Cushing's Crusade by Tim Jeal Page A

affably, ‘and stinking hellebores, deadly nightshade and numerous toadstools, not to mention a wide variety of poisonous fungi, roots and berries.’ Charles was studying his expensive, well-polished shoes, Diana was clutching the arms of her chair. Derek looked at them both with something approaching satisfaction. It came to him that Charles might like to hear about his anal affliction; people did not talk about things like that. Diseases and infections had definite categories of acceptability; some were even glamorous, but piles were undoubtedly unmentionable: a sign of senility, an affliction as graceless as bad breath. His tone was confidential and hushed as he continued, ‘I don’t know if Diana told you but most of my bad behaviour has a fundamental cause. My bowels hurt me. I’m suffering from piles; she’s absolutely right, I ought to belt up but my piles make me irrational.’
    ‘I’ve heard it can be bloody painful,’ Charles replied.
    ‘Bloody’s the word, not much more than a teaspoonful with eachmovement—lovely the way they talk about moving the bowels, like moving mountains or moving house. Evacuation’s not much better, although it does sound rather noble, a monumental movement or even movements.’
    Diana got up and walked out of the room.
    After a pause Charles said quietly, ‘Do you often annoy her like that?’
    ‘Hardly ever. I usually get down on my knees rather than irritate her. Didn’t she ever tell you, I’m a case of chronic acquiescence ? It’s unconditional surrender every day of the week in Abercorn Mansions.’
    ‘What happened today?’
    ‘She hasn’t got a headache.’
    ‘She says she has,’ replied Charles, unable to hide his confusion , which increased when Derek started to laugh. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t get it.’ Charles’s mystification was giving way to irritation.
    ‘Maybe that’s just as well. Just a little joke of mine, something personal.’ Derek got up and held out a hand to Charles. ‘You mustn’t let me keep you. You’re a busy man and unless I go and take my beating soon, Diana may burst a blood vessel.’ He paused and stared hard at Charles, who was now looking at him with concern. ‘Charles, I’ve been thinking about Cornwall; to be precise I’m still thinking about Cornwall. I’ve come to no decision yet but I may do, if you get my drift.’
    ‘Well, give me a ring when you have.’ Charles walked to the door, the same look of concern on his face. ‘Are you all right? It sounds a bit funny asking but …’
    ‘Are you as mad as a hatter?’
    ‘I was going to say worried.’
    ‘Anything on the mind?’
    ‘Is there?’ put in Charles.
    ‘Nothing a lobotomy wouldn’t cure,’ he replied feeling a sudden surge of anger; wanting to take Charles by the throat and shake him. Instead he opened the door and said with forced calmness, ‘Let me know when you’re going to Burnt Oak again. Pure luck I came back early today. I wouldn’t want to miss you.’
    As soon as Charles had gone, all Derek’s sense of mastery andcontrol left him with the same speed that it took his nervous energy to drain away. He had intended to be charming, affectionate and guileless; the ideal husband whose simple goodness wins back an erring wife. Instead he had given way to obtuseness and a display of facetious malevolence that amazed him in retrospect. A few more efforts like it and she would leave him. He paused in the corridor outside the bedroom door.
    Humility, diffidence, even self-contempt would all be needed, coupled with acceptance of each and every criticism she threw at him, however unreasonable. Derek tried to imagine that he had committed a terrible crime: something in the order of infanticide. How would he confront the parents? That was the required attitude . Forgive me, for I knew not what I did.
    Diana was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling when Derek came in and closed the door behind him. Derek put down her refusal to notice his entrance