a house right on the beach, and take our toddlers paddling in the waves. They’ll be blond and suntanned, and grow up playing tennis and surfing and riding bicycles. How many kids would you like? Two? Three? Six?”
But her moment of weakness had passed. “It’s no good, Mark,” she said wistfully. “I’m going back home.”
She could see from his eyes that now he believed her. They looked at one another sadly. For a while neither of them spoke.
Then Mervyn walked in.
Diana could not believe her eyes. She stared at him as if he were a ghost. He could not be here. It was impossible!
“So there you are,” he said in his familiar baritone voice.
Diana was swamped by contrary emotions. She was appalled, thrilled, frightened, relieved, embarrassed and ashamed. She realized her husband was looking at her holding hands with another man. She snatched her hands out of Mark’s grasp.
Mark said: “What is it? What’s the matter?”
Mervyn came up to their table and stood with his hands on his hips, staring at them.
Mark said: “Who the hell is this jerk?”
“Mervyn,” Diana said weakly.
“Christ Jesus!”
Diana said: “Mervyn ... how did you get here?”
“Flew,” he said with his customary terseness.
She saw he was wearing a leather jacket and carrying a helmet. “But ... but how did you know where to find us?”
“Your letter said you were flying to America, and there’s only one way to do that,” he said with a note of triumph.
She could see that he was pleased with himself for having worked out where she was and intercepted her, somewhat against the odds. She had never imagined he could catch up with them in his own plane: it had simply never occurred to her. She found herself weak with gratitude to him for caring enough to chase after her this way.
He sat down opposite them. “Bring me a large Irish whiskey,” he called to the barmaid.
Mark picked up his beer glass and sipped nervously. Diana looked at him. At first he had seemed intimidated by Mervyn, but now he evidently realized Mervyn was not going to start a fistfight, and he just looked uneasy. He moved his chair back from the table an inch, as if to distance himself from Diana. Perhaps he too felt ashamed at being caught holding hands.
Diana drank some brandy to give her strength. Mervyn was watching her anxiously. His expression of bewilderment and hurt made her want to throw herself into his arms. He had come all this way without knowing what sort of reception he would get. She reached out and touched his arm reassuringly.
To her surprise, he looked uncomfortable and threw a worried glance at Mark, as if he felt disconcerted at being touched by his wife in front of her lover. His Irish whiskey came and he drank it quickly. Mark looked wounded, and moved his chair closer to the table again.
Diana felt flustered. She had never been in a situation like this. They both loved her. She had been to bed with both of them—and they both knew it. It was unbearably embarrassing. She wanted to comfort them both, but she was afraid to. Feeling defensive, she leaned back, putting more space between herself and them. “Mervyn,” she said, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He looked hard at her. “I believe you,” he said evenly.
“Do you ... ? Can you understand what happened?”
“I can grasp the broad outlines, simple soul though I am,” he said sarcastically. “You’ve run off with your fancy man.” He looked at Mark and leaned toward him aggressively. “An American, I gather, the weedy type who’ll let you have your own way.”
Mark leaned back and said nothing, but stared intently at Mervyn. Mark was not a confronter. He did not look offended, just intrigued. Mervyn had been a major figure in Mark’s life, although they had never met. All these months Mark must have been consumed with curiosity about the man Diana slept with every night. Now he was finding out, and he was fascinated. Mervyn, by contrast, was not the least interested in Mark.
Diana watched the two men. They could hardly have been more different. Mervyn was tall, aggressive, bitter, nervy; Mark was small, neat, alert, open-minded. The thought occurred to her that Mark would probably use this scene in a comedy script one day.
Her eyes were heavy with tears. She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “I know I’ve been imprudent,” she said.
“Imprudent!” Mervyn snapped, mocking the inadequacy of the word. “You’ve been bloody daft.”
Diana winced. His scorn always cut her to the quick. But on this occasion she deserved it.
The barmaid and the two men in the corner were following the conversation with unabashed interest. Mervyn waved to the barmaid and called out: “Could I have a plate of ham sandwiches, love?”
“With pleasure,” she said politely. Barmaids always liked Mervyn.
Diana said: “I just ... I’ve been so miserable lately. I was only looking for a little happiness.”
“Looking for happiness! In America—where you’ve no friends, no relations, no home.... Where’s your sense?”
She was grateful to him for coming, but she wished he would be kinder. She felt Mark’s hand on her shoulder. “Don’t listen to him,” he said quietly. “Why shouldn’t you be happy? There’s nothing wrong with that.”
She looked fearfully at Mervyn, afraid of offending him further. He might yet reject her. How humiliating it would be if he should spurn her in front of Mark (and, she thought in the back of her mind, while the horrible Lulu Bell was on the scene). He was capable of it: that was the kind of thing he did. She wished now that he had not followed her. It meant he would have to make a spot decision. Given more time, she could have soothed his wounded pride. This was too rushed. She picked up her glass and put it to her lips, then set it down untasted. “I don’t want this,” she said.
Mark said: “I expect you’d like a cup of tea.”
That was
Mark went to the bar and ordered it.
Mervyn would never have done that: to his way of thinking, tea was got by women. He gave Mark a look of contempt. “Is that what’s wrong with me?” he asked her angrily. “I don’t fetch your tea—is that it? You want me to be housemaid as well as breadwinner?” His sandwiches came but he did not eat any.
Diana did not know how to answer him. “There’s no need for a row,” she said softly.
“No need for a row? When is there need for one, then, if not now? You run off with this little pillock, without saying goodbye, leaving me a silly bloody note....” He took a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and Diana recognized her letter. She blushed scarlet, feeling humiliated. She had shed tears over that note: how could he wave it about in a bar? She moved back from him, feeling resentful.
The tea came and Mark picked up the pot. He looked at Mervyn and said: “Would you like a cup of tea poured by a little pillock?” The two Irishmen in the comer burst out laughing, but Mervyn glared stonily and said nothing.
Diana began to feel angry with him. “I may be bloody daft, Mervyn, but I’ve got a right to be happy.”
He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You made a vow when you married me and you’ve no right to leave.”
She felt mad with frustration. He was so completely unyielding. It was like explaining something to a block of wood. Why couldn’t he be reasonable? Why did he have to be so damn certain he was always right and everyone else was wrong?
Suddenly she realized this feeling was very familiar. She had had it about once a week for five years. During the last few hours, in her panic on the plane, she had forgotten how awful he could be, and how unhappy he could make her. Now it all came back like the horror of a remembered nightmare.
Mark said: “She can do what she likes, Mervyn. You can’t make her do a single thing. She’s a grown-up. If she wants to go home with you, she will. And if she wants to come to America and marry me, she’ll do that.”
