The Second Wife aka Wives Behaving Badly

The sun lit a patch of carpet that years of exposure had changed from dark grey to a lighter shade. I heard Nathan, so clearly: ‘No, we can’t afford a new carpet.’

‘Minty…’ Gisela picked up a finger of toast spread with butter and Marmite. ‘Eat.’

‘I never touch butter, Gisela. Waistline.’

‘You do today.’

I took the toast from her and chewed. The tang of Marmite was not disagreeable, and the tea was hot and strong. Gisela sipped from a second mug. ‘Terrible tea. What is it?’

‘Ordinary stuff. I don’t know’

‘Lapsang’s better.’

Cross out ‘Ordinary stuff’ on weekly shopping list and substitute ‘Lapsang’.

From her vantage-point, Gisela appeared wise and Buddha-like. She was filled with substance and purpose while, overnight, I had shrunk into a depleted figure huddled on the sofa. ‘Minty. About Rose.’

That piece of information was a gold mine for clacking tongues. Do you know where he died? With his first wife. It was unlikely to remain secret.

‘Roger has talked to Rose. He rang her after he spoke to you. He’s going to see her this afternoon.’

‘But not coming here?’

‘I’m here.’ She reached over to put her mug on the tray. ‘You know, cutting Roger off isn’t going to raise Nathan from the dead.’

‘No.’ This exchange was superfluous because at that point Nathan did not seem to be dead. He was there, in the sitting room, because I could feel him very strongly.

Gisela continued, ‘Let me advise you. Don’t ignore Roger’s offer of help. You’ll need it.’

The remaining Marmite soldier sat an angle on the plate, so I adjusted it. ‘Nathan was the reliable one. He was a man who tried to be the person who never left you in the lurch. But it was all too much for him. Leaving Rose. Marrying me. Vistemax. He couldn’t keep the bandwagon rolling. His body protested.’ I was feeling very odd behind my eyes. ‘Am I making sense?’

Gisela was wearing one of her blindingly white blouses, with three-quarter-length sleeves and tucking across the breast. It was French, of an exquisite cut. A rope of large pearls circled her throat, with matching ones in her ears. She was hunched forward on the chair, her body language spelling pity, pity. ‘I don’t expect you to make sense.’ She pulled a notebook out of her bag, wrote something and tore out the page. ‘I can’t do much for you, Minty, except help with the small things. Here’s the name of a good florist. Just tell them what you want for Nathan and they’ll understand.’

Florist? ‘Thank you.’ My lips were trembling. ‘Did Roger say how Nathan was yesterday?’ Gisela made a play of stowing the notebook in her bag. ‘I’d like to know what he said, and how he looked.’

‘All right.’ She seemed almost to have been expecting my question. ‘Roger was dreading the meeting. Nathan was a friend – no, don’t look like that, Minty. You know it as well as I do. Roger told him straight. At first Nathan didn’t say much.’ Gisela paused. ‘Roger said he walked over to the window and turned his back on him. It was a shock, he said, and he needed a minute or two. Then he went on to the attack. He told Roger the decision was crazy and wrong. Furthermore, Vistemax did not need destabilizing at the moment.’

‘Nathan fought back.’ To those who knew him intimately, the signs would have been readable. When he tightened his mouth, things were not good for the opposition. If he dug a hand into a trouser pocket, he had worked out the strategy.

‘I have never seen Roger so sad, so rattled. At the prospect… of doing it,’ Gisela offered. ‘And Nathan gave him very hard time.’

‘Gisela, Nathan was about to lose everything’

‘Not everything. He had you and the boys. Roger reckoned that he might quite glad of a period at home to see more of the twins.’

I stared at her, astonished. ‘Nathan was sacked because Roger thought he’d make a good nanny?’

Gisela’s lips barely moved. ‘Nathan had had a good innings.’

‘Let’s hope Roger can be as philosophical when it’s his turn to head back to the pavilion.’

With a touch of panic, Gisela said, ‘There’s no need, Minty -’

‘Roger really concluded that Peter Shaker was a better man than Nathan?’

Gisela rearranged the cuff of her dazzling shirt. ‘Is it the right time to discuss all this? It’s impossible to be rational.’

‘Oh, rationality,’ I said. ‘It’s overrated.’

I got up and went to the half-moon table. I lifted the clock and placed it on the mantelpiece in the space Nathan had always intended for it.

Gisela picked up her bag. ‘I must go. But remember, Roger will help if he can. I’ll do all I can with the arrangements. If you like.’

I heard myself cry, ‘Why did Roger do it?’

Gisela put down her bag again, and looked deeply into my eyes. ‘That’s the way it is. Nathan did it to others, remember.’

‘But it killed him.’

‘No, it didn’t. Nathan liked his whisky, he had a stressful job. He had a… busy home life. A large family. Those things contribute. It wasn’t getting the sack, Minty. Nathan’s heart condition killed him.’

The doorbell continued to ring, but I let Eve deal with it. Each time she returned bearing something. A bottle of wine with a label that read, ‘Condolences.’ A paperback entitled Wills and Probate. The cover was coffee-stained and many of the pages were dog-eared. In the section entitled ‘14.4.3, Fair Division Between Parties’, someone had scribbled violently in the margin, ‘I should be so lucky.’ Who had sent it, I asked Eve, but she said she hadn’t recognized the woman.

Wills and Probate lay on the kitchen table in front of me. I supposed the rest of the world was carrying on nicely without Nathan. Chris Sharp had probably enjoyed a good day. Peter Shaker’s wouldn’t have been too bad either, except for the odd jab of conscience. I felt sorry for Carolyne, who would be caught between loyalty to her husband and her strict notions of what was correct. Booting out Nathan in favour of Peter would not come under her heading of the latter.

Someone walked into the kitchen. ‘Martin,’ I said.

He placed a cling-wrapped Pyrex dish on the table and bent to kiss my cheek. ‘I came as soon as I could and I’ve brought a macaroni cheese.’

I cast around for the polite response. Any response. ‘Lucas loves macaroni cheese.’

He sat beside me and took both my hands in his. ‘Paige asked Linda to make it.’ There was a pause. ‘This is terrible, Minty, but you’ll survive. That’s what I’ve come to tell you. It might seem that you won’t, but you will’

His grasp was cool and firm, and I was grateful for it. ‘Keep telling me that, Martin.’

‘I have every intention of doing so.’

The macaroni cheese had been made to perfection with a crisp cheese crust on top. ‘I’m not sure what to do first.’

Martin let go of my hands, and took a piece of paper from his breast pocket. ‘I’ve made a list,’ he said, ‘cobbled together from what I remember when my parents died. Funeral arrangements -’

‘A list!’ I exclaimed. ‘You made a list when you have so many other things to do.’

‘That’s what friends are for.’ Martin handed it over. ‘It helps to have something concrete to think about.’

‘How are Paige and the baby?’

He frowned a trifle. ‘They’re fine. I’m not sure how much rest Paige is getting.’

‘Are the nights bad?’

‘I’m in the spare room at the moment.’

It was getting dark, and the lights needed to be turned on, but I did nothing about it. Martin and I sat in the kitchen while dusk crept in, and I was grateful, oh, so grateful, for his presence.

‘No story tonight,’ I said to the boys. ‘I want to talk you.’ They were scrubbed, shining, hopeful. ‘It’s about Daddy.’