A Fitting Revenge Read online

  Whatever this woman was up to made me suspicious. She was playing with her husband and making me part of the game. I refused to engage with her wide eyes. ‘Nothing remarkable, I’m afraid. Sorry to disappoint you, but I used to be quite shy. It was Giles that got all the girls. I picked the crumbs from the big man’s table.’ That earned me a look of understanding from Mandy, raised a laugh from Giles, but only a shift to a more comfortable position on Wiggins' part.

  ‘Giles?’ Sandra scoffed incredulously, and I sensed him tense beside me, but she didn’t add anything else.

  Henry came in at that point and Giles said, ‘Thank you Henry, we’ve finished now. Please tell Mrs Potter it was an excellent dinner as usual. It’s late, you should both go home or to bed and sort this out in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, Henry,’ called Sandra, ‘I just have something for you to do first.’

  Giles rose quickly to his feet and strode towards the door, ‘I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow, Sandra.’ He touched Henry on the arm and ushered him out, returning after a few moments. ‘They really need to go off now, and Mrs Potter has to get home. I’ve told them to go.’ Fait accompli. The subject was closed.

  Sandra stared fixedly at her coffee cup and said nothing. Her normally full lips were set in a thin line and her eyes had narrowed in anger. This was not some little disagreement to be quickly forgotten, I realised, this was another round in a battle for dominance, and she had lost it. Mandy extended her right arm below the table top, I saw it through the movement of her shoulder. She must have nudged Sandra, but it wasn’t important then and I forgot it immediately. Sandra quickly regained control and switched on her enticing eyes. ‘Alastair, come on, you tell us about Giles at university. I want to hear about all those girls, what a ladies man he used to be.’ There was ever so slight an emphasis on the words ‘used to’, and Mandy gave a silly little snigger.

  ‘There’s nothing to tell really, just typical varsity high jinks. One student to whom the girls were naturally attracted and one who happily tagged along, nothing unusual at all. There were quite a lot of girls over the years, though. Giles had more than his fair share, I’d say, but nothing serious.’

  Sandra was licking her spoon slowly as she listened to me, her eyes fixed on mine with an unwavering invitation. She turned it upside down and licked the inside with a deliberately slow upward sweep of her tongue, her head tilting back, but her eyes remaining fixed on mine. I looked away and she answered, ‘That’s hard to believe, Alastair. I’ll bet it was really you that drew the girls. If anyone has a magic touch, it’ll always be there, but Giles certainly doesn’t have one now, even though he’s still young!’

  Giles banged his palm down on the heavy table. Cutlery bounced and the wine in our glasses rippled with the tremor. Mandy started visibly. ‘That’s enough, Sandra, drop it,’ he snapped loudly. All those years and I had never heard him raise his voice in anger before.

  ‘Sensitive about your manhood, darling? You shouldn’t be, it happens to all men eventually, though not normally at your age, Just-in.’ Wiggins nearly choked as he tried not to laugh out loud, and Mandy put her napkin up to her mouth to muffle her inevitable giggle. Sandra’s natural prettiness had left her face, which had taken on a harsh and ugly look; seductress to witch in a few smoothly orchestrated moves. Giles had put her down, countermanded her order to Henry, and now she was taking revenge.

  Abruptly, there were only two people at the table, no one else mattered. No self respecting man will tolerate implications of sexual inadequacy being broadcast to others, but Giles’ reticence would not allow him to conduct an argument of this nature in public. Only the necessity of preventing an escalation of Sandra’s abuse deterred him from a furious outburst. His face was flushed with anger, and he glared at her with undisguised animosity.

  Not so Sandra. In Kenya once, I took a picture of two lions after mating and still have it somewhere. The male looked up at me with a stare so intense it was frightening, even from the security of my car. It was a look of death. It was the look of a predator utterly focused on its prey. It bored into me then to such an extreme that I dreamed about it for ages. Even in the photo it was disturbing. That same intense stare marked Sandra as the predator and Giles her prey. There was no hate in her eyes, only dominance backed by the confidence that she would destroy him, just as that lion would have destroyed me.

