‘They make an odd match, don’t you think?’ a third had remarked.
‘Who?’
‘Irene and Arthur.’
‘Not odd at all. He was looking for a wife to give him status and breeding, and Irene wanted a husband who didn’t care how stupid she was.’
Someone in the group had laughed and said, ‘I can never quite put my finger on what it is, but there’s something just a little bit mysterious about Arthur Devereux, isn’t there?’
‘I know exactly what it is,’ Diana Charleston had replied. ‘There’s a hint of danger about him. One never truly knows what he’s thinking.’
‘Do you suppose he beats Irene? Lord knows I should like to sometimes; she drives me mad with her prettiness!’
Arthur had been tempted at that moment to make his appearance from behind the yew hedge where he’d been listening, just to see how these catty women would react, but he’d done what he always did, and stored the knowledge away for a future time when he might use it to his advantage.
He could almost pity Irene having such two-faced friends if it weren’t for the utter tedium she put him through on evenings such as these. ‘Just a few friends, darling,’ she would say, and then spend days planning the extravagant menu with their cook and fussing over the smallest detail of how the table should be set. She read countless periodicals on how best to present the perfect dining table so that guests would leave so impressed they would at once rush to imitate what they’d seen and eaten.
For this evening’s dinner her lavishness had fortunately been tempered by rationing, although it hadn’t stopped her from employing the services of an expensive florist to produce a centrepiece in the style of Constance Spry. But right now Arthur felt he could refuse his wife nothing. She was the mother of his unborn child, and to that end her happiness was of paramount importance to him and the well-being of the baby – a baby he strongly believed was a boy.
He viewed the arrival of a son as the start of a new life for him. He’d carelessly allowed matters to gain a momentum of their own recently and as a consequence things had got out of hand, but the baby symbolised a fresh start.
If somebody had told him that fatherhood would make him feel this way, so fiercely protective of the child that would be his to nurture and mould, he would not have believed them. He would not make the same mistakes his own selfish father had, of putting himself first. No. He intended to be an abiding presence in his son’s life, a father who could be relied upon and who had time for his child, a father who would guide and advise.
They had just had their fish course served by their new maid, a marked improvement on the old one, who’d been so cack-handed she spilt the soup every time she served it, when the girl returned to the dining room and hovered like a moth at Arthur’s right shoulder.
‘Yes?’ he said. ‘What is it?’
She leant down and whispered in his ear. Such was her discretion, he couldn’t make out what she’d said. ‘What?’ he responded irritably.
‘There’s a man at the door, sir,’ she answered, this time more audibly. ‘Says he has to see you.’
‘Tell him it’s not convenient.’
‘He was most—’
‘Did I not make myself perfectly clear? I said tell him it’s not convenient.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she murmured, her face anxious. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘What was that about, darling?’ asked his wife from the other end of the table.
‘Some man or other at the door wanting to see me.’
‘Probably one of those ghastly travelling salesmen,’ Diana Charleston said. ‘I hear they can be terribly pushy these days.’
‘Surely not at this hour of the day,’ disagreed her husband, a rather pompous barrister. Claude had the infuriating manner of a middle-aged man despite being only in his early thirties. Correcting people was his stock in trade.
‘Did Jane say what he wanted?’ Irene asked.
‘No.’
‘How strange.’
Arthur had only taken a few mouthfuls of his fish when he saw the dining room door open and Jane come in again. She walked the length of the room, and not bothering to whisper this time said, ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but the man insists. He says he won’t leave until he sees you. He says it’s very important, that he has something for you.’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’ Arthur threw his napkin onto the table and stood up abruptly. ‘It’s come to something when a person can’t enjoy his dinner in peace!’
‘Who could it be?’ asked Irene, her expression one of faint alarm.
