She didn't hang up immediately; she wanted to hear and savour Carmine's reaction. There was a short silence.
Then Carmine said, 'Message understood. But before you go, it's only fair to tell you that David can't help you. Even if he agreed to it — which I frankly doubt — he doesn't possess the ability. Only those who are born to the club, as you might say, can initiate new members. Goodbye, Penny. I think I feel rather sorry for you.'
Carmine was the one to break the connection.
Penny did not tell David about the phone call, and she did not ask him to do what she wanted. Instead, she kept the memory of the conversation locked privately in her mind, picking over every detail until it festered like a sore that wouldn't heal. David can't . Was that true, or had Carmine lied for her own purposes? I doubt if he would agree . How did she know what David would or wouldn't agree to? Discussed it, had they? How often? How intimately? Your reason isn't good enough . Carmine Smith, aka God. Well, the motive was obvious, wasn't it? Wives get in the way of affairs, and the last thing Carmine and David would want was Penny joining the club, as Carmine had put it. Penny would cramp their style. Penny would be a damned nuisance. So she must be prevented from joining, mustn't she? Provided Penny stayed in the ranks of ordinary mortals, Carmine and David need only wait a few years — nothing, to them — until Penny began seriously to age, then faded, withered and finally dropped out of the picture altogether. Problem solved: until then they could simply carry on their liaison behind her back.
The dark thoughts hung on Penny like a shroud all evening. David must have been aware of it but he made no comment, which to her only compounded his guilt. She refused sex that night (unusually, he didn't try too hard to persuade her), slept badly and, when it was time for him to get up, lay still and silent, pretending that the alarm clock hadn't woken her. It fooled David; he dressed silently, then went downstairs to make his own breakfast, as she had begun to insist he should do.
Then the phone rang. It was unusually early for anyone to call, and Penny raised her head from the pillow. David answered it on the kitchen extension, and the kitchen was directly below their bedroom, so his side of the conversation carried clearly.
'David Blythe Oh — hi. This is a surprise No, no; it's all right What? When? Well, I don't Ah. Well, yes, perhaps we should Okay; 12:45 suit you? Right. I'll meet you there.' Click . End of call.
When he had eaten and came back upstairs, Penny yawned and stretched and put on a sleepy voice. 'Who was that on the phone?'
David had his back to her and was putting on his tie. He didn't use a mirror; there was no point. 'I told you about that new client, didn't I?'
'No.'
'Oh. Well, it was his secretary; just changing the time of a meeting. Bloody nuisance; I've got a lot of other things scheduled today.' He turned and glanced at her. 'You all right?'
'Fine.' Go on, go away. I've got something to find out, and I don't want you around while I do it .
He left a few minutes later. Penny listened to the sounds of the troublesome car eventually starting (an old banger: we all know what happened to the decent one, don't we?) and as soon as he drove away she picked up the phone and keyed 'recall', to see who had really phoned.
The number given was local, but not familiar. Could be the supposed client's secretary. However Penny entered the code that would stop her own call being traced, then punched the number in. A ringing tone began.
Click . 'Carmine Smith.'
Penny hung up. Carmine. Not at her office but, obviously, at home. Well, now she had all her answers. New client. Oh, sure .
'You bastard. You two-faced, lying, cheating, cold-blooded bastardl'
And that, although she didn't realize it until quite some time afterwards, was the moment when everything was set in train.
She watched. Oh, she watched, and she listened, and at every opportunity she searched through David's clothes, David's wallet, anything that David was unsuspecting enough to leave lying around for her. For six days she found nothing. Then on the seventh evening, while he was in the bath, the incriminating evidence finally appeared.
Penny did not know whether to feel triumphant or sick as she read the scribbled note at the back of David's diary. It said simply: Carmine, The Scream — Friday 12:30 . Not last Friday, because she'd looked in the diary more recently than that. Today was Thursday. Tomorrow, then. The Scream was a new minimalist cafe; Penny had suggested to David that they go there, but he had poo-poohed the idea, dismissing it as an overpriced trap for fashion victims. Now she knew why. Not exactly sensible to take one's wife to the same place where one met one's mistress
Noises from the bathroom announced David emerging, and hastily Penny replaced the diary in the inner pocket of his jacket. Twelve thirty tomorrow. Good. It would be the final proof.
The rain gave her the advantage of anonymity. It was easy to loiter next door to the cafe, hiding under a plain black umbrella and pretending to window-shop. Sheer good fortune staged the meeting as if it had been scripted: David arrived on foot, and as he reached the doorway a taxi drew up and Carmine got out.
Heart thudding painfully, Penny watched sidelong as they moved towards each other, and saw Carmine reach up to kiss her husband. It was not a sisterly kiss, and Penny waited no longer but turned and, quietly and unnoticed, walked away.
She therefore didn't see David's reaction to the kiss; didn't see him lay his hands on Carmine's upper arms and push her gently away. Carmine hesitated, searching his face, and what she saw there changed her expression. A small smile, a regretful and half-apologetic shrug. Then they went into the cafe together.
'I'm sorry.' Carmine stirred her coffee but showed no inclination to drink it. 'Yes, I confess I did hope that maybe something might develop between us. I'd be a liar if I didn't admit to finding you very attractive, and as we're both Well, it seemed logical somehow.'
David thought the morality of that was dubious but didn't comment. 'Apology accepted,' he said. 'And maybe under different circumstances'
'Thank you for being so tactful about it. But I overstepped the mark. I simply didn't realize how strongly you
