“I was wondering if either of you might have remembered anything further to tell me. Anything at all, no matter how minor it may seem. Sometimes that’s all that’s needed to start us filling in the picture.”
“I’ve told you all I can. Don’t you think I’d have told you more if I could?”
“Mr Maynard?”
“I’d have to say the same as my wife.”
“I’ll leave you then if you’ll excuse me. Perhaps it might be worth your discussing what I asked when I’m gone. I hope, Mrs Maynard. ” Bairns was out of his chair and had one foot in the hall before he said “I hope at least you can accept we’re doing everything the law allows.”
She did, and her rage focused itself again, letting her accompany him to the gate and send him on his way. The closing of his car door sounded like a single decisive blow of a weapon, and was followed by the reddening of the rear lights. The car was shrinking along the road when she saw Duncan Gummer at the junction — saw him wave to Bairns as if he was giving him a comradely sign. The next moment his patrolling took him out of view, but she could still see him, as close and clear in her mind as her rage.
“Who is this? Hello?”
“It’s Claire Maynard.”
“It wasn’t you that kept ringing off when my mother answered, was it?”
“Why would I have done that, Mr Gummer?”
“No reason at all, of course. My apologies. It’s got us both a little, well, not her any longer, she’s sound asleep. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to discuss an idea I had which I think might be profitable.”
“I don’t normally talk business outside business hours, but with you I’m happy to make an exception. Would you like to meet now?”
“Why don’t you come here and keep me company. We can talk over a couple of drinks.”
“That sounds ideal. Give me ten minutes.”
“No more than that, I hope. And I shouldn’t bother troubling your mother if she needs her sleep.”
“Don’t worry, I’m with you. Softly does it. I’m all in favour of not disturbing anyone who doesn’t have to be.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Claire said with a sweetness she imagined she could taste. It made her sick. She heard him terminate the call, and listened to the contented purring of the receiver, the sound of a cat which had trapped its prey. When she became aware of holding the receiver for something to do while she risked growing unhelpfully tense she hooked it and went to pour herself a necessary drink.
She loaded ice into the tumbler, the silver teeth of the tongs grating on the cubes, then filled the remaining two-thirds of the glass almost to the top. More room needed to be made for tonic, and she saw the best way to do that. The tumbler was nearly at her lips when she opened the gin bottle and returned the contents to it. She mustn’t lose control now. To prove she had it, she crunched the ice cubes one by one, each of them sending an intensified chill through her jaw into her skull until her brain felt composed of impregnable metal. She had just popped the last cube into her mouth when she saw Gummer’s glossy black Rover draw up outside the house. She bit the cube into three chunks which she was just able to swallow, bringing tears to her eyes. They were going to be the last tears Gummer would cause her to shed, and her knuckles dealt with them as she went to let him in before he could ring the bell.
Whether his grin was meant to express surprise or pleasure at her apparent scramble to greet him, it bared even more of his lower lip than usual until he produced a sympathetic look. “I’m glad you felt able to call,” he said.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, indeed,” he said as though to compliment her on being reasonable, and she had to turn away in order to clench her teeth. “Close the door,” she said once she could.
The finality of the slam gave her strength, and by the time he followed her into the front room she was able to gaze steadily at him. “What’s your taste?” she said, indicating the bottles on the sideboard.
“The same as you’ll be having.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a large one,” she told him, and managed to hitch up one corner of her mouth.
“You’ve found me out.”
Whatever answer that might have provoked she trapped behind her teeth as she busied herself at the sideboard. Perhaps after all she would have a real drink instead of pretending a tonic was gin; his presence was even harder to bear than she’d anticipated. Already the room smelled as though it was steeped in the aftershave he must have slapped on for her benefit. When she moved away from the sideboard with a glass of gin and tonic in each hand she found him at the window through which she didn’t know how many times he might have spied on Laura. “Please do sit down,” she said, masking her face with a gulp of her drink.
“Where will you have me?”
“Wherever you’re comfortable,” said Claire, retreating to the armchair closest to the door. As she’d handed him his glass she’d touched his fingertips, which were hot and hardly less moist than his underlip. The thought of them on Laura almost flung her at him. She forced herself to sit back and watch him perch on the edge of the nearer end of the couch.
“Strong stuff,” he said, having sipped his drink, and put it on the floor between his wide legs. “So it’s a financial discussion you’re after, was that what I understood you to say?”
“I said profitable. Maybe beneficial would have covered it better.”
“Happy to be of benefit wherever I can,” Gummer said and showed her the underside of his lip, which put her in mind of a brimming gutter. “Do I recall the word company came up?”
“Nothing wrong with your memory.”
“I wouldn’t like to think so. Not like my mother’s,” he said, and glanced down between his legs while he retrieved his glass. Once he’d taken another sip he seemed uncertain how to continue. She wanted him in a state to betray himself by the time Wilf came back. “So what kind of company do you prefer?” she said.
“Various. Depends.”
“Whatever takes your fancy, eh?”
“You could say that if the feeling’s mutual.”
“Suppose it isn’t reciprocated? What happens then?”
“Sometimes it is when you dig a bit deeper. You think there’s nothing, but if you don’t let yourself be put off too soon you find what the other person’s feelings really are.”
Claire brought her glass to her mouth so fast that ice clashed against her teeth. “Suppose you find you’re wrong?” she said, and drank.
“To tell you the truth, and I hope you won’t think I’ve got too big a head, so far I don’t believe I ever have.”
“Would you know?”
“I’m sorry?”
Claire lowered her glass with as much care as she was exerting over her face. “I said, would you know?”
“I hope so this far.”
His gaze was holding hers. He still thought they were discussing a possible relationship. While she swallowed an enraged mirthless laugh she won the struggle to form her expression into an ambiguous smile. “So what are your limits?”
“There’s always one way to find out,” he said, and revealed his wet lip.
“You don’t think you should have any.”
“As long as one takes care, and we know to do that these days. It isn’t as though one’s committed.”
“Wouldn’t it come down to not being found out even if you had a partner? I know you’re good at not being.”
“As good as I need to be, right enough.”
That was almost too much for Claire, especially when, having planted her glass on the carpet to distract herself, she looked up to be met by the sight of his dormant crotch. Wilf ought to be home in a few minutes, she reminded herself. “And what age do you like best?” she managed to ask.