She shook in every finger. “God will never forgive you.”
“I’d die if He did.”
“I’m sure you only became a writer to get your revenge on me.”
“That would be a perfectly valid reason, though I hope I don’t insult you further by saying you flatter yourself.”
She wiped her long nose with a cambric handkerchief. “I know I treated you abominably as a child, Gilbert, and I’ve been sorry many a time since, but you’ve made our name a real cross to bear. I can’t think why life has treated the family so badly as to have someone in it who became a writer. We’ve always done our duty, and don’t deserve such a fate. And do take that silly revolver out of your hand.”
I’d forgotten picking it up. Luckily it wasn’t loaded, though I put the safety catch on in case. “I think you had better leave now, dear sister, or the Reverend George will have to live with a murder in the family.”
She took Mabel’s hand. “Come along, my dear. He’s irredeemable. I’ll allow you to show me to the street. But put your coat on, it’s somewhat chilly out.” She turned to me: “Do try to mend your ways, Gilbert, even if only for your sister, who loves you more than you deserve, or more than she can tell.”
I finished her coffee, and sat with head-in-hands, as she had known I would. Behind her raddled facade was an intricate imagination, and our bond was far stronger than mine with Mabel, because she was the sole female who had ever been in a position to knock me about. I was left either to consider giving up writing, or making her and my brother George the perverse characters of my next novel.
The visit stimulated me sufficiently to work nonstop till Mabel came back at half past three. I stood in the living room, pen in hand. “Now you can make my lunch.” Her cheeks were red, such vibrant happiness annoying me no end. “Then tell me where you’ve been these last five hours.”
“She really did take you to task, didn’t she? Gertrude’s a wonderful person. It’s been remiss of you not to have made me acquainted with her before. We got on so well, and understood each other perfectly. She told me about her thatched cottage at Upper Wallop, and said I must go there for a weekend, but I do wish she lived closer than Hampshire. We had coffee in Harvey Nicks, and she told me about her life as a matron during the War. She didn’t turn down the MBE, at any rate, though in spite of the differences between you it’s amazing how alike you are in many ways. She’s charming, though, and I’ve quite taken to her. It’s rather satisfying knowing someone who has the same opinions about you as myself. It was quite love at first sight, Gilbert, and I’m sure it was the same with her.”
I let her go on only because I couldn’t decide on the moment to give her the bang she knew she was asking for, and it was too late by the time she slipped into the kitchen to make me a meal, something I could hardly stop her from doing. I poured a brandy, and followed: “You weren’t only with her, all these hours.”
She took out a tin of potatoes, opened a packet of spinach, and laid a steak under the grill. “When I came back I met Kenilworth on his way to call for me. He stopped a taxi, and we had a delicious meal at an Italian restaurant in Soho. He’s rather a quiet and unassuming young man, yet told me all sorts of blood curdling stories, then said he had made them up only to amuse me. He’s chivalrous as well, because when he thought the waiter looked at me disrespectfully he got up and said something that made the poor man turn quite white. I felt cared for, Gilbert.”
“Put the potatoes on,” I said, “or the water will burn. I asked you to take the tape recorder, and you didn’t, but I expect your memory will be enough.”
“Well, I remember him saying that things weren’t going well with Lord Moggerhanger, because he has an adopted son call Malcolm, who everyone calls Parkhurst, after the prison. He’s always threatening to undermine his father’s business, and also to do him an injury. And then there’s something in the offing with a gang called the Green Toes. It sounds awfully exciting, a name like that. But I love Mr Dukes’ stories. They’re not really made up, I’m sure.”
She dropped the potatoes from a height that send a speck of boiling water onto my wrist, but I didn’t flinch. “All right, so what else?”
“He told me how much he loves his mother. What a charming close-knit family it must be. He wants to introduce me to her, saying we’d get on so well.”
I leaned across, alerted by the smell. “The meat’s on fire. Turn the gas off. What did you have for lunch?”
The sad meal she would set down for me inspired her to babble on: “Cannelloni, then a delicious escalope, everything so tender and just right. Kenilworth knew exactly what wine to ask for. I know I shouldn’t tell you this, Gilbert, but after several glasses of grappa he said that if ever he married it would be to someone like me. Wasn’t that sweet?”
“As I see matters, it’s between you becoming a lesbian with my sister, or turning into a gangster’s moll. Either would amuse me as a way of you going to hell.”
“I can’t say how serious he was, of course. I only imagine he was trying to appear a gentleman.”
“You must introduce him to Gertrude, but if you do, I’ll lock you in your room for three days.”
She put my school dinner on the table, and I was so hungry there was no option but to eat. “By the way, I’m meeting Ursula Major this evening at the Barbican, so maybe you’d care to put your ‘O’ Level in domestic science to further use by cleaning the flat while I’m away. Last time I went out with Ursula it was to hear Bleriot’s ‘The Trojans’, and before that it was Scribner’s ‘Sonata in F’. What it is tonight I won’t know till it’s finished. Mind you, the Barbican’s a concrete zigguratic nightmare, and I often get lost when I’m to meet somebody, so I’ll take a map and compass, although Ursula should be easy to find because her breasts stick out like a dead heat in a Zeppelin race. Apart from that I’ll no doubt spot the congregating Opera Goths with their large florid faces, wearing blazers and bow ties, and carrying their arrogance with a faint air of uncertainty. I’d rather go to Earwig Hall where the clientele is quieter, or to the Tate to throw eggs at the Bacon, but Ursula is very musical, therefore the Barbecue it will be. Pour yourself a glass of wine, my love, so that I can drink to you only.”
She did. Life was improving, till she said tremulously: “You’re not going to sleep with her tonight though, are you?”
I drew my head back to laugh. “No man has ever slept with Ursula, nor woman either, and I’m sure I shan’t be the first. But come along if you like. Don’t feel left out. You’ll be very gleesome in a threesome.”
She finished the wine, and poured more, either to blot herself out, as the only way to go on living with me, or to get me so half cut I wouldn’t be able to crawl down the stairs to meet Ursula, which I’d no intention of doing anyway. “You’re quite the most disgusting man I know,” she said. “How can you think I’d agree to anything so perverse?”
I’d got her on the raw, and knew that in her secret mind she was fired by the mechanism of a threesome. “But please don’t go to bed with Ursula,” she said. “After such an interesting day I’m feeling jealous.”
“Which remark tells me that sex is coming back into our relationship. I’ll only not make sport with Ursula if you continue what you were about to do before my ghastly sister rang the bell.”
She slid another glass of wine into her lovely throat, and looked at me with a very arch smile. “What was that?”
“Blaze satin stepping stones of your boarding school underthings to the bedroom, which I will endeavour to follow. Mind you, darling, the trail will go in zig-zags if you keep on keeping on at the wine like that. But when we get to bed, however you feel, you can get on top of me for a treat and pump like some demented and lascivious barmaid getting a last pint up from the cellar on a Saturday night after a football bus has drained the pub dry.”