The Night of Wenceslas (4 page)

I blew out my cheeks and considered. Marriage, it was a fact, was a serious business, and Maura had many defects. She was too damned bossy for one thing. She looked on me as something less than heroic for another.

All in all, it seemed to me, I needed to give this more thought; which, in its turn, meant keeping the news to myself for a while. For the time being I had two hundred pounds to spend, less Ratface’s bite, and all the time in the world to decide what should be done with the remainder.

It was now getting on for two o’clock and people were strolling out to enjoy the river after their luncheon. I could not be bothered to eat and instead stayed slowly disposing of two further pints before the bar closed and I tooled gently back to town, listening with only mild interest to the noise from the gearbox. I thought I might buy Maminka a present, might run down to Bournemouth with it this evening; might even run down now.

At this point I recalled Cunliffe’s advice to pass the tidings through Imre, and pulled up at the first phone box to put through a call.

He came to the phone right away, and I said, ‘Hello, Uncle, it’s Nicolas. How are you?’ grinning to think of him standing there big and shapeless in his alpaca jacket, with the hairs of his nose waving in his powerful breath. He was a gentle, flabby, elephantine man.

‘Nicolas,’ he said breathily. ‘It is good to hear from you, my boy. How are things with you?’ His voice sounded a shade muted, as if he had just undersold another stamp. Well, there’d be enough for Imre, too, I thought with a wave of regard for the old boy, and I said cheerfully:

‘Couldn’t be better. I’ll tell you all about it. But first how’s Maminka?’

This was a mistake, but it had to be gone through. There was
never anything wrong with Maminka, but the old hypochondriac could usually find something; it gave him an added reason for living with her.

‘Well, my boy, I will tell you,’ he said confidentially, with a return to something like his usual form, ‘she is not so well today. There is a touch of fibrositis in the shoulder and I think she is starting a cold. I am keeping her in bed today.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Uncle. How is your own health?’ I said, blowing out my cheeks and nodding to the phone.

‘Me, me – you know how it is with me, Nicolas,’ he said, pleased, giving his little deprecatory laugh. ‘I need a new pair of lungs. Things are never quite right with me.’

‘I was thinking of running down to see you. I’ve got great news. Uncle Bela has died and left me all his money.’ This could have been expressed in other ways, and I was thinking of the words, when he said:

‘What is this? What is this you say? Just a minute, Nicolas. The door is open. I cannot hear very …’ He put the phone down and came back in a moment. ‘You say Bela …’ he said breathily. ‘What is this, Nicolas?’

‘I’m afraid Uncle Bela has died,’ I said. ‘He died on Wednesday after a heart attack. I heard from the lawyer today.’

‘Oh, this is bad,’ he said. I heard his noisy breathing for a few seconds. ‘It will distress her terribly.’

‘Yes,’ I said, somewhat irritably. ‘Not too good, is it? But I saw the lawyer today. It seems he left a considerable fortune. He left it to me.’

‘Well, this we knew he would do,’ he said. ‘It is no surprise. I do not know how to – I can’t tell her today, Nicolas. She is not well enough for such news today.’

‘Well, that’s rather the point. I hoped you would break the news to her before I got down.’

He breathed into the phone for a while. ‘Nicolas,’ he said at last, ‘I think it would be better if you didn’t come down this weekend. You understand, a shock like this, her only brother … I wouldn’t like to say …’

‘All right,’ I said, a little put out. ‘Uncle Bela left quite a lot of money.’

Of course. He was a rich man. You will tell me about it later. I must think what I should say.’

‘I hope Maminka’s not too upset about it.’

‘She is bound to be upset. She will be terribly distressed. I can’t prevent it.’

‘Well, I’ll call you in a couple of days.’

‘In two or three days, yes. Goodbye, Nicolas.’ He put the phone down before I did.

I got back into the car with a feeling of let-down. It seemed there was nobody I could tell about the money. The weight of the hundred and forty thousand pounds was suddenly heavy on me. The beer had left a sour taste.

I drove slowly back home, aware I shouldn’t be driving at all. By a stroke of luck, Mrs Nolan was not prowling in the hall. I went up to my room and fell on to the divan and was asleep immediately.

