'You would mind?' he said slowly, echoing her last words.
'Why should I? Oh, perhaps I thought you were a little indiscreet - you gave the gossips a good deal of rope, didn't you? I can't say I exactly enjoy having people like Sarah and Poppy asking me if I've been to the Royal Academy lately to enjoy the view, but - ' she shrugged ' - that was just embarrassing bad luck, wasn't it? I hope I've never embarrassed you.'
If anything could have been calculated to shock him out of his momentary stupefaction, it was that last remark, with all its implication.
'Embarrassed me? You? How could you?'
She regarded him levelly for a moment, and then frowned, and gave a little laugh.
'You know, Mark, I don't think this is an awfully clever conversation, really. Do you? We've been going along perfectly pleasantly, but I gather from your expression that we shan't much longer if we don't talk about something else. You seem to think I ought to mind about Pip Delys - and if you mean that I ought to mind about her floating about in public thrusting your presents in everyone's face, I'm inclined to agree - but as to her being your mistress - '
'She isn't. I've never had a mistress. Since we were married - '
'Very well. If you say she isn't, then she isn't.' Her shrug was eloquent of sceptical indifference. 'I don't mind. And if she were, I wouldn't mind - I certainly would mind having to listen to a lot of boring protestations or confessional stuff, though. After all, it's none of my business -'
'Are you crazy?' It came out in a harsh bark. 'We're married, aren't we? Anything we do is the other's business! Of course it's your business!'
'My business is what I choose to make my business,' said Peggy calmly, but for the first time there was an edge to her voice. 'And if I say that I am not concerned with what you do in your private life, then that is my affair. I certainly don't wish to have it thrust upon me. By the same token, I don't see why . . .' She stopped, impatiently. 'Oh, never mind. It's all so stupid, this sort of talk.'
There was a pause, and then he said: 'You don't see why I should concern myself ... about your private life? Is that what you were going to say.'
'Yes.' She sounded irritated. 'My own life is my own life, just as yours is.' She gave a weary little sigh. 'Really, I do think we ought to let well alone. I didn't invite you to tell me about the Delys woman, or explain anything, or deny anything. We go on all right, don't we? Well, then, let sleeping dogs lie.' And being Peggy, with her own bizarre sense of humour, she could not resist adding: 'And sleeping bitches.'
The traffic had begun to move slowly round the side of the palace, and looking across past her he saw only the blank grey wall of the grounds with its barbed-wire crest. He did not know quite what he felt - not anger, not amazement, because as he looked at the perfect, pale profile, like some Watteau painting with its silver coiffure and beauty patch, he knew instinctively and beyond any doubt that their conversation had really only confirmed what he should have realised all along, or for the last few months, anyway. Certainly ever since that nightmare of the ten thousand pounds and the arms-running. What had she said then? 'Leave it alone, Mark. Don't talk about it.' Something like that - as though there were things that should never be discussed, never disinterred, and if they were, should be pushed back out of sight, and forgotten, or at least a pretence maintained that they were forgotten. He had thought then that he was seeing another, unique Peggy - a Peggy he was prepared to believe was passionately devoted, all unsuspected by him, to a political cause, or at least to her brother's cause, and while he had been terribly hurt by her lack of trust in him, and by her dishonesty, he had understood, or thought he had a glimmer of understanding, of why she had acted as she had. In a way, he had even respected her for it, in spite of the ruthlessness she had shown - he had seen enough of hard cases and hard natures to appreciate that sometimes the only way was the cold-blooded calculating, brutal way, and damn the consequences. It was not his own nature, and never had been, but he could understand it in another.
He might have known that the totally selfish practicality of such a nature would not be confined to one thing alone; it would always be there, unseen for most of the time, but still there, to be used when occasion demanded. And it seemed that their marriage demanded it, so far as she was concerned. They had gone their separate ways, and while that had disappointed him, and he had hoped things might right themselves, he had always assumed that there was a limit to how far they could divert from each other. But it seemed he had been wrong - Peggy didn't care. She didn't mind if he had a mistress, if he was unfaithful; she didn't even mind knowing about it, as long as it remained unspoken, something that would not disturb the surface harmony of their shared existence. And obviously she expected him to concede as much to her. There were husbands and wives who did, he knew there were, he had seen them, plenty of them, in the society in which he lived now. In which Peggy had always lived, in which she had been brought up. He had seen it, after all, on the very first day of his admittance to this world - the obese and pouchy Edward, with his publicly acknowledged mistress sitting on the rug at his feet with her husband waiting complacently in the wings; it had been taken for granted by everyone - dammit, the Queen_ and Mrs Keppel had even been good friends.
But it had never occurred to him that Peggy and he could be partners in such a marriage. A marriage of convenience conducted according to the unspoken but well-understood code of the place and time. It had never occurred to him to doubt Peggy, to wonder if, in the half-separate lives they led, in that other life in which she moved and played and enjoyed herself without him, there might not be someone else, someone younger, even some others - no, that wasn't true: he had wondered, in dark moments, more than once, and had pushed it away violently, as an unworthy thought. There came back to him now the memory of a picture in an illustrated magazine only a few months ago which had stabbed him with jealous doubt, and remembering it in a sudden surge of feeling he involuntarily said aloud:
'Frank Lacy.' And automatically he turned to look again at Peggy.
