Chapter 34. Rupture
Mr. Gammel had been appropriately primed. Scarlet opened a trustee account for her son and one for herself. She did feel relieved – and rich – as she pocketed her new chequebook, even though she had yet to actually be paid. The thirty pounds deposited in each account – she only hoped Ian would cover the checks when they were presented and that depended entirely on his mood – could not yet be accessed. Enid had prepared a lovely lunch – in the dining room for a change. Her eyes glowed. “Salmon mousse!” she exclaimed. “Look how beautifully it came out. Miss Bottomley’s kitchen has every amenity – things I’ve only heard about and am looking forward to discovering the use of. I’m having as much fun as a bride!” In Scarlet’s memory, her “fun” as a bride was quite different, but Enid had spent her morning sorting pots and pans and implements in Miss Bottomley’s kitchen while Nick waved his legs and the elderly author looked on, bemused. “Nick was as good as gold. He had his bottle and now he’s having a sleep. I spoke to Mr. D’Arcy and he’s promising to set me right. It will be such a relief not to sound pathetic when I speak to the children. My husband can well afford an adequate disposition.” It was quite a Mediterranean lunch. Salmon mousse ornamented with black and green olives, a green salad with sliced tomatoes and buttered whole meal bread. Tea to drink – Miss Bottomley’s favorite Earl Grey. No alcohol in sight, Scarlet gratefully noted. “Mr. Thomas seemed interested about our plan,” said Scarlet succinctly, shaking out her napkin as she addressed Miss Bottomley. “He said you need another business!” Miss Bottomley perked up visibly. “Isn’t it wonderful, being rich!” The ladies agreed that it certainly seemed like it. “He’ll do a bit of research and come by tomorrow afternoon to discuss it with you.” “Good plan,” agreed Miss Bottomley. “Scarlet, how can I ever thank you enough? Enid, dear, will you mark it in my book? By the phone?” Scarlet would have thought that keeping Miss Bottomley’s “books” was her job, but she didn’t argue. Perhaps it was best to see how things shook themselves out. After all, if Miss Bottomley really did buy a stake in Coltsfoot & Briggins, Scarlet might find herself working there. At least temporarily. Having Enid care for Nick and Miss Bottomley at the same time would clearly be the beau ideal. If, that is, she was trustworthy. A big “if.” But she certainly appeared to be, so far. Scarlet’s offer to do the dishes was roundly turned down. “No, thank you,” said Enid. “I feel Miss Bottomley’s generous pay entitles me to make the kitchen my dominion. I don’t mind it a bit. In Morocco and India, we had servants and they wouldn’t let me do anything. I found it horribly frustrating. We have the most elegant commercial dishwasher and I’m dying to use it! Would you care for coffee?” There seemed no point waking Nick merely to carry him upstairs so Scarlet took her coffee upstairs instead. She was kicking off her shoes and looking forward to an exhausted nap when the phone rang. “Mr. Pelham D’Arcy for Mrs. Wye,” announced the careful clerk Mr. Gotobed. Enid came on the line. “What is it?” “It’s for me,” said Scarlet shortly. “That’s all right then.” Enid hung up noisily. “Good news about Mrs. Rumson,” said Pelham as soon as he took up the line. “I wanted to reassure you that Jim Bogswell made a couple of calls and there’s no black marks against her. I think you made a good hire. Nothing damaging known.” Scarlet felt relieved to the point of tears. “That’s marvelous. You can’t think how knowing that relieves me. Mrs. Rumson’s doing such a fantastic job here – and Miss Bottomley’s having the time of her life. I would feel dreadful if I brought a wolf into the fold.” “It seems the wolves are all outside,” Pelham warned sententiously. “Now, don’t ring off. Bogswell had some other news. It seems your husband has more than one girl-friend.” So that more than explained Candi’s anxiety! Now she was in Scarlet’s old job, maneuvering around a prevaricating, untrustworthy male. Scarlet’s conscience smote her – she hadn’t even mentioned Candi’s threat to Pelham. Should she bring it up now? “He’s got some woman staying at the flat. Bogswell’s trying to find out more about her.” “That was quick work,” said Scarlet. “He only told me this morning he was just beginning the move in.” “Taradiddle,” said Pelham shortly. “Our