“You’re weathering the shock very well,” Meecham said.
“When you’ve had as many shocks as I’ve had in eight years, one more hardly matters. I’m a little punchy by this time, like an old fighter.” She smiled, without bitterness, without feeling of any kind. “I’ve had so much uncertainty. Now at least things are settled. I don’t have to wonder where Claude is or what he’s doing. I don’t have to try and decide whether to divorce him for the sake of the children, or not to divorce him for the sake of the children. Fate stepped in and like a referee stopped the fight. I’m not sorry and I won’t pretend that I’m sorry. Claude was a terrible fool. Only a terrible fool would...”
She stopped but the idea was clear: only a terrible fool would get murdered. And, in a sense, Meecham agreed; the victim, like the murderer, had a certain choice of fate, a selection of circumstances.
Loesser returned with a pitcher of martinis. He poured a drink for Meecham and one for himself.
“You’ll excuse me, Mr. Meecham,” Lily Margolis said. “I don’t drink.”
“It makes her sick,” Loesser explained. “Well, here’s how.”
“It doesn’t make me sick in the least, George. I wish you wouldn’t keep telling that to everyone.”
“Well, it does make you sick. I’ve...”
“George dear, what will Mr. Meecham think of us, indulging in a silly family squabble like this?”
Loesser gazed with a stony little smile at the wall behind her head: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I submit to you that the witness is lying, that the effect of alcohol on her system is highly deleterious, and, in fact, it makes her sick.
Meecham shifted restlessly in his chair. There was a bowl of russet apples on the table in front of him and the sight and smell of them started a hungry gnawing in his stomach. He felt like a man who had come to a banquet as guest speaker and then found himself lost in the shuffle of preliminaries and introductions while the food got cold. So far Mrs. Margolis hadn’t asked a single question about her husband’s death, and Meecham was almost certain now that she didn’t intend to, that he had been invited to the house not to talk but to listen.
“George, there’s no point in your staying here,” Mrs. Margolis said suddenly. “You have a long drive ahead of you and you know how Marion hates anyone to be late for dinner.”
Loesser cleared his throat. “It’s my duty to stay. This is a family matter.”
“Are you afraid I’ll say the wrong thing?”
“Well, no. Not really.”
Mrs. Margolis laughed and said to Meecham, “He is. He’s afraid I’ll make a slanderous remark about Virginia. I will, too.”
“Now, Lily,” Loesser protested. “Now I suggest that you let bygones be bygones.”
She ignored him. “Virginia is your client, I understand, Mr. Meecham?”
“She was.”
“Did she mention me?”
“She said she had met you.”
“Met me? That’s a laugh. Yes, indeed, she met me. We had quite a charming brawl before I left for Lima.”
Loesser looked extremely uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t say it was a brawl exactly.”
“It was a brawl. She called me a liar and tried to slap me and pull my hair, and I held her wrists so she couldn’t. I’m quite strong.”
“Tennis,” Loesser explained. “Plenty of...”
“George. I wish you’d go home.”
“I know you do,” he said grimly. “But I’m not going. You’re tired and emotional and you may stick your neck out without meaning to.”
“It’s my neck.”
“It was Claude’s too.”
Her face looked a little sick under its healthy sunburn. “What a... a terrible thing to say.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but damn it, Lily, you won’t pay any attention unless I... Anyway, I’d forgotten that’s where he was...”
Meecham interrupted. “We’re not getting anywhere.”
“We would, if George would go home.”
“I’m not going home,” Loesser stated.
“Well, then keep quiet.” A pulse in Mrs. Margolis’ temple had begun to beat hard, moving rhythmically under her skin. “I didn’t intend to quarrel with Virginia. I went to her house out of a sense of duty. I knew she was going out with Claude because my maid Rose saw them together at one of those juke-box places outside of town. Rose goes to Dr. Barkeley for allergy shots and she recognized Virginia right away. So I... went to see her.” She fidgeted with her plain gold wedding ring, slipping it over the joint of her finger and back again. “I told her the truth, that she was wasting her time on Claude because he was keeping another woman, had been keeping her for years, perhaps before we were ever married. Years and years,” she repeated. “The silly girls like Virginia were just cover-ups. He took them dancing or out to dinner. But he was never seen with her. She was his — his real love.”
Her control was slipping down like a zipper under too much pressure.
“His real love. Isn’t that funny? That a man like Claude could actually love one woman all those years? I used to lie awake and wonder, what did she look like, what did she have that I didn’t have, what did they talk about...”
“Now, now, Lily,” Loesser said. “You have no proof at all that Claude knew this woman for a long time or even that he was keeping her. You’ve always had a wild imagination where Claude is concerned. It’s possible that the two of them were merely good friends.”
Mrs. Margolis’ mouth curved in an ugly little smile. “Old school chums. That’s a brilliant idea, George.”
“Well, damn it, my own impression of Miss Falconer is that she’s a highly respectable woman.”
“You’ve met her?” Meecham said.
“Yes, in a way. It happened accidentally about two months ago. I went into Hudson’s at lunch time to pick up a book for my wife. I saw Claude standing at the glove counter and went over to say hello, thinking that perhaps we might have lunch together and I’d have a chance to talk to him about Lily. He didn’t come into town often and when he did he avoided me. He knew what I thought of his behavior, especially this latest business involving Virginia Barkeley.”
Mrs. Margolis was leaning toward him with a rapt expression on her face like a small girl who had never tired of hearing the same story and wanted it repeated, word for word.
“I didn’t realize, of course, that Claude had anyone with him until it was too late for me to retire gracefully. He introduced the woman to me as Miss Falconer. She was a tall, rather common-looking woman about Claude’s own age. I knew Lily had been thinking for some time that Claude had a steady mistress, but I couldn’t believe it was this Miss Falconer. She wasn’t the type and, besides, Claude didn’t act embarrassed or anything.”
Mrs. Margolis made a sound of contempt. “Claude wouldn’t have been embarrassed if he’d been caught making love to her on the steps of the city hall. You can’t embarrass a moral imbecile.”
“At least give him credit for some sensibility. As I said before, I had the impression that he and the woman were old friends. They were very much at ease with each other and...”
“So are lovers.”
“Yes, but Miss Falconer doesn’t suit the role very well. She’s not young or attractive. She’s a good ten years older than you are, Lily, and not nearly so pretty.”
“Thank you,” she said heavily. “Thank you very much, George.”
“Well, I mean it. She’s just an ordinary woman.”
“Ordinary. That’s all you ever say about her. How can you tell whether she’s ordinary or not? And it isn’t what she is that’s important — it’s how she made Claude feel. That’s what falling in love must be, meeting someone who makes you feel good, who fills a need for you.” She looked down at her own shadow on the floor. “I never found out what Claude’s need was.”