He saw her stiffen, and for an instant there was a touch of colour on her cheek, and then she was pale again as she stared at him in angry contempt.
'Are you intent on behaving like a complete boor?' She controlled herself with a visible effort, taking a deep breath and when she spoke again it was in the impatiently despairing tone of one dealing with an obtuse child. 'Oh, really, Mark! I can't think what's the matter with you. Haven't you any sense? Just because that stupid little slut comes prancing up squealing about what you've given her - and a ridiculous waste of money, if you ask me, but that's no concern of mine - we have to have this ... this fatuous and distasteful nonsense. I don't want to talk about it, do you understand? And if you'd a grain of intelligence - to say nothing of good taste you wouldn't either.'
For the first time in his life that he could remember, Mr Franklin's voice shook a little.
'Is it Lacy, then?'
Peggy sat in silence a moment and then said coolly: 'I really can't imagine what right on earth you think you've got to ask me that. After all, he hasn't come bouncing up to me in the middle of a Savoy party , shouting "Look, here's the night-dress you left in my hotel room at Lugano". And if I told you I was a goody-goody meek little wife, would you be content with that? No, of course you wouldn't. You would want to be reassured, and told over and over again, until we were both bored to death, knowing it was all nonsense anyway, but pretending it wasn't-and I'd have to listen to endless explanations about how you'd been squiring that little tart all over the place for the pleasure of hearing her views on Aristotle, and spending all night at her flat singing madrigals together!' Peggy gave a snort that ill became Marie Antoinette. 'Really, I never thought you were a hypocrite, or that you could be stupid enough to think that I was. I suppose you think I ought to have swooned away at the Savoy tonight, or swept out in a jealous fury? Can't you see that's the last thing ... oh, hell.' Peggy sank back wearily into her corner, and if she continued to s
ound even less like Marie Antoinette, her fancy-dress costumier might at least have been gratified to see that she was fanning herself in a languidly petulant eighteenth-century manner. 'Why you should think that the fact that I didn't - that I behaved like a normal civilised being, and did my level best to save us both embarrassment in what I realised was just a damned unlucky accident - why you should think that gives you the right to behave like some bloody Pantaloon in a comedy, beats me.'
He had been sitting with his eyes closed, absorbing the hardest mental shock of his life; as he opened them the car was turning into Wilton Crescent. Peggy said: 'I've never asked you questions, and I never expected you to ask me any, either. I assumed that that was understood. Since I've obviously been mistaken, I suppose I ought to have played the injured wife and all the rest of it, but I didn't, because I'm not. And you're certainly not in a position to play the injured husband, are you? I mean, to be honest - '
'Honest?' The word was jerked out of him, incredulously. 'You can talk about honesty - after what you've just been saying?' Anger boiled up in him. 'And after the way you cheated - 'He broke off, biting it back.
Peggy stopped fanning herself. 'What? Oh, I see. We're going to have that ten thousand dragged up again. Very well. No, that was bloody dishonest, on my part, but only because there was no other way. Or so I thought. Well, I was wrong. I admit it, and I admit that dishonesty. And I asked you to let it alone you may remember. Just as I asked you to let things alone a little while ago, but of course you wouldn't, and what good has it done? It's all so silly and pointless, and it just makes you miserable, and causes a lot of ... of tiresome bother.' She sighed wearily. 'It's all so boring.'
The car had drawn up at their front door, and he was sitting listening to her last words echoing in his mind, as last words will, while the chauffeur turned the motor off and prepared to get out to open the door. Abruptly Mr Franklin leaned forward and slid open the glass partition.
'I've forgotten my keys, Ernest. Go up and ring for Samson to open the front door, will you? We'll come up in a moment.' And when the man had gone he asked:
'Would you mind telling me - how long have you and Lacy ... ?' Peggy, gathering up her skirts to leave the car, paused and looked at him.
'You want to crucify yourself thoroughly, don't you?' she said. 'Oh, Mark! Does it matter? I don't know - two years, perhaps. Why? It was long before I knew about you and Pip Delys, if that's what's bothering you.' She sat forward, preparing to rise. 'I think we'd better go in. I've had enough soul-searching for one morning, and I'd rather like to go to bed.'
He had had a vague, slender hope that her affair with Lacy might have been a retaliation; that it might not have taken place before she heard the false but circumstantial gossip about Pip. At least he could have understood it then. And now it led inevitably to another question which he did not want to ask, but he heard his voice forming the words without conscious volition.
'Was Lacy . . . the only ...?'
'Oh, Mark, really!' There was the well-known little curl of the lip. 'Don't you think we've had a little too much of this ill-mannered inquisition? Pip Delys is enough for me - and I got that without asking for it. Now, I'm beginning to feel rather conspicuous, so if you wouldn't mind opening the door. ..'
But there was a final question that he had to ask, however much unhappiness it caused -it did not seem that it could possibly cause any more, whatever the answer. He looked at her for a long moment and then said:
'Why did you marry me, Peggy?'
