventive – Godfrey would sit on the bed beside her and coax her to eat something, or hold her head later while she retched.

  Flora’s return made dates with Pearl far more difficult. While Flora was in hospital Pearl could slip over to Wilton Crescent on Wilfred’s two bridge nights and they could be absolutely safe. The worst that could happen if Wilfred came home early would be that he found she had gone out. Each time she wrote a little note and then got back in time to destroy it. But no such easy meeting now. Flora was in the flat all the time. Twice Godfrey had slipped over to Cadogan Mews in the afternoon; but this carried some risk not only of discovery but of gossip. Wilfred did not seem to be on more than nodding terms with even his closest neighbours, but who knew when one would not perhaps consider it her public duty to send an anonymous note about the young man who came at two and left at five?

  They talked of taking a room somewhere, but with the next fight looming and Flora always demanding, Godfrey had no time to prospect for one, and Pearl had not the hardness of face.

  In their after-love conversation there was never any mention on either side of the bigger issues involved. If Wilfred did find out and divorced her, would she want to marry Godfrey? More to the point, would Godfrey want to marry her? Their talk, in fact, seldom got off the ground. It floated around the trivialities of their own immediate existence and the nearest it came to being airborne was when Godfrey talked about his own future. Sometimes he would tell her about his life in the orphanage and his early days as a fighter, but he was no story teller and she had to fill in from her imagination.

  She was herself too sunk in the depth of her first love affair to think clearly or to reason closely. She wasn’t even quite sure that it was a love affair, as she had previously understood the words. In fighting against Godfrey in those early days she had been fighting something in herself.

  As for Godfrey, he still crowed like a cockerel over his capture; but events were crowding in on him that made his enjoyment of her just that bit edgy. Flora’s grave illness was irritating and a bit of a bind on his good spirits. He told himself that if the old cow died it wasn’t his concern. But somehow he’d got saddled with her and while he would have thrown over without a thought any young woman who became a drag, he didn’t quite come to the point of throwing over Flora. He comforted himself with the presents she constantly gave him; but in fact he knew these were chicken-feed to what he might be earning at boxing in a year or two if things went right, and it was vitally important to him that things should go right just now.

  One morning Pat Prince kept at him about his footwork. ‘Look, lad, you can’t go for a right cross like you’re doing now, that’s if you want to keep out of trouble. You got to get your left foot forward when you throw the punch, else you’ll be off balance, and you know where that’ll land you.’

  ‘I done it dozens of times, Pat,’ Godfrey said tetchily. ‘ Look, you make it all sound like a flaming parade of tin soldiers. I’m too quick. I’m in and out and the balance takes care of itself.’

  ‘I know, I know, you’re a natural, we get the message. You’re quick, granted, but the other bloke can be quick too, and your left leg doesn’t come with the punch. If you miss—’

  ‘I don’t miss with that punch. I save it up.’

  ‘All right, all right, big head, but don’t forget you’re going up the ladder and you’re going to meet little fellers just as clever as you are. Let that other little feller just get his head out of the way by half an inch and you’re a sitting target. Boing! The bridge you’ve made with your left hand isn’t there any more, and he’ll put you on your backside as sure as my name’s Prince.’

  ‘I can take care of myself, I tell you! The first time you see me on my backside’ll be time to start nagging!’

  Nose squashed flat between the pursed, narrowed eyes, Prince peered at him angrily. ‘Look, lad, Jude don’t like big-mouths in his stable! You come here to learn and I was told to learn you. I’m paid to learn you! If you don’t like it you can bloody lump it, but so long as you’re in this ring you listen to what I say!’

  The next time Godfrey saw Jude Davis, Davis said: ‘What’s this I heard about you rowing with Pat?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing. But he nags like an old woman. I’ve got a natural style and he’s trying to break it up.’

  ‘He knows more than you’ll ever know, Godfrey, I can tell you that. When you joined me you said you wanted to go places.’

  ‘Well, have I let you down yet?’

  ‘No, but it’s early days. Goodfellow’s a counter-puncher, wins all his fights that way. Your attacking style is just what he feeds on. Pat doesn’t want you on the floor in the first round.’

  ‘Nobody’s ever had me on the floor in any round.’

