a Seconal capsule, swilling it down with water from the bedside jug.
He hoped the fire wasn’t as straightforward as it appeared. He wanted there to be a startling explanation. Something that would surprise everyone. Impress them, too, when he revealed it.
8
Clarissa Willoughby stared over the dinner table at her husband, throat working with the approach of the predictable anger.
‘What do you mean, broke?’
‘Just that.’
The woman laughed, a disbelieving sound.
‘But we can’t be.’
For the last two years we’ve been continuously unlucky,’ said the underwriter. ‘It’s been nobody’s fault.’
‘It must be somebody’s fault,’ she insisted.
He shook his head, not wanting to argue with her but knowing it was practically unavoidable. It had been ridiculous to expect her understanding, because Clarissa had never understood anything, except perhaps the importance of the Dublin Horse Show compared to Cowes Week or what dress was right for the Royal Enclosure at Ascot but unsuitable for Henley.
‘It’s a combination of circumstances,’ he said inadequately. ‘Unless we can find something wrong with this ship fire, I can’t avoid going down.’
‘Going down?’
‘Bankrupt. And struck off the Exchange …’
‘Oh Christ!’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry!’ she mocked.
‘What else do you expect me to say?’
‘There must be something …?’
‘I’ve used all my own money.’
‘The banks, then …’
‘… won’t advance another penny.’
She thrust up from the table and began to move jerkily about the room. She was very beautiful, he thought. Spoiled and selfish and arrogant, but still very beautiful. And she wasn’t a hypocrite, either. She’d never once told him she loved him.
‘My friends will laugh at me,’ she protested.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘ Your friends probably will.’
He hadn’t meant to emphasise the word. She swung back to him.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ he said wearily.
‘Will your friends behave any better?’ she demanded. ‘Do you know anyone you can rely upon?’
Not a friend, accepted Willoughby. Just one man whom the underwriter felt he would never completely understand. He looked up at his wife. How would she react to Charlie Muffin? It would be a cruel experiment; for Clarissa, not Charlie.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Delay settlement as long as possible.’
‘Why?’
‘In the hope of there being some reason why we don’t have to pay out.’
‘Is that a possibility?’
He examined the question, slowly shaking his head.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘It doesn’t seem that it is, from what we know so far.’
‘So you’re just trying to put off the inevitable?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘Christ,’ she said again. ‘I can hardly believe it.’
She lit a cigarette, puffed nervously at it and then stabbed it out into an ashtray.
‘I’m still finding it difficult,’ he conceded.
‘I want to know, at least a week before,’ she declared.
‘Know what?’
‘When the announcement is going to be made about your bankruptcy … before all the fuss begins.’
‘Why?’ he asked sadly.
‘I would have thought that was obvious.’
‘Why, Clarissa?’ he insisted.
‘You surely don’t expect me to stay here, in London, among all the elbow-nudging and sniggering …?’
‘I’d hoped you might.’
‘You should know better than that.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Of course I should.’
‘What a mess,’ she said. ‘What a rotten, shitty mess.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is.’
She stopped at the table, staring down at him.
‘Is that all?’
‘All?’ he asked.
‘All you’re going to do? Sit around like a dog that’s been beaten once too often and just wait for the final kick?’
‘There’s nothing more I can do.’
‘What a man!’ she sneered.
‘I’ve said I’m sorry.’
‘How soon will you hear about the fire?’
‘I don’t know,’ he
He hoped the fire wasn’t as straightforward as it appeared. He wanted there to be a startling explanation. Something that would surprise everyone. Impress them, too, when he revealed it.
8
Clarissa Willoughby stared over the dinner table at her husband, throat working with the approach of the predictable anger.
‘What do you mean, broke?’
‘Just that.’
The woman laughed, a disbelieving sound.
‘But we can’t be.’
For the last two years we’ve been continuously unlucky,’ said the underwriter. ‘It’s been nobody’s fault.’
‘It must be somebody’s fault,’ she insisted.
He shook his head, not wanting to argue with her but knowing it was practically unavoidable. It had been ridiculous to expect her understanding, because Clarissa had never understood anything, except perhaps the importance of the Dublin Horse Show compared to Cowes Week or what dress was right for the Royal Enclosure at Ascot but unsuitable for Henley.
‘It’s a combination of circumstances,’ he said inadequately. ‘Unless we can find something wrong with this ship fire, I can’t avoid going down.’
‘Going down?’
‘Bankrupt. And struck off the Exchange …’
‘Oh Christ!’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry!’ she mocked.
‘What else do you expect me to say?’
‘There must be something …?’
‘I’ve used all my own money.’
‘The banks, then …’
‘… won’t advance another penny.’
She thrust up from the table and began to move jerkily about the room. She was very beautiful, he thought. Spoiled and selfish and arrogant, but still very beautiful. And she wasn’t a hypocrite, either. She’d never once told him she loved him.
‘My friends will laugh at me,’ she protested.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘ Your friends probably will.’
He hadn’t meant to emphasise the word. She swung back to him.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ he said wearily.
‘Will your friends behave any better?’ she demanded. ‘Do you know anyone you can rely upon?’
Not a friend, accepted Willoughby. Just one man whom the underwriter felt he would never completely understand. He looked up at his wife. How would she react to Charlie Muffin? It would be a cruel experiment; for Clarissa, not Charlie.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Delay settlement as long as possible.’
‘Why?’
‘In the hope of there being some reason why we don’t have to pay out.’
‘Is that a possibility?’
He examined the question, slowly shaking his head.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘It doesn’t seem that it is, from what we know so far.’
‘So you’re just trying to put off the inevitable?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘Christ,’ she said again. ‘I can hardly believe it.’
She lit a cigarette, puffed nervously at it and then stabbed it out into an ashtray.
‘I’m still finding it difficult,’ he conceded.
‘I want to know, at least a week before,’ she declared.
‘Know what?’
‘When the announcement is going to be made about your bankruptcy … before all the fuss begins.’
‘Why?’ he asked sadly.
‘I would have thought that was obvious.’
‘Why, Clarissa?’ he insisted.
‘You surely don’t expect me to stay here, in London, among all the elbow-nudging and sniggering …?’
‘I’d hoped you might.’
‘You should know better than that.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Of course I should.’
‘What a mess,’ she said. ‘What a rotten, shitty mess.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is.’
She stopped at the table, staring down at him.
‘Is that all?’
‘All?’ he asked.
‘All you’re going to do? Sit around like a dog that’s been beaten once too often and just wait for the final kick?’
‘There’s nothing more I can do.’
‘What a man!’ she sneered.
‘I’ve said I’m sorry.’
‘How soon will you hear about the fire?’
‘I don’t know,’ he
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