  The tense atmosphere seemed to dull the glitter from the crystal, and an impossibly long silence settled over the room. It was briefly interrupted by another silly titter from Mandy. Wiggins was grinning for the first time that evening. He was rocking his chair on the back legs and kept switching his glance between Sandra and Giles to see what would happen next. The conversation was suddenly interesting and right at his level. Mandy was looking down still trying to hide a smile behind her napkin. Were they just the props that were necessary to embarrass my friend, or were they party to some deeper plot? Sandra, meanwhile, was deliberately bending a long ladle. The destruction of the two hundred and fifty year old piece of silver would be another silent attack on Giles and his respect for his family possessions about which she only felt contempt.

  I couldn’t stand to see that beautiful piece destroyed on a vindictive whim. ‘Sandra, please don’t do that, it’s valuable.’

  She never took her eyes off her husband, but much to my surprise, she put the ladle down. She would never have done that if Giles had asked her to, so why did she do it for me? Was she trying to drive a wedge between him and me?

  I was acutely embarrassed. The tension had to be broken before Giles did something he would regret. I had a feeling that she was about to embark on a tirade of verbal abuse which had to be stopped before it started, and that this was all for my benefit; once I had gone there would be no reason to continue the fight. ‘I think it’s time I left,’ I said, ‘I’m really not interested in family squabbles.’

  ‘Oh no, don’t go yet,’ Sandra pleaded, ‘we’re only playing.’ In an instant she had switched to her sensuous role, and her now soft, imploring eyes tried to tempt me into more of her company, or more likely to listen to a further denigration of her husband.

  I could not help him in this. ‘I need to go anyway. I’ve a lot to do in the morning and must start early.’

  Giles rose to his feet. ‘I’ll see you out,’ he said tersely.

  I said goodbye to Mandy and Tony who stayed seated, while Sandra came round the table, let her fingers touch mine without lingering, gave me a kiss on the cheek and simultaneously breathed softly into my ear. Her perfume was heady and enticing.

  ‘Thanks, it was good to meet you at last, and that was a really great meal.’ I was ashamedly acting as insincere as she was. At the door, I looked seriously at Giles and said, ‘Lunch tomorrow in the City. I’ll call you.’

  He gripped my upper arm and nodded.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Giles's choice of restaurant was on the top floor of a building in the City of London with a view of the Gherkin, the Shard, St Paul’s Cathedral, the London Eye and many other landmarks including a good long view up the river. The sun was shining and some smokers were enjoying the air outside when I arrived. I couldn’t see him as I went in, so I chose seats that would afford us some privacy in a corner against the window. A couple arrived not long afterwards and selected the nearest table to take advantage of the sun which was beaming in on that side. They were in their early forties, but were behaving like a pair of love-struck teenagers. An illicit affair, or a very new one at least? The good thing was they were so engrossed with each other, they were not likely to notice what Giles and I were saying.

  As I waited, I separated the bundle of crockery wrapped up in the napkin and rearranged it into a classic setting. At least the napkin was cotton. I used it to wipe the water stains off the fork and then reset the glasses into the correct order. There was a smell of grilled meat in the air, and the salads the cooing couple had ordered looked delicious.

  Giles was doing a BSc in
economics and I a degree in aerodynamics when we met. We shared digs and played rugby and climbed together, but neither understood the other’s choice of subjects. He made a terrific flank forward with his height, speed and aggression. I was never as good and could not be assured of a place on the team, whereas Giles was a given. He was never short of a girl to choose and, as I had limply tried to explain to Sandra at dinner, I usually struck lucky through my association with him and not through my own rather shy efforts.

  We became really good friends; in fact I would go so far as to say that I had feelings for Giles which were far deeper than anything I’d ever felt for a woman, except Juliet. It was very different, of course, more a mutual appreciation and a loyalty that was proven several times over.