  ‘There’s got to be a first time for everything. You’re getting too uppish on too little, lad. And sl
ack. You’re not in top condition. I saw you this morning.’

  ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry your head about that.’

  ‘I’m not worrying my head. It’s you that’s got to worry if you let things slide.’

  ‘I’ll lay you a fiver I finish Goodfellow inside the distance.’

  ‘I’m not one for laying side stakes with my own boys. But there’s plenty’ll take you on. Don’t think yourself into thinking you’re the favourite.’

  On the 12th November, Angell had lunch with Francis Hone.

  ‘I persuaded Hollis to ring him yesterday,’ said Angell, ‘just to check that the documents had arrived. He was playing a golf match in Lausanne. His wife confirmed that he had received them safely. Beyond that nothing, no comment, no apology.’

  ‘All these delays,’ said Hone. ‘It’s infuriating. The fellow’s been so damned dilatory, all through. D’you think there’s anything behind it?’

  Angell refused butter. ‘I wouldn’t think so. He’s dilatory by nature; this is his reputation. After all, it’s an aristocratic trait. Certainly I cannot see that there is anything more for him to hesitate over. He long ago agreed the broad outline of the deal.’

  ‘If you don’t hear tomorrow you’d better go over, see what’s holding him up, and stay until it’s signed and bring the agreement back.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that. Once negotiations have begun, it is unethical of me to approach him except through his own solicitor.’

  Francis Hone stared at his fish as if it were a dissatisfied shareholder. ‘ Parliament reassembles tomorrow. From that moment the news may break at any time. I estimate that there’s half a million pounds profit for us in this deal. It would be a disappointment to see it all fall through.’

  ‘No one would be more disappointed than I would.’ Angell took a bite of his unembellished sirloin steak. ‘But it’s completely against the canons of a solicitor’s rules of behaviour to approach another solicitor’s client.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you these days, Wilfred? You’re eating nothing. You don’t look nearly as well as you used to.’

  ‘I’m extremely well, thank you, Francis. Never felt better. But I was overweight for my time of life. I have simply been reducing.’

  ‘Is it to please your wife?’

  ‘It’s to please myself.’

  They ate in silence for a while. Francis Hone’s well shaven, well lotioned, carefully conditioned, iron-hard face, could have come off a Roman coin.

  ‘It seems a pity.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘To jeopardize this agreement with Vosper for the sake of an ethical scruple. It shows a lack of judgment on your part that I fancy you wouldn’t have shown six months ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry that I ever gave you the impression of a lack of scruple, Francis.’

  ‘No, no, my dear chap, you misunderstand me. I never said that. I am trying to point out what seems to me to be a lack of judgment on your part which results in an excess of scruple.’

  ‘I don’t understand you.’

  ‘I can hardly make it more plain. We are trying to pull off a successful business deal. In order to do so we have – to put it bluntly – withheld information from Lord Vosper which, were he in possession of it, would almost certainly cause him to call the deal off. This is good business. No more and no less. He will do very well out of the deal, even if not as well as he would if the deal did not go through. But if the vexed problem of ethics is to be considered, it should have been considered there, at the very beginning, not at a later stage when the work of months is at stake!’

  ‘Broadly no doubt you are right. But …’ Angell stopped. ‘To put it crudely, since that is the way you wish to consider it, no one can ever know we were in possession of the facts about Flora Vosper’s illness. Nor of the intended development scheme for that matter. And if they did, a solicitor, unless he is dealing with a client, is not bound to disclose facts detrimental to his case. But in this later matter everyone – or everyone in the firm of Hollis – would know that I had transgressed by going to see Lord Vosper now.’

  ‘And do you value the opinion of Hollis & Hollis so much?’

  ‘I value my reputation in the profession.’

  ‘More than the very large profit which is at stake?’

  Angell rubbed his hands across the looseness of his waistcoat. ‘Some things are done, Francis. Some are not done.’

  Hone grunted. ‘You are the only one who knows Vosper, otherwise I would send someone else … if I sent someone else, would you go with them?’

  ‘To see Vosper?’

  ‘Not necessarily. If Simon Portugal went, he could call at the house alone while you stayed in Geneva.’

  ‘What would be the purpose of my going?’

