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Authors: Frederic Lindsay
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it's gone black. Sometimes it looks all right – but the side you can't see is rotten . That's what's happening to us. We're rotting away.’
Alarmed, Lucy wished she hadn't come.
'I'm so frightened,' Janet said.
'But Ewen doesn't see you that way. He sees you as you are. He sees you as we all see you. He sees a beautiful woman.’
It wasn't her style to pay extravagant compliments and she believed this description to be true, though normally she would never have dreamed of saying so.
'How can you have any idea, married to Maitland, what a man like Ewen sees? I don't know how Ewen sees me anymore. I know how he used to. When the business started, I did the books, I answered the phone. We'd sit at night and talk the day over – there wasn't anything came up we couldn't solve – it was hard going, but there was never any doubt we were going to make it. Then he didn't mind me playing up to men. Those fat old swine who hand out the contracts.’ She smiled bitterly. 'I didn't go to bed with any of them. Not that I wasn't asked. That's one way for a young ambitious businessman to get his start, did you know that? I could point them out to you – you'd be surprised at the names. Big men now – but they pimped their wives to get there. To be fair the wives they have now aren't always the ones they pimped. But I just smiled and was nice. A pretty girl – it made them feel how important they were. Anyway they weren't all fat – quite dishy sometimes. Being rich suits the outdoor type. Ewen got his contracts – so many it didn't matter whether I was there or not. He's quite successful, you know.’
Lucy hesitated between admiration and commiseration, not sure which was being called for.
'He doesn't talk to me about the business now, or about anything much. He's got bigger – I've got smaller. There's nothing smaller than a housewife without children.’
'I don't feel that.’
'What?'
'I'm a housewife – it doesn't bother me. And I've got used to the idea we're not going to have a family. I don't feel worthless.’
'Oh,' vaguely, '…but you're different.’ Before Lucy could decide on her reaction to that, she continued, 'You were at the Sinclair’s'?'
'The Sinclair’s?' Lucy began, and then realising the potential for embarrassment if she took that line, went on firmly, 'Yes, we were there.’
'When I was dancing with Frank – it didn't mean anything. Christ, he's not even my type.’
'Oh, type.’ I've never known quite what that meant , Lucy thought.
'I was lonely.’
Ewen had been there; not dancing with his wife or anyone else; settled morose in a corner brooding over his drink with a concentration that discouraged interruption. And then gradually everyone in the room was conscious of Janet as she danced with Frank Pritchard, everyone except her husband. Her body swaying, giving off the need and desire of a woman neglected; unselfconscious, lost and dreamily absorbed, she danced and Lucy had seen the faces of the men sweat and change and the women too watching her with a kind of greed. Then there was an inarticulate grunting and Ewen had pulled her from the floor. Everything went quiet, and as he realised what he had done his colour changed from red to a muddy white. But she had left, parting the silence, and at the door turned and drawled, ‘ Good-night all, marvellous evening.’ It had been a week before she ventured again on to the village street and the dark glasses only drew attention to the bruise around her eye.
'It's not as if he was interested himself,' Janet said. 'That little swine Scrope said to me, “you did the women a good turn. Every wife in the village got screwed that night.”’ Lucy glanced away from her look of enquiry. 'Except yours truly.’
While she had been indoors, the clouds had crept across, chilling the air. She pitied Janet. The grey light drained everything of colour. She wondered if Ewen was as successful as Janet believed. She had read somewhere that more
Alarmed, Lucy wished she hadn't come.
'I'm so frightened,' Janet said.
'But Ewen doesn't see you that way. He sees you as you are. He sees you as we all see you. He sees a beautiful woman.’
It wasn't her style to pay extravagant compliments and she believed this description to be true, though normally she would never have dreamed of saying so.
'How can you have any idea, married to Maitland, what a man like Ewen sees? I don't know how Ewen sees me anymore. I know how he used to. When the business started, I did the books, I answered the phone. We'd sit at night and talk the day over – there wasn't anything came up we couldn't solve – it was hard going, but there was never any doubt we were going to make it. Then he didn't mind me playing up to men. Those fat old swine who hand out the contracts.’ She smiled bitterly. 'I didn't go to bed with any of them. Not that I wasn't asked. That's one way for a young ambitious businessman to get his start, did you know that? I could point them out to you – you'd be surprised at the names. Big men now – but they pimped their wives to get there. To be fair the wives they have now aren't always the ones they pimped. But I just smiled and was nice. A pretty girl – it made them feel how important they were. Anyway they weren't all fat – quite dishy sometimes. Being rich suits the outdoor type. Ewen got his contracts – so many it didn't matter whether I was there or not. He's quite successful, you know.’
Lucy hesitated between admiration and commiseration, not sure which was being called for.
'He doesn't talk to me about the business now, or about anything much. He's got bigger – I've got smaller. There's nothing smaller than a housewife without children.’
'I don't feel that.’
'What?'
'I'm a housewife – it doesn't bother me. And I've got used to the idea we're not going to have a family. I don't feel worthless.’
'Oh,' vaguely, '…but you're different.’ Before Lucy could decide on her reaction to that, she continued, 'You were at the Sinclair’s'?'
'The Sinclair’s?' Lucy began, and then realising the potential for embarrassment if she took that line, went on firmly, 'Yes, we were there.’
'When I was dancing with Frank – it didn't mean anything. Christ, he's not even my type.’
'Oh, type.’ I've never known quite what that meant , Lucy thought.
'I was lonely.’
Ewen had been there; not dancing with his wife or anyone else; settled morose in a corner brooding over his drink with a concentration that discouraged interruption. And then gradually everyone in the room was conscious of Janet as she danced with Frank Pritchard, everyone except her husband. Her body swaying, giving off the need and desire of a woman neglected; unselfconscious, lost and dreamily absorbed, she danced and Lucy had seen the faces of the men sweat and change and the women too watching her with a kind of greed. Then there was an inarticulate grunting and Ewen had pulled her from the floor. Everything went quiet, and as he realised what he had done his colour changed from red to a muddy white. But she had left, parting the silence, and at the door turned and drawled, ‘ Good-night all, marvellous evening.’ It had been a week before she ventured again on to the village street and the dark glasses only drew attention to the bruise around her eye.
'It's not as if he was interested himself,' Janet said. 'That little swine Scrope said to me, “you did the women a good turn. Every wife in the village got screwed that night.”’ Lucy glanced away from her look of enquiry. 'Except yours truly.’
While she had been indoors, the clouds had crept across, chilling the air. She pitied Janet. The grey light drained everything of colour. She wondered if Ewen was as successful as Janet believed. She had read somewhere that more
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