“Yes?” A hairpin dropped down the front of my shirt.
“The rules of… the stiff-upper-lip club.” Ann tapped away ash. “Strangely enough, I never hated Charles. He wasn’t man enough to inspire that deep an emotion. But even from a distance I can see Ben is different. He is virile and dynamic, and you are in love with him, you poor fish.”
“Why else would I marry him?” I turned back to the window.
“Not for the reasons he married you. It isn’t necessary for you to tell me anything, Ellie.”
How convenient, considering my lips were hermetically sealed.
“It was crystal clear to me the day of your wedding that Ben was nothing but a handsome rogue. That service, a menage à trois, and the reception crammed with his debauched friends. Where did he dredge up that woman who did obscene things to the suit of armour? And that paunchy man who kept chasing the woman in paisley up and down stairs! Small wonder his parents refused to come. Ellie, dear,” she continued serenely, “everyone felt frightfully sorry for you, especially when the policeman dropped in and Ben was so cavalier. ‘Just a little private business.’ ” Ann mimicked his voice so closely that I almost wrenched the cigarette away from her and stubbed it out in her face.
She leaned toward me. “Sweet, innocent Ellie. When word got out that you had hooked up with him through an escort service, no one was surprised or thought any the less of you for succumbing to his fortune-hunting charms. Your being overweight made you an easy mark.”
“I was fat, actually.”
“Yes, well…” Ann touched her fingertips to her smooth dark hair. “Poor dear.” She sounded as though I had said something a little coarse.
“Happily you are a resilient person, Ellie. I imagine you would have continued to endure being used if only Ben had exercised the decency to be discreet in his relationship with your cousin.”
Incredibly, Ann was speaking the lines assigned to me by the Tramwells, making everything so much easier, but I forgot I was playing a role. “Not true, there is absolutely nothing going on between-”
Ann rose from the sofa and placed a hand on my arm. “Ellie”-her voice throbbed with sympathy-“you know it is true. Don’t hide behind passive misery. Feel anger! Feel murderous rage! Think of all you have done for your cousin-giving him a job, letting him live in your cottage.”
Him? She wasn’t talking about Vanessa. My eyes dilated. Ben and… Freddy! Those two would collapse with laughter if they heard this. But my mind went into reverse. I was back at the wedding reception, overhearing snatches of conversation puffed on the air.
“A fairy story in the true sense of the word.” “Extremely good-looking, but then they so often are. More unfair, I always say.” “Best man a hairdresser…” And later, Ann herself had talked about it’s being worse when the Other Woman was a man.
I sank into an armchair. It made grotesque sense. Freddy’s masquerade had set the spark and eager tongues had fanned the flames.
“Ellie, do you feel faint?” Ann was all solicitude.
“No, I’m fine.” And so I was. Blood surged to my brain. I was angry-for Ben, myself, and Freddy. Whatever my cousin’s failings, he would never have stooped to setting his cap at my husband. I didn’t doubt that the most venomous of the gossips were those same women who were bumping off their husbands right, left, and center.
Eyes closed so their expression wouldn’t give me away, I groped for Ann’s hand. “What a coward I have been! I haven’t wanted to face the truth about those nights when Ben and Freddy stopped for a drink after work, the hours they spend engrossed in each other, talking about secret”-I had to do better than recipes-“things.” Then I let my anger work for me. “Ann, I can feel it! The beginning of that murderous rage!” I pounced out of the chair and paced the crowded room. “They have taken me for such a fool! I could kill them! Kill them both!” My voice spiralled. I could feel the heat of Ann’s eyes on my back.
She gave a light laugh. “Wouldn’t one of them be sufficient? It does, after all, take two to have an affair. Ellie, have you ever heard of a novel called The Merry Widows?”
I tensed. So this was how the approach was made. “I… I can’t say I have.”
“Not surprising. It’s been out of print for years; a book that sank without a ripple. We get boxes of such in the shop and end up using the paper for packing. This one’s by Edwin Digby actually and is about a group of wives who form a club, the purpose of which is to murder off their adulterous husbands. The especially nice thing about the scheme is that one doesn’t plunge the knife or the poison… into one’s own mate. The necessary steps are taken for one, and afterward, an abundance of emotional and social support is provided.”
Silence.
“Amusing, don’t you think?” Ann peeled a price tag off a decanter.
“I think… it’s a pity there isn’t something like that locally. I could divorce Ben, but then he would get a share of the inheritance and I… I can’t bear the thought of him walking away with more than the clothes on his back.” Pressing my fingers to my brow, I waited.
“What if there were such a group?” Ann circled around me, fingers trailing the furniture.
“I suppose… I wouldn’t be eligible. After all, mine isn’t a case of another woman.” I fought a feeling of sickness.
“Oh, I don’t think that-it’s only a technicality. The important thing is knowing the right people.” Ann brushed my arm. “And, of course, we are talking about fiction.”
I moved away from her to stand in front of a Victorian standing lamp. “Fictitiously speaking, how would someone apply for membership?” The room seemed to dim.
“Come here.” Ann pulled a chair away from a table with claw feet. “Sit down and tear a sheet off that pad of paper, and yes, there’s a pen behind this vase. You are going to write a letter.”
“I am?” My heart pounded.
“Yes, to Dear Felicity Friend.” The paper nearly blew off the table. Ann stood in front of me, tapping out a beat on the table. “Wisest, I think, to keep the message short and sweet: Dear Felicity Friend, Please help me get rid of a terrible problem-my husband.” Ann picked up a cigarette and flipped it between her fingers. “Sign it with your full name and a code.”
The pen dug a hole in the paper. Could I assume that Felicity Friend was The Founder, or was Felicity merely an unwitting instrument? “Why a code?”
Ann touched a cold finger to my cheek. “Why, Ellie, so Dear Felicity can answer you in the confidential column. Let’s see, how about something charmingly traditional like Heartbroken. That’s it! Write it down.” When I had done so, she tweaked the paper out of my slack grasp and folded it in two. The urge to snatch it back made my throat hurt.
“What next?” I managed. “… if this were fact, not fiction.”
Ann folded the paper again. “I would take this to the president of the club and urge your admission to our… the ranks.”
“The president being…?”
“Let us say Mrs. Amelia Bottomly, although I don’t suppose I should be saying anything of the sort. But we don’t have to be terribly discreet, do we, as this is only fiction. She would then get in touch with the founder of the organisation, who would make the decision as to whether or not you were eligible.” Ann straightened the Sylvania photo. “Then if you got clearance from the top, you would be contacted by telephone and asked in so many words if you wished your husband murdered. If you answered yes, you would be told the amount of dues payable and where to deposit. Simple, isn’t it?”