  A memory of the sort that never leaves the mind: An icy alpine wind, low clouds scudding past, spitting occasional drops of rain and encapsulating the higher peaks. Me, suspended in space by my climbing harness from a piton under the overhang, dazed by a falling rock, my helmet cracked, my shoulder ineffectual. Beneath me, barely visible in the failing light, a five hundred foot fall to the boulders below, and one piton had already pulled out. Giles on the face opposite, out of reach and unable to pull me in to him, was organising his rope and self belay to climb up under the overhang for a rescue. Unable to move or help, I would probably not have survived the freezing night. He got me off that cliff and down to the pastures below in a tandem abseil long after nightfall. It’s true that I and many other climbers would have done the same, but that did not diminish his achievement in saving my life. Typically, he thought nothing of his efforts. Nevertheless, another strand had been woven into the rope that bound us.

  He came through the restaurant door, glanced around and spotted me immediately. He was looking drawn and tired, smart as always though, dressed in his gleaming shoes, dark suit trousers, a blue herring bone weave shirt and a diagonally striped red and navy tie, which he promptly slackened. He must have left his jacket in the office. ‘I feel like something strong, but I have to go back to work,’ he said after our greeting. There was a short silence as if neither of us could think of what to say, or perhaps where to start when there was so much to talk about.

  ‘Last night was a little embarrassing,’ I ventured.

  He stared at his glass of water for a while then gave a deep sigh, ‘When we call a woman a bitch or a witch, it’s usually without much foundation, it’s just that we don’t like them.’ He carried on talking slowly to his glass, ‘She’s neither. A witch weaves magic, a bitch is a female dog and usually quite pleasant.

  ‘We had a great time when we were first married, plenty of fun and laughter, and we went away a lot. At first, she was enthusiastic about the house and had some quite sensible suggestions on how to improve various aspects, making a couple of rooms larger by breaking down the adjoining walls, redecorating and so on. When I agreed, she went ahead and had them done and they made a big difference. When I tried to pay, she had already done so at her own expense. She was staking a claim in the house, I see that now. Then, towards the end of last year we started to argue about things, little things. At first I took her arguments as part of her strong character rather than a deliberate plan. She would find fault in Mrs Potter’s cleaning, or my dogs had left hair on her clothes. She created problems, like trying to persuade me that the fishpond should be filled in, to which she knew I would object, and then becoming difficult and retaliatory when I said no, it had been there for over a hundred and fifty years and it would bloody well stay another hundred and fifty. She pushes me in these confrontations until I reach the point where I’m about to lose my temper, then she stops, cries, apologises and becomes seductive and loving and is all over me.

  ‘It upsets me that she orchestrates these situations when she feels like it. You know me Alastair, I hate personal arguments and would go out of my way to avoid one.’

  I wanted to say something, but he carried on. I don’t think he had previously told anyone about what was happening and this opportunity was cathartic for him.

  ‘She probes for weak spots and discovered that I set great value in Mrs Potter. That old lady’s been in the house since before I was born. She helped bring me up, so I won’t stand for Sandra blaming her or being rude to her, which she is, even though it’s only to get at me. For a while, I learned to live with these ups and downs, but early this year I found myself avoiding intimate contact, I didn’t want to be with this manipulating, argumentative woman. Unlike her, I can’t switch my mood from anger to affection in a moment, it takes me hours. The last couple of times we “made love” (what a stupid expression for intercourse that is), I haven’t been able to keep it up - you know .... I was depressed for a while, then went out and found some girl in a bar and spent the night with her. It was like the old days. I was randy as hell, hard as a rock and she was drooling over me in the morning. I only did that once, but I had to prove myself and it brought home that it wasn’t me that was the problem, it was that there was nothing between Sandra and me. It’s not only that this beautiful creature no longer holds any attractions for me, she actually repels me. Since then our sex life has dwindled to nothing.’ Giles raised his head, looked steadily at me with tired eyes and pressed his lips together in search of an answer.