  ‘Portugal knows all about the deal, but if Vosper is quibbling on some legal point, he might not be able to satisfy him. He could tell Vosper that you were in Geneva and call you in – even persuade Vosper to call you in. Would that overcome your scruples?’

  ‘No. You see it would be my duty to inform Vosper that he should consult his own solicitor.’

  ‘But if Portugal went and found himself in some legal difficulty, he would presumably be free to consult you if you were in Geneva?’

  ‘Of course. He could consult me in any way he thought fit.’

  ‘Then go.’

  They looked at each other a moment, and Angell took another biscuit and an extra scoop of Stilton. One of the few compensations of fasting was that one savoured the precious mouthfuls even more.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning, if Hollis has received nothing by then.’

  ‘I only consent to go as Simon Portugal’s legal adviser. He must make the call on Vosper.’

  ‘I’ll fix it that he is able to go.’

  Angell picked up the last two crumbs and put them in his mouth. He had established his point and made his protest. That there might be encroachments on this strictly professional attitude when they got to Geneva he did not yet concede. But he knew Sir Francis Hone would expect him to concede something if the need arose.

  One could of course always hope that the need would not arise.

  ‘How long will you be away?’ Pearl asked.

  ‘If I go on the noon plane tomorrow I may well be back on Thursday evening. But it depends a little on the extent of the business I have to do.’

  ‘Is it the same business like in March when we first met?’

  ‘Similar, my dear. Similar. That’s a pretty skirt you’re wearing.’

  ‘Oh, d’you like it? I thought you might think it was too short.’

  ‘Well, yes, in a sense it is.’

  ‘Will you ring me if you can’t get back on Thursday?’

  ‘From Switzerland? The expense would hardly be justified. Do you mind being alone in the house?’

  ‘Oh, heavens, no. Not in the centre of London.’

  ‘In the centre of London one can be much more at risk than in the country.’

  ‘But one night. How shall I know if you’re not coming back Thursday?’

  ‘Well, perhaps I could wire you. Expect me for dinner unless you get a wire to the contrary. Are those those strange long stockings you’re wearing?’

  ‘Tights, yes.’

  ‘They seem to go on for ever.’

  ‘Well, not quite ever, Wilfred. Do you want a bag packed?’

  ‘Thank you. Just pyjamas and a change of shirt. I shall not be home for Christie’s sale on Thursday. I’ve put in a bid of £5000 for the Canaletto. You might—’

  ‘Good heavens! Can we possibly afford that? I thought—’

  ‘I put in the bid on my way home tonight on behalf of Francis Hone. I had intended to bid for him on Thursday. You might go, let me know how the bidding runs.’

  ‘All right. Have you the catalogue?’

  ‘On my desk. But take particular care not to catch the eye of the auctioneer. People have been known to buy things without intending t
o bid at all.’

  ‘That’s always the joke. I didn’t know it really happened.’

  Wilfred’s eyes had been following her round. ‘Do you know this will be the first night we have spent apart since our marriage?’

  ‘Is it? Yes, I suppose so. Well, we haven’t been married very long.’

  ‘Long enough perhaps to take a look in perspective. Do you – regret having married me, Pearl?’

  She was startled. ‘Why should I?’

  ‘I sometimes wonder. You’re so very much younger.’

  ‘Do you regret it?’

  Wilfred pushed back his hair and dabbed his forehead. ‘ That was not the point. But of course I do not. Much that I cared about aesthetically has found a new – a new outlet in married life. I didn’t expect that to happen.’

  ‘But why didn’t you – expect that to happen?’

  ‘Because for so many years I had thought aesthetic appreciation to be all.’

  ‘D’you mean all these years you didn’t ever even look at a woman?’

  He was still occasionally restive at her lack of subtlety. ‘Sometimes, of course. But you have not answered my question.’

  ‘I’ve forgotten what it was.’

  ‘Whether you regretted having married me.’

  There had been a change in him these past two weeks. He was less guarded, less patronizing, slightly less certain of himself, it seemed. Even this evidence of modesty was slightly out of character. She moved across and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘How could I? All this …’

  He fingered the hem of her skirt. ‘Good material. Silk? I never know. Very pretty anyhow. That aeroplane …’

  ‘What aeroplane?’

  ‘The one to Geneva in March. Has much to answer for.’