source says some young woman – early twenties – has established base camp.” Well then why on earth had Ian invited her over? To make her jealous? She couldn’t put it past him. “And there’s more.” “More girls?” No wonder Candi was feeling desperate! “More facts. I told you Mrs. Pourfoyle gave up her employment and moved to Verne on Wye?” “You didn’t say she’d quit her job!” “Oh, yes. Gave in her notice. And she had –“ he cleared his throat – “A recent hospitalization.” Scarlet couldn’t parse his heavy emphasis. “Some kind of miscarriage?” “It seems,” Pelham said with the delicacy of an elephant, “She experienced a rupture.” “A physical rupture?” “Correct. Requiring stitches.” Scarlet was imagining Ian had socked Candi in the eye when Pelham continued, “Er – gynecologically.” “Oh, my God!” “Precisely. Was your husband excessively adventuresome in the bedroom?” “I believe I used the word “pushy”,” Scarlet said somewhat coldly. This was what people warned you about with divorce attorneys. “Ah, yes. Forceful.” He seemed to be making a note. “Well, let me tell you this news puts our case in very good standing. We are certainly entitled to a no-contact order at the very least. I will notify you of further developments.” “Thank you,” gasped Scarlet and fell back on her pillows, all chance of a nap gone. Would she ever sleep again? Poor Candi! She had never imagined feeling sorry for the woman, but it seemed her rival had unleashed a whirlwind. Could it be that Ian divided “wives” and “girlfriends” so thoroughly in his own mind that he felt liberated to be uncaring with women who had no actual claim on him? If so, poor Candi! She seemed like the unlucky sorcerer’s apprentice who couldn’t manage her own spell and was now being threatened by her own creation. In which case, why not wash her hands of him? But how could she when she had given up husband and job? In fact, now that Candi had given up her job she was dramatically worse off – at Ian’s mercy in fact. How could Candi have not foreseen this? She had always bragged about her job as if it were a wonderfully lucky break. She obviously considered Ian an even luckier break, but the man was smoke and mirrors. What was the matter with women? And in the midst of all this was Ian, wreaking havoc and feeling entitled to wreak more. In a way, this piece of unholy information erased much of Scarlet’s guilt over a “non-contact” order. She needed to come out the other side, with a good arrangement to determine Ian’s good behavior around his own son, and a termination of Scarlet’s dependence on such an undependable man. Scarlet felt less surprised about the story of the woman “setting up base camp.” Too young and too footloose to be Margalo but the BBC doubtless pullulated with skimpily attired, pretty young things, all skimpily paid of course, in need of a home with “all found”, who would adore offering comfort to a handsome, lonely man whose wife had abandoned him. Unfortunately they never realized just how “abandoned” he was! A place to stay in central London – she probably felt fortunate indeed. He could have his cake and eat it too – nanny, housekeeper and girlfriend all mixed together! So probably unpaid? Worse and worse, poor thing. And it sounded just like Ian, thinking himself so clever for dangling before Scarlet just how easily and cheaply she could be replaced. The most bothersome aspect of all this news was how little it seemed he really knew the girl he had married! Scarlet found this new picture of Ian repellant rather than inciting. She couldn’t imagine Pom putting some girl in hospital! But if she was honest with herself, hadn’t Ian’s aura of danger been a large part of his attraction when they were in college? She knew her rivals thought so. But around children such explosive potential seemed suddenly very unappealing. Maybe I just grew up, thought Scarlet. Scarlet might be a mystery to her husband, but Scarlet felt she understood Candi all too well. It was Scarlet whom Candi yearned to supplant, Scarlet whom in fact she wanted to be. She had made that very clear in Foyle’s – she was angling to become Mrs. Wye. Poor Candi may have felt that throwing over her job and even being injured by him made Ian “owe” her something. Candi didn’t realize that it was Scarlet’s personal power that she envied, and not the power Scarlet acquired as a wife, if any. But it’s my “power” as a confident, educated woman