  The Polish waiter arrived to take our order, interrupting our thoughts. Neither of us was hungry, there was too much on our minds. I ordered a salmon salad, and Giles a bowl of soup.

  ‘Last night,’ I asked simply, ‘why?’

  ‘Last night was a new, extreme low. It used to be that our rows were in private, but recently she has taken delight in countermanding me in public - as you saw, when I first told Henry he could go? She tries to get the upper hand on every decision, then if I retaliate, battle is joined. She did this once before. She organised the event and invited people we both know. She embarrassed me that time, but at least it wasn’t about my libido. I thought with you there last night we would have a normal pleasant dinner, especially since she had seemed so adoring and happy during the afternoon, which put me in a good mood. I never dreamed that even she would try to denigrate me in front of you. She manipulated the conversation around to my supposedly little penis and inferred erectile dysfunction. You obviously got the Just-in joke. This is in public, for heaven’s sake!’ He was leaning forward, his forearms on the table, embarrassed but he had to ask, ‘Alastair, you know me, we shared digs for long enough, would you say I have a little dick?’

  ‘You were perfectly normal, as far as I noticed,’ I laughed, ‘I didn’t spend much time inspecting it!’ At least that raised a smile on his face. ‘What’s more,’ I added, ‘the girls you had never complained.’

  ‘We had a monumental row last night after the others had left,’ he went on, ‘My humiliation at dinner was a new experience, it was a shock, it put me entirely on the back foot. It sunk home that this was not something I had previously dealt with; a rugby or a climbing challenge which I could take calmly, this was a full unprovoked assault on my emotions, and I bloody nearly lost control of myself. I told her to get out of my bedroom. She told me that if I wasn’t able to keep it up and sleep with her then it was I that should move. I lost my temper then and said it was my house, my bedroom and there were plenty of others to choose from. She was livid, but she could see I wasn’t going to budge. Instead, she called me a pathetic loser, asked why I couldn’t be a man? She reminded me of my one night stand and asked if that girl had laughed too. She kept taunting me almost to the point of my hitting her. My arm was drawn back, for heaven’s sake, my fist closed I was so angry! As I took a last step forward, I saw a glint of triumph in her eyes and stopped myself.’ His voice slowed, his words clearly separated and forceful, ‘She wanted me to hit her, Alastair. She wants a black eye for evidence - it took all my willpower not to give her that present. She’s after a divorce, of course.’

  The waiter arrived with our order and we fell silent until he went away. Outside, on the river, boats and barges ploughed th
eir slow way up and down, and a police launch sped rapidly downstream leaving a prominent wake. It seemed an untroubled and silent world out there. Engines must be roaring, shouts must have been made unheard by us, and those labouring down there would have their own problems to cope with, some of which might also be marital struggles.

  ‘Why did you marry her?’ I asked, ‘She’s not really your type.’

  ‘Like you, I’m attracted to strong personalities. All those silly girls out for good times that we had, they were there for the fun, the parties and picnics, but none of them deserved serious respect, they were hangers on, followers not leaders. Eventually, I tired of all the fun and games and was wandering around at a loose end emotionally. I wanted something more substantial.’ He paused, his eyes flicking from one of mine to the other, reading me. It was as if he was making a decision on what or how much he should say. ‘Sandra appeared when I was feeling down, pure coincidence, even she couldn’t have planned it better. Whatever else she may be, she’s strong, she’s a leader and she won me over very quickly. You probably noticed she doesn’t wear a wedding ring? I put one on her finger when we were married, but she took it off immediately, said she’s not prepared to be chained to anyone. In fact she never changed her name from Parsons to Collins. She’ll only use Collins if it’s convenient.

  I let him carry on without interruption. ‘I fell for her looks and her sensuality, and my God, but she can turn that on and every man in town is drooling. But she’s, .... she’s, I hesitate to say evil, but she is not a pleasant person. I thought I was the luckiest man in the world: an incredibly beautiful wife, fairly well off in her own right, the envy of every man I knew except you who had never met her. How did that happen, I wonder? Not meeting her, I mean.’