‘Even against her husband?’
‘Even against her husband.’
There was no sign of Fin Butler’s car in the drive but the garage doors stood open and the heavy grille of Mary’s Range Rover was visible.
Cy pulled up outside the house, scattering gravel. Getting out of the car he walked slowly towards the shallow flight of steps that led to the door. It was already opening as he approached.
Mary Butler stood in the doorway. A dark blue dress set off a deep tan. Her smile, Cy noticed, was not unfriendly, but tentative, uncertain.
‘You didn’t let me know you were back,’ he said.
She opened the door wider for him to come in. He stopped in the hall beside her. ‘Come to think of it, you didn’t even let me know that you’d gone.’
Without answering she led the way into the sitting room.
‘It’s good to see you, Mary. I’ve missed you.’
She indicated the drinks table. ‘Help yourself, Cy.’
‘And for you?’
‘Nothing for me.’
She stood watching him as he poured whisky for himself. ‘I’d like to go on from here, Cy, as if nothing had ever happened between us,’ she said to his back.
He turned slowly, drink in hand. ‘That’s a pretty tall order, Mary. Something did happen between us. Turning back the pages, that’s something people find pretty difficult,’ he said carefully.
‘Being away has made it all a lot clearer.’ With a gesture of impatience at herself she crossed to the table and poured herself a drink. She was alarmed at how affected she found herself by his presence. His presence and those precise, sometimes exhilarating, memories of their past. In the South of France, three thousand miles away from him, she had seen it all differently. As a rather crude affaire. Josette Picard had been excited by the details, of course, those details she had been told. But then she was French. It was a way of life for women like her, living in Antibes. One night they had even allowed themselves to be picked up in a restaurant and had accepted an invitation on to a yacht. But Mary had balked at the last moment, with the Italian’s hand unzipping her dress. She had felt like a schoolgirl. Absurd, when she had set out to prove to herself that she could accept a lover other than Cy. The young Italian had been frightfully offended, especially when Josette was already moaning in ecstasy with her own young man on the other side of the wheelhouse.
The Italians were crew members, of course. As they escorted them back to shore, Josette’s young man had even intimated to her that he was not averse to being paid. The one pleasurable moment for Mary in a disastrous evening.
Cy was smiling as if he were shadowing her thoughts. ‘Far away things always seem clearer, Mary. But we don’t lead our everyday lives far away. We lead them here, in Meyerick. Where you and I see each other two, three times a week as a matter of course.’
‘Cy, we were criminally stupid. What happened was not just an affair. It was something which could have destroyed both our marriages. Destroyed our whole lives here in Meyerick. Thank God I realised before it was too late.’
He nodded. ‘OK, I’ll be going.’ He put down his half-finished glass. ‘Just dropped in to say hullo.’
‘Finish your drink,’ she said, shocked at the speed of his leaving.
He drained his glass. ‘Finished.’ He walked towards the door.
When he had left she stood shaking in the hallway. She had expected him to make a fuss. Why hadn’t he? She thought back to yesterday seeing Anita Simpson at Henri’s. Something between a smile and a smirk on her face. And she remembered now, that day in the garden before she left for Europe, Sunny had thought of Anita Simpson. Was it possible? She shook her head in a halfhearted answer. In any case, what Cy was doing now was nothing to do with her any longer. Her mind was made up. It was just that it had been so much easier than she expected. Easy? Except that he seemed even more attractive than ever. She walked slowly back into the sitting room, exploding a short bitter laugh. Just her luck that he was also her brother-in-law.
The doorbell rang a sharp single blast. With a frown she turned back to open it. It was Cy.
‘One thing I forgot to say,’ he said, his voice subdued. ‘I forgot to say I still love you. That’s not going to change.’
She felt herself tense as waves of confused feeling passed through her. Maddened by the effect he still had on her, she set her face angrily.
‘I didn’t want to make you mad, Mary,’ he said. ‘But it was something I just needed to say, that’s all.’
She opened the door wider. ‘You’d better come in,’ she said, stiffly. He slipped his arm round her waist as she closed the door. She felt herself move towards him and with an effort mostly inspired by anger at herself, she pulled away.
‘Cy,’ she said. ‘You say you love me. But I’m trying to tell whether that’s the way you really feel or not, you have no right to say it anymore.’
He looked pained. ‘Mary, of course it’s the way I feel.’
She walked ahead of him back into the room. ‘Whether you chose to have an affair with me because you loved me or just wanted to bed me, I don’t know. Either way we’ve come to the end, Cy.’
‘OK, Mary, perhaps first of all I just wanted you in bed. But that changed into something more, pretty quickly.’
‘The answer’s still the same, Cy.’
‘Give it a few days. Time to think it over.’
‘I thought it over while I was in Europe.’
He shrugged lightly. ‘We remain friends?’
‘Of course.’
‘Friends. Comrades-in-arms through life’s battles to come?’
Her expression tightened. ‘Are you talking about George Savary. About the vote on Christmas Eve?’
He nodded. ‘Christmas Eve is going to be quite a battle.’
‘What’s that got to do with what we’ve been talking about?’
‘It’s pretty important to me, Mary. You know that.’
She could feel the blood drain from her face. ‘For God’s sake, Cy, I said it’s over. It’s all over. Everything. Do you understand me now?’
‘Maybe not,’ he said slowly. ‘Leastways, I hope maybe not.’
She walked past him out of the room. ‘Wait here,’ she said, over her shoulder.
He crossed to the table and poured himself another drink, and stood listening to her rapid footsteps on the landing above. The glass held at chest level, he watched her come down the stairs. ‘I didn’t tell you, Mary. You’re looking beautiful,’ he said. ‘That’s a terrific tan.’
She was carrying an unsealed letter. Without speaking she crossed the room and handed him the letter.
Unhurriedly he took a pull at his drink and set down the glass. ‘What’s this? A “Dear John”?’
‘You can think of it that way if you want.’
He clucked his tongue at her and opened the letter. Her resignation.
‘Mary darling,’ he said, sliding the letter back into the envelope. ‘You know this could destroy me.’
‘I understand it means, in effect, you’re unlikely to remain president of the fund. That’s hardly destroying you.’
‘Losing to George Savary on this issue amounts to the same thing. That man is conducting a vendetta against me. You know that. And yet you’re resigning, opening the gates to him. What’s happening for Christ’s sake? Are you laying him now?’
She slapped him with a force that astonished herself.
‘I thought you kept that tiger streak for bedfellows.’
‘Jesus God.’ She turned away from him. ‘Five minutes ago you were telling me you loved me. Five minutes ago I was halfway believing you.’
‘Take this back, Mary,’ he said softly, waving the envelope slowly in the air.