with a sense of my own value, she thought. Candi didn’t know herself – or Ian – or even marriage - well enough to realize she’d made the worst possible decision. Scarlet wondered if she should reach out to David. He must be a wreck. Naturally everything was easier to categorize in hindsight. Look at the mistakes Scarlet herself had made – allowing herself to become the “country wife” – a benefit more honored in fantasy than reality. In Ian’s eyes women had cheapened themselves by becoming “convenient”. And Candi hadn’t even insisted on a ring! She couldn’t –married to someone else. The phone rang again, and since Scarlet was sitting right there, she answered it. “Er – Scarlet?” Pom’s unmistakable voice. Scarlet felt an enormous gush of relief. “It’s for me,” she said to Enid’s, “And who’s that now?” Enid signed off with a harried, “Very well then.” “Your life appears to be heating up,” said Pom. “Who was that, if I may enquire?” “It’s a long story. I hired a nanny and she turned into a godsend. In fact, she’s been rather – taken over by Miss Bottomley.” “So you’re still in nanny straits?” “No, Mrs. Rumson can tackle both jobs – quite well, so far, I believe. She’s the most fantastic cook! Miss Bottomley’s eating like a rescued castaway.” “Well, she really is one, isn’t she? Anyway, I phoned to say I’m back in town – Freddie did a bang-up job on my car – and wondered if we could dine? Or does divorce case forfend?” I’ve got to get my emotions under control, thought Scarlet. She was rocketing between the ecstasy of seeing him again – the embarrassment of feeling the depth of that need – and her dashed hopes over Pelham’s lawyerly injunction. She was rescued by a brilliant idea. “I say,” she proposed, “What do you know about art?” “A lot,” said Pom. “I hope.” ‘Would you be willing to do a job for Miss Bottomley?” “Anything at all.” “Why don’t you come to dinner tonight and make an aesthetic inventory of her paintings? She’s got a lot here.” Pom sounded intrigued. “An aesthetic inventory?” “Certainly.. She inherited all this stuff and she has insurance policies and inventories and that sort of thing, but she doesn’t care about it and she never looks at it. Perhaps it would be better off in some museum and she could decorate her walls with…something more modern. Something of her own choice, that gives her meaning and pleasure.” “Oh, I see. What a fun idea! I couldn’t charge money of course. This would be strictly friend-to-friend. I mean, otherwise my conflicts of interest would be too opprobrious.” Scarlet laughed. “Too, too opprobrious.” “Shall we say seven?” “We’d better say six. There’s old ladies and infants to consider. Unless you can’t.” “Oh, but I can.” And just like that, Scarlet was happy again. Lovely Pom! She found Enid and Miss Bottomley in the kitchen playing the card game “crazy eights.” “I do love this game,” said Miss Bottomley enthusiastically. Nick was just starting to fuss so Scarlet picked him up, snuffling up his delightful talcum-y smell. She was certain that he recognized her and was gazing up at her trustingly. “I wonder if I might invite Pom to dinner,” she inquired shyly. “Oh, your delightful friend! I do like him so.” Miss Bottomley smacked an eight down on the table and declared “Hearts. You’ll like him too,” she told Enid. “Do you think he’d like spaghetti Bolognese?” inquired the chef. “I know for a fact he loves anything Italian.” “What fun!” exclaimed Enid. “Would you like me to take Nick?” “No, I need fresh air. I think I’ll take him walking. Miss Bottomley, Pom is willing to take a friendly look at your pictures and perhaps suggest some moderns you might buy. Would you like that?” “Scarlet, you have the best ideas!” declared Miss Bottomley. “These daubs are so DREARY. Do you know in my bedroom there was a picture of a cow. I ask you! Who would want a picture like that? I had it moved of course – exchanged for boring old flowers but that’s hardly better. It would buck everyone up to see a bit of color. The previous owner’s taste seems all dark green and mud brown. Dreadful stuff.” And expensive to insure, thought Scarlet. “I’m so glad you feel that way,” she said, taking Nick to get changed. “It would be fun looking for new stuff. Perhaps we could attend some openings and shows.” “Auctions!” Miss Bottomley brightened. “Auctions are so thrilling, don’t you find?”
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