Only one other thing of note happened that day. I awoke at half past eight in the evening. Mrs Nolan had gone to the pictures and one of the lodgers was knocking on the door to call me to the phone. I took myself frowstily down the three flights. It was the man Jack had mentioned who was interested in buying the car. I told him rather shortly that it was not for sale, and hung up.

I didn’t take his name or number.

I called for Maura next morning, and watched her in my new role of scale-weigher. What I saw went solidly on the plus side. Nothing wrong there, I thought, as she hopped nimbly into the car. Her red hair was cut short. She was wearing a gaily coloured cotton frock and a shoulder bag. Her lopsided smile could take your breath away in that sedate Sunday-morning square.

She said, ‘Nicolas, I was so mean the other night. I’ve been depressed about it.’

I said, ‘Well,’ with a tremendous lift. ‘I’ve not been feeling so hot, either.’

‘Then let’s forget it and have a wonderful day, I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘What is it?’

Her lopsided smile came on briefly. ‘I’ll tell you later. Can we afford a run in the country?’

‘I’ve got a secret, too,’ I said, and dug into my wallet for the twenty-five pounds I had brought with me. ‘Look. I won it.’

‘Nicolas, you never did!’

‘At the dogs.’ I’d rehearsed this in the bathroom mirror, but it was coming out a bit too quickly.

‘Was this last night?’

‘Yes.’

‘You never told me you were going. You’ve never been before, Nicolas, you’re fibbing…’ A thought struck her and she looked at me, blinking quickly. ‘There wasn’t anything more about the Little Swine? You weren’t keeping anything back?’

‘No,’ I said irritably. It had started to go a bit funny.

‘Well, it’s wonderful anyway,’ she said. It didn’t sound so wonderful now. ‘Let’s have a picnic. We can buy food. I was dreaming about the country. I was dreaming about Ireland.’

So mat seemed all right again, and I shoved in the clutch and took off like a jet through Chiswick, through Datchet, through Taplow, and we sang like little larks, not knowing what would befall.

That was a perfect July day, the best of that wild summer.

We ate in a clearing in the woods beyond Cliveden and afterwards lay back and smoked. Maura said, ‘Nicolas.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve been thinking of going back to Ireland.’

‘I know. In August.’

‘I mean for good.’

I sat up and stared at her. ‘Why, for God’s sake?’

Her eyes, which had been closed, now opened, grey-green, and regarded me mournfully. ‘You know why, Nicolas.’

This could only be an obscure reference to the Little Swine, it seemed to me, and I bent to kiss her to obliterate the thought. She twisted away, lifting her fingertips to my face.

‘All my family are in Ireland,’ she said mournfully. ‘I’ve got nobody here.’

‘How about me?’

‘How about you?’

‘You know how I feel about you, Maura.’

‘I know you want to go to bed with me.’

‘Damn it,’ I said with fright. It was the first time she had said anything like that. ‘There’s more to it than that, Maura.’

‘What?’

‘I love you,’ I said, awkwardly. The scale-weighing, it seemed to me, was not going too scientifically.

‘I love you, too, Nicolas,’ she said. ‘But there doesn’t seem much chance of our ever being able to do much about it, does there? Oh, I can see,’ she said mournfully, beginning to enjoy it, ‘I can see it’s not going to be any use. You’ll be a lifelong poor relative. The Little Swine won’t do a thing unless you push him, and your uncle in Canada won’t either because you don’t show a spark of interest. I’ve tried hard to believe some miracle will happen to change you…’

‘Well, try a bit harder,’ I said, echoing Ratface, and suddenly invigorated by the recollection, took her head firmly in my hands. ‘Look, Maura, I’ve had more than enough of this conversation. The time has come to settle a few simple points, (a) My formative years are long past and nothing now is going to alter my character, (b) Changes of circumstance, of which there could be many, should not affect our relationship, viewed as a long-term proposition. If in your mind they do, well, you’re perfectly right – it’s no go. And now,’ I said, ‘let’s forget it.’

She wriggled her head round fast before I could get down to her. ‘Nicolas, what’s happened to you?’

‘You’ve happened to me,’ I said. She returned my kiss with
enthusiasm. Her eyes were lively and alert and sparkling when we drew apart.

‘If you knew how worried I’ve been,’ she said. ‘Is everything going to be all right now, Nicolas?’

‘Yes,’ I said reluctantly.

‘He agreed to your becoming a full partner?’

