Dubious Legacy by Mary Wesley Page A

with her own, cupping her breast more conclusively in his grasp. ‘Put the other one in your other hand,’ she said.
    Matthew complied. Antonia’s breasts were just the right size, he thought. He said, ‘Darling, I am so happy.’
    Antonia said, ‘Me too,’ turning her face sideways to kiss his neck. ‘You smell nice,’ she said.
    Across the lawn the cockatoo screeched again.
    ‘It sounds as though it’s screaming “cuckoo, cuckoo”,’ said Matthew.
    ‘You have a vivid imagination,’ said Antonia. ‘It screeches, that’s all.’ She leaned back against Matthew. ‘Look,’ she said. The cockatoo was scrambling slowly down the trunk of the tree; six feet from the ground it let itself drop. They watched it waddle and hop towards the house. ‘What a creepy present to give his wife,’ said Antonia. ‘It sort of glows in the dark.’
    ‘Henry tries his best,’ said Matthew.
    ‘Ho,’ said Antonia.
    ‘What d’you mean, ho?’
    ‘You should have heard what she told us about him.’
    Matthew said, ‘And what was that?’
    ‘The story of their marriage and courtship.’
    ‘I am courting you.’ Matthew was sick of Henry, sick of Henry’s wife. He kissed the back of Antonia’s neck, nuzzling under her hair.
    ‘Have you ever been to a brothel?’ Antonia asked.
    Matthew stiffened. ‘Certainly not. Why d’you ask?’
    ‘Have you seen Henry’s wife’s room? I think your friend Henry is a Bluebeard who keeps Margaret shut in there for his personal use, his—er—pleasure, when he feels like it.’
    Matthew, feeling that Henry would be with them until Antonia got him off her mind, said, ‘You’d better tell me what she told you. I’ve only met her once. She was pretty offensive.’
    ‘She seems to have plenty to be offensive about.’ Antonia snuggled against Matthew. ‘I am so glad I am marrying you,’ she said.
    ‘Oh, darling, darling, I am more than happy, I am—well, everything that’s wonderful.’
    ‘More than can be said for that poor woman up there in her private brothel—’
    ‘Oh, God,’ said Matthew, sitting up straight. ‘This is a unique occasion between you and me. Do we have to include the Tillotsons?’ His mind went back to Antonia’s covert glances at supper, swift looks at Henry under her lashes between spoonfuls of soup. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘you had better tell me about Margaret; your visit to her seems to be preying on your mind. Get it off your chest.’
    ‘You seem to like my chest.’
    ‘Get cracking.’
    Antonia giggled. ‘Very well, I will. She was very rude at first. We nearly walked out. Then she told us how she has her room redecorated; she gets a firm down from London. It’s really weird. From that she started in on marriage, hers. Apparently she was married to some fiend who beat her, before she met Henry. She managed to divorce him and then, coming across Henry, she befriended him.’ In the dusk Matthew raised his eyebrows. ‘And Henry fell arse over tip in love with her—’
    ‘Where did you hear that expression?’ asked Matthew, displeased.
    ‘One of my brothers.’
    ‘Well, don’t use it. Go on.’
    ‘Ho,’ said Antonia.
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘All right. Well, Henry pestered her and pestered her to marry him and she finally gave in. He brought her here and expected her to like horses and so on. He never lets her buy clothes, only nightdresses. She exists by ordering things by mail. The room is full of catalogues. Her only amusement is having her room redecorated; she’s got pretty awful taste, poor thing. She even paints her nails gold; the whole room is gold. She asked me to paint her nails. I jibbed at that. She never sees anybody apart from the daily lady and Pilar and Ebro and Trask.’
    ‘Does she read?’
    ‘I didn’t see any books. She has a radio. Honestly, Matthew, it’s the cruellest set-up I’ve ever heard of.’
    ‘She has bed and board,’ said Matthew, ‘and a husband.’
    ‘A husband who presumably comes in when he