“What?…You mean, say hello to those dogs?”
“Yes. Come on, just say hello.”
“Hello, Gervase. Hello, Candice.”
Melissa bent down and scratched their crowns with long nails. “Come on, babies, it’s Henderson. Keep talking, Henderson.”
Muttering greetings to the dogs he followed her through the hall.
Shortly before Beeby had offered him the New York job he had heard from Melissa. She wrote to tell him of her second divorce — from Mr Wax — and obliquely to let him know that bygones were bygones. By the time of his third letter — a one-sided correspondence had begun — he was able to tell her of his impending arrival in New York — the ‘astonishing coincidence’ that would bring them together again.
He had taken it, of course, as another sign, another portent and blessing on the enterprise. His memories revived and amplified themselves: a new print was made of his year of marriage. The reunion, and the several dinners afterwards had been warm, pleasingly coy, maturely reflective. Mentally, the way had already been prepared: it seemed entirely natural that they should seek to recapture their former happiness together. There had been no swooning revelation, no ardent campaign on either side. Their first kiss had a dreamy predictability about it to Henderson; he had been rehearsing it for weeks. The hints about consolidating their reconciliation had followed soon after.
The trouble was, Henderson now realized, that he had allowed himself to be driven on too easily by his own lonely aspirations rather than by any realistic assessment of what it involved or of life’s many contingencies…He frowned and looked at her neat legs. For example, he had never remotely taken into account the possibility of an Irene emerging. Or of the fact that both he and Melissa were now different people. And Melissa had changed radically too, in some ways. The dark glossy brown hair had gone for a start. It was now blond, a streak job, shoulder length and held in place by fearsome mastic sprays. She was, if anything, slimmer, wore light expensive colours and was a little too heavily tanned. But the moral imperatives remained implacable, however. She had married Irving Wax a year after leaving Henderson. Wax was very big in concrete and an exceedingly rich man. She had divorced him the year previously. “He was fucking his secretary, Henderson. What could I do? Really, you men are impossible.”
He could recall her tone of voice exactly. No outrage, no indignation, just a calm logical assessment. Melissa’s strength was that she was one of those women who know exactly what they want from life and set about methodically acquiring it. There was an unruffled placidity and certainty at the basis of their natures, as if life and the world were somehow in their debt…When Henderson thought about his relationship with Melissa he sometimes asked himself if it had been not so much love and affection that had drawn him towards her, but envy. Envy’s role in human emotional affairs was seriously undervalued, he considered. The people we fall in love with are very often people we envy. Marry them, become close to them, and that poisonous resentment becomes easier to live with, easier to handle…How did that poem go? “Tight-fisted as a peasant, eating love.” In that regard, he thought, enviously following Melissa into the drawing room, he hadn’t changed that much at all, and Melissa too was as alluringly confident and sure of herself as ever — with the deep tranquillity of an abbess.
The drawing room was the same colour as Melissa’s clothes: blond, beige and cream. She was completely camouflaged in it. Once, he looked round from pouring a drink and thought she had disappeared — but she had only moved in front of the curtains.
A twelve-year-old boy sat in front of a television set. He didn’t acknowledge them as they came in. Irving Wax jnr.
“Irving, it’s Henderson. And switch that off.”
“Hi,” the boy glanced round. His mouth was a canteen of orthodontic braces, the first acne clusters were evident on his chin. In general the pubertal cocktail currently being shaken up inside him coarsened his features, making him look awkward, slightly subnormal.
“Hello, Irv,” Henderson said jovially.
“Where’s Bryant?” Melissa asked.
“I’m here.”
Henderson looked round. Bryant was a tall thin pretty girl with short wild fair hair. Small breasts barely denting her baggy T — shirt, very old jeans, training shoes. He had only ever seen her looking bored or sulky.
“Happy birthday,” Henderson said and handed her the envelope that contained her present.
“What’s this?”
“Open it, Bry,” Melissa said.
She did. “Life membership,” she read slowly. “Friend of the Frick? What do I do with this?”
“Aw, Henderson. How thoughtful.”
“Yes. I thought—”
“Say thank you, little missie.”
“Yeah, but what can I do with it?”
“Well. Ah…” Melissa looked at Henderson for help.
“You can go to the Frick free, for a start. For the rest of your life.”
“What’s the Frick?”
“For Prick’s sake,” snorted Irving Wax.
“I’ll take you, baby,” Melissa said. She mouthed ‘thank you’ at Henderson and pouted a kiss in his direction. Henderson stiffened. Despite the guilt he felt, he still wanted desperately to go to bed with Melissa. He called into mind memories of Oxford, all those years ago, and tried to ignore the ungrateful way Bryant tossed her membership card on the coffee table.
Henderson opened a bottle of champagne. They toasted Bryant’s health and congratulated her on reaching the age of fourteen. She didn’t really look fourteen, Henderson thought. If he hadn’t known better he would have said twenty-two.
He sat beside Melissa on a long suede couch while a Philipino maid distributed birthday cake. Then they had coffee and Melissa lit a very long cigarette. Bryant’s request for one was turned down. She was allowed two a day and had already exceeded her quota. Henderson was vaguely shocked at this. Eventually the kids wandered out.
Henderson kissed Melissa gently on the lips. He tasted lipstick and tobacco.
“Love you, darling,” Melissa said absently.
“Me too…That is, I love you too.”
Henderson put his hand on her thigh and kneaded it gently. Melissa combed the hair above his left ear with her long nails. Henderson realized he was smiling and frowning at the same time. No wonder: he felt at this moment greatly attracted to Melissa, and wanted keenly to remarry her, and yet simultaneously was planning a dirty weekend with Irene. Once again he was dismayed at the ease with which he fell into and coped with duplicity. Was this, he wondered, something that was basically — seriously — wrong with him, or did everybody behave the same? Perhaps it was the only response possible to the generosity of America: here you could have your cake and eat it too…It was a very un-English notion, that, he reflected. We disapprove strongly of that sort of attitude.
“Melissa, darling,” he said carefully. “I’ve got to go away tomorrow for a few days. Business.”
“Oh? Where?”
Don’t give away too many clues, he thought.
“Um, near Washington. Still waiting for details.”
“Washington? But that’s wonderful.”
“It is?”
“Of course. You can go with Bryant. She’s going to stay with Mom and Daddy Wax. Flying tomorrow.”
“Ah. Shame. I’m driving, you see.”
“Henderson! Take the train as a last resort. Nobody drives to Washington.” Melissa laughed delightedly at this eccentricity.
“I do. I mean, you know how I hate flying.” Something in his mind seemed to flail around, like a snake pinioned at the neck.
“Well, look, OK. So much the better then. You must drive down with Bryant.” Melissa put her hand on Henderson’s thigh. “Think how you’ll be able to get to know each other.” She prattled on. To Henderson’s eyes the room seemed to darken with foreboding. His frail excuses and blocking tactics were swept aside as new, plans were made and schedules altered. He began to feel sick and frightened.