My mental defences had shaken themselves wearily into life like a big tired bulldog. ‘Well, it’s difficult to explain.’

‘All right,’ she said, lightly. ‘I’ve got no right to know.’

‘Maura, you have. I’m just not able to tell you at the moment. Believe me, Maura,’ I said, with a desperate attempt at her own line of dramatics, ‘I’ve thought about this and thought about it, and I know you’ve got a right to be told, but you’ve just got to trust me.’

‘No right at all,’ she said, but only the words were cold. Her eyes were warm and curious. ‘When will you be able to tell me?’

‘Soon,’ I said, wondering how the hell I’d placed myself in this insane position. The idea had been merely to keep from her for the moment the fact that there was now no bar or impediment to marrying her. She now understood (a) that I could, and (b) that her prompting to approach the Little Swine had paid off. The fact that the latter was untrue was not only irrelevant. It was damned inconvenient. My firm intention had been to see the Little Swine for just one further and rewarding session. I would now have to create a detailed day-to-day fantasy for her.

The prospect was so enervating that all thought of smooching swiftly dispersed. I lit a cigarette and lay down beside her. Our heads were together, but she did not say anything further. For a long time I could see her eyelashes from the corner of my eye, blinking rapidly and intelligently at the sky.

The next three days passed deliriously. I had a short, perfect interview with the Little Swine and with Miss Vosper, which was not so much a burning of boats as the entire disintegration
of a familiar shore. I had not meant to let it go so far as this; I was drunk with good fortune.

I ordered two new suits; bought one off the peg; three silk shirts, two pairs of shoes, three motor car tyres and a gear-box, and paid off Mrs Nolan. Her curiosity about the lawyer’s letter was now warm, and, anxious that she should not let drop anything to Maura on the telephone, I told her there was a legacy but that the legal situation was complicated by other claimants and that I had pledged myself to remain silent.

This rage of spending kept me busy during the day, and I saw Maura each evening. Our relationship had now developed a curious, somewhat uncertain, but not unpleasant character. She was quieter, rather quizzical, scrupulously uninquisitive. It was as though we were meeting for the first time. Titillated but uneasy, I felt myself compelled to invent complete and detailed days in the Little Swine’s service.

On the Wednesday I rang Imre again.

‘Nicolas, my boy,’ he said breathily, ‘you must be patient. I have not told her yet. She has not been at all well.’

‘Damn it, Uncle – I must see her.’

‘I know, my boy, I know,’ he said unhappily. ‘She has been asking why you have not been. Perhaps if you could leave your visit till the weekend.’

‘Well, if you think so,’ I said.

‘Say Saturday. It will give me more time. She is improving a little now. Saturday would be the best. We can have a little talk downstairs first.’

‘All right.’

‘Goodbye,’ he said abruptly. Maminka must have wandered into hearing.

‘Goodbye,’ I said, after the click, and nearly smashed the phone in fury.

It seemed to me that my mother would show a rather more rugged fortitude over Bela’s death than Imre gave her credit for; my interests came first with her. I felt safe, therefore, in taking her some rather grand present. With this in mind, I went up to my room and inspected the state of my finances.

I took out my wallet and emptied my pockets in a small pile on the divan and began counting. There were eight fivers, two one-pound notes and a handful of silver. I stared at it appalled. Over a hundred and forty quid gone in half a week. And I’d only paid a deposit on the two suits; that meant another eighty pounds to lay out. I wondered how I was going to explain this to little Cunliffe.

I found myself trying a few specimen interviews with him in my mind, and after a while I lit another cigarette and went downstairs to phone him. Mrs Nolan came out of her lair as I picked up the receiver, so I Dialled tim instead, checking ostentatiously with my watch, and went out to telephone from the public box farther up the street

Bunface put me through to Cunliffe right away.

‘Yes, Mr Whistler, what can I do for you?’

‘I was just wondering if you’d heard anything further.’ I caught my reflection smiling in a rather sickly fashion in the small round mirror.

‘Nothing at all. I am not expecting to for a while. Have you any particular problem?’

‘Not exactly a
problem
. I was wondering if we couldn’t arrange something a little more definite about money – perhaps a regular remittance.’

He didn’t say anything.

‘There might be one or two things I want to buy,’ I said, sweating. ‘It would be useful to know the money was available.’