It took her by surprise, but she answered readily enough.
'Why, because I liked you, of course. Why else would I marry you?' She looked at him curiously, her eyes searching his face, as though trying to fathom what lay behind the question. 'If you really want to know, and if it will put an end to all this cross-examination, I'll tell you exactly. I liked you, and enjoyed being with you, and talking to you, and looking at you, and making love with you, and ... just having you there.' She gave a little shrug, and it seemed to him that her expression softened. 'All sorts of things. Being proud of you - you're a very handsome man, you know. And kind and strong and rather . . . mysterious. I'm making you sound like a lady novelist's hero, aren't I? Completely house-trained. But ... I just liked you. Don't you see?'
He was silent, watching her, and then she frowned and gave a little irritated sigh. 'That's why I so hate all this tedious raking over ... over things that don't matter a bit, really. And it just spoils everything to talk about them, because they don't make any difference. Not to me, anyway. Oh, I know they're meant to - all this Victorian stuff and pretence, but they needn't, unless you get all stupid and serious and acting shocked. Look, I know we're different in some ways - everyone is. Well, you're much older than I am, but what about it? I don't like you any less - and I really don't mind about Pip Delys. And you mustn't mind about. .. well, I mean, it's got nothing to do with us, has it? When we're together, it's such good fun, the two of us, as long as we don't have silly jealousies and sulks about things that aren't important.' She shook her head, and the little twist of mockery touched her smile. 'Anyway, you're a jolly good catch, and I hope you think I am, too.' She patted his hand smartly, leaned across, and kissed him on the cheek. 'There - and that wasn't for Ernest's benefit, either. Oh, don't look so serious, silly! Come on, and let's see if Samson's got a snack for us before bed. I'm ready to drop!'
He got out and held the door, suddenly conscious of the strange figure he must cut in his fringed shirt and six-guns in the full glare of the morning sunlight. And yet that was no more unreal than the knowledge that Peggy had had a lover for years, and suspected him of infidelity himself, and had just kissed him blithely on the cheek and patted his hand and assured him it didn't matter anyway.
He followed her automatically up the steps, and Samson was on post at the front door.
`Good morning, sir. Good morning, madam. I trust you enjoyed the party. Two gentlemen are here to see you, sir. I informed them that you would wish to go to bed immediately, but they said that their business was urgent, so I showed them into the morning-room. A Mr Crawford, sir.'
'Don't know him,' said Mr Franklin. 'All right, Samson.'
'They mentioned Mrs Franklin also, sir.' Samson paused for a moment. 'Shall I bring tea in to you, sir?'
'Yes - yes, Samson, please do.' He glanced at Peggy, but she was obviously no wiser than he was. 'Better make it tea for four.'
He opened the morning-room door for Peggy to pass ahead of him, and then followed himself. Two men were standing by the window, and turned as they entered. One was a tall, wiry man with sandy side-whiskers, a long nose, and a sleepy expression; he was clad in ill-fitting tweeds and carried an ancient ulster over his arm. The other was stout and burly, with a neat black moustache, wearing a plain blue suit; Mr Franklin guessed what he was even before the taller one spoke.
'Mr Franklin? Good morning to you. Mrs Franklin, I apologise for this early intrusion. My name is Crawford- Chief Inspector Crawford, of Scotland Yard. This is my colleague, Sergeant Green.' He had a soft Scottish accent and a courteous, slightly magisterial manner; Mr Franklin gained the impression that Mr Crawford despised idle folk who gallivanted at fancy-dress balls until ten in the morning. 'I'll try not to take up too much of your time,' he added.
'I hope not, too,' said Mr Franklin. 'We're rather tired.' He set a chair for Peggy. 'Won't you sit down, inspector? What can we do for you?'
Inspector Crawford sat, crossed his long legs, regarded first Peggy and then Mr Franklin with a bright blue eye, and asked:
'I wonder if either of you know a gentleman named Mr Harvey Logan?'
24
It was fortunate for Mr Franklin that his head was turned away as he looked for a chair for himself; in fact he was reaching for one at the dining-table, and the movement concealed the involuntary start that he gave at the mention of the name. He had a second's grace in which to brace himself, so that he was able to pull the chair out, place it beside P
eggy's, and assume an expression of incomprehension.
'Logan, did you say?' He sat down, his heart racing, and frowned as though in recollection. 'I seem to recall having known one or two people called that . . . Scotch, isn't it? What was the first name again?'
He was playing for time, waiting to see if Peggy showed any reaction; she had been there, at Oxton Hall, but the name might easily have slipped her memory. In which case .. .
'Aye, but this isn't a Scotsman - or we believe not,' said Mr Crawford. 'Harvey Logan.'
'Wait - Mark!' Peggy said suddenly. 'Wasn't that the name of the little man who came to Oxton - you remember, the Christmas before we were married? The American who - '
'Of course!' Mr Franklin cursed her memory inwardly, but he had no choice but to agree promptly. 'That's right, Harvey Logan. A fellow I'd known in America, inspector - I'm American myself, you know.'
'I'm aware,' said Crawford. 'Did you know him well - in America, Mr Franklin?'