eating her solitary supper and regretted his selfishness. This wasn’t a good night for her to be alone. He telephoned and said: “I’m wondering, Frances, whether you would care for a game of chess.”
He could tell from the joyous rise in her voice that the suggestion had come as a relief. “Yes, I would, Gabriel. Do please come up. Yes, I’d love a game.”
Her dining table was still set when he arrived. She always ate with some formality even when alone, but he could see that the meal had been as simple as his own. The cheese board andthe fruit bowl were on the table and she had obviously had soup but nothing else. He could see, too, that she had been crying.
She said, smiling, trying to make her voice cheerful: “I’m so glad you’ve come up. It gives me an excuse to open a bottle of wine. It’s odd how much one dislikes drinking alone. I suppose it’s all those early warnings about solitary drinking being the beginning of the slide into alcoholism.”
She fetched a bottle of Château Margaux and he came forward to open it. They didn’t speak again until they were settled, glasses in hand, before the fire, when, looking into the flames, she said: “He should have been there. Gerard should have been there.”
“He doesn’t like funerals.”
“Oh Gabriel, who does? And it was awful, wasn’t it? Daddy’s cremation was bad enough but this was worse. That pathetic clergyman who did his best but who didn’t know her and didn’t know any of us, trying to sound sincere, praying to the God she didn’t believe in, talking about eternal life when she didn’t even have a life worth living here on earth.”
He said gently: “We can’t know that. We can’t be the judge of another’s happiness or unhappiness.”
“She wanted to die. Isn’t that evidence enough? At least Gerard came to Daddy’s funeral. He more or less had to, though, didn’t he? The crown prince saying farewell to the old king. It wouldn’t have looked good if he’d stayed away. After all, there were important people there, writers, publishers, the press, people he wanted to impress. There was no one important at today’s cremation, so he didn’t have to bother. But he ought to have come. After all, he killed her.”
Dauntsey said more firmly: “Frances, you mustn’t say that. There’s absolutely no evidence that anything Gerard did or said caused Sonia’s death. You know what she wrote in the suicidenote. If she had planned to kill herself because Gerard had sacked her I think she would have said so. The note was explicit. You must never say that outside this room. This kind of rumour can be deeply damaging. Promise me—it is important.”
“All right, I promise. I haven’t said it to anyone except you, but I’m not the only one at Innocent House who’s thinking it, and some are saying it. Kneeling there, in that awful chapel I was trying to pray, for Daddy, for her, for all of us. But it was all so meaningless, so futile. All I could think about was Gerard, Gerard who ought to have been sitting there in the front row with us, Gerard who was my lover, Gerard who isn’t my lover anymore. It’s so humiliating. I know now, of course, what it was all about. Gerard thought, ‘Poor Frances, twenty-nine and still a virgin. I must do something about that. Give her the experience of her life, show her what she’s missing.’ His good deed for the day. His good deed for three months, rather. I suppose I lasted longer than most. And the ending was so sordid, so messy. Isn’t it always? Gerard is very good at beginning a love affair, but he doesn’t know how to end it, not with any dignity. But then, nor do I. And I was deluded enough to think that I was different from his other women, that this time he was serious, in love, wanting commitment, marriage. I thought we would run Peverell Press together, live in Innocent House, bring up our children here, even change the name of the firm. I thought that would please him.
He could tell from the joyous rise in her voice that the suggestion had come as a relief. “Yes, I would, Gabriel. Do please come up. Yes, I’d love a game.”
Her dining table was still set when he arrived. She always ate with some formality even when alone, but he could see that the meal had been as simple as his own. The cheese board andthe fruit bowl were on the table and she had obviously had soup but nothing else. He could see, too, that she had been crying.
She said, smiling, trying to make her voice cheerful: “I’m so glad you’ve come up. It gives me an excuse to open a bottle of wine. It’s odd how much one dislikes drinking alone. I suppose it’s all those early warnings about solitary drinking being the beginning of the slide into alcoholism.”
She fetched a bottle of Château Margaux and he came forward to open it. They didn’t speak again until they were settled, glasses in hand, before the fire, when, looking into the flames, she said: “He should have been there. Gerard should have been there.”
“He doesn’t like funerals.”
“Oh Gabriel, who does? And it was awful, wasn’t it? Daddy’s cremation was bad enough but this was worse. That pathetic clergyman who did his best but who didn’t know her and didn’t know any of us, trying to sound sincere, praying to the God she didn’t believe in, talking about eternal life when she didn’t even have a life worth living here on earth.”
He said gently: “We can’t know that. We can’t be the judge of another’s happiness or unhappiness.”
“She wanted to die. Isn’t that evidence enough? At least Gerard came to Daddy’s funeral. He more or less had to, though, didn’t he? The crown prince saying farewell to the old king. It wouldn’t have looked good if he’d stayed away. After all, there were important people there, writers, publishers, the press, people he wanted to impress. There was no one important at today’s cremation, so he didn’t have to bother. But he ought to have come. After all, he killed her.”
Dauntsey said more firmly: “Frances, you mustn’t say that. There’s absolutely no evidence that anything Gerard did or said caused Sonia’s death. You know what she wrote in the suicidenote. If she had planned to kill herself because Gerard had sacked her I think she would have said so. The note was explicit. You must never say that outside this room. This kind of rumour can be deeply damaging. Promise me—it is important.”
“All right, I promise. I haven’t said it to anyone except you, but I’m not the only one at Innocent House who’s thinking it, and some are saying it. Kneeling there, in that awful chapel I was trying to pray, for Daddy, for her, for all of us. But it was all so meaningless, so futile. All I could think about was Gerard, Gerard who ought to have been sitting there in the front row with us, Gerard who was my lover, Gerard who isn’t my lover anymore. It’s so humiliating. I know now, of course, what it was all about. Gerard thought, ‘Poor Frances, twenty-nine and still a virgin. I must do something about that. Give her the experience of her life, show her what she’s missing.’ His good deed for the day. His good deed for three months, rather. I suppose I lasted longer than most. And the ending was so sordid, so messy. Isn’t it always? Gerard is very good at beginning a love affair, but he doesn’t know how to end it, not with any dignity. But then, nor do I. And I was deluded enough to think that I was different from his other women, that this time he was serious, in love, wanting commitment, marriage. I thought we would run Peverell Press together, live in Innocent House, bring up our children here, even change the name of the firm. I thought that would please him.
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