‘BUT PETER, I want to meet him,’ cried Patsy.
Peter glanced anxiously around the bar, seeking a way to escape before the man propped at the counter saw them, and grasped Patsy’s arm firmly. He wondered fleetingly if his superb wife could be bored by the conference. He dismissed the thought as disloyal. She had been splendid, had played golf in the Ladies’ Tournament, stood successfully for the entertainment committee when the conference moved back to Sydney next year, made time to see a few old friends in town. A great week for both of them.
So that he was astonished when she insisted upon bearing down on the lounging figure draped on a stool. Gerald looked different from the other men in the room. That was what had drawn their attention in the first place. Whereas Peter’s colleagues were like him, still in the sober garb of business suits as they poured out of seminar rooms and sales talk sit-ins, Gerald was dressed in an elegant pale caramel silk shirt with a Pierre Cardin cravat tucked into the collar beneath his ginger beard, and exquisite linen slacks. Peter wondered what role Gerald was currently playing. He never looked quite the same from one year to the next. He remembered him back in the old days when Gerald was still with Janice and he with Bethany. The whole hotch-potch Saturday night red wine and barbecue set, dancing to the Beatles and rediscovering Greene and God, getting introduced at the parent teachers’, all of it. And Gerald coming on strong about the Parkers getting a tennis court put in and laughing when Peter got a promotion and drinking a mock toast to capitalism, and singing ‘God Save the Queen’ while he was doing a down trou and popping farts at dinner parties and giving up smoking and telling everybody he was doing it and making bread nobody could eat, and telling them how they had no values at all.
That and free love. Embarrassing.
Though at the time Peter thought some of it made sense. He’d actually listened. Janice, Gerald’s wife, used to sit wrapped in a dream world, untouched. One night Peter tried to touch her, break through. ‘What do you think of all this?’ he had said.
‘All what? Heigh down, ho down, derry derry down. Fairy down, Peter, fairy down.’
Janice, he thought, had it made. Or something. They were new to the district. He wasn’t surprised when he heard, after he’d left and when Gerald had gone to live with Bethany, that actually Gerald and Janice weren’t married at all. Shook the foundations back there, though.
Worst of all, it was Peter who was the convert, even though when they got home from parties, he’d laugh about Gerald and Janice to Bethany in the privacy of their room. But Gerald triggered something inside of him, something that said let loose boy-o.
He did too. And prospered when he’d done it.
Bethany suffered.
Gerald picked up the pieces.
Then put them down again. He left Bethany.
In short, as Peter could see quite clearly now, Gerald was a fraud.
He preferred not to define his own role.
‘Please, Patsy, I don’t want to see him.’ But it was too late. Gerald had spotted them. They wended their way through the crowd, Peter inwardly cursing that he had disclosed the man’s identity to Patsy. She looked so beautiful, though, that he decided it must be his fault. Every head turned towards them and he knew it was Patsy they were looking at, tall and statuesque, perfectly groomed, fresh with paint and oral spray, deodorant and French perfume, thin-bottomed in her designer jeans. Soon it would be time for her to change. He knew she had a new dress for the last night of the conference. They would look at Patsy all night, and she was his. He could forgive her anything.
‘Hullo, Gerald,’ he said awkwardly and extended his hand.
Gerald sat contemplating it for a moment or two and Peter thought he would push his face in if he played his old games of holier than thou and what’s your motive. It was what he had always hated most about Gerald.
Gerald took his hand tentatively with limp fingers and muttered, ‘I’d forgotten you were in textiles now, Peter.’
Peter had no way of telling whether that was true or not, but it did appear Gerald was genuinely surprised and embarrassed by this unexpected meeting. It occurred to him that his ex-wife’s ex-lover had been afraid to shake hands with him because of what had happened to Ritchie. As well he might be.
To be fair, after the accident he had written Peter a laboured, desperate letter, full of remorse and sorrow. He had enclosed a copy of the court’s and the coroner’s findings, that it was death by misadventure, even though Gerald had been slightly exceeding the speed limit. A favour on a wet night to a boy who trusted him, stranded without transport. A mild infringement. Punishment far beyond the crime. And so on. It was in itself a plea. In rational moments in the months immediately following Ritchie’s death, Peter agreed that justice had been done.
At other times, on hot, dark, sleepless nights, he planned what he would say to Gerald if he ever met him again.
‘You with someone then, old chap?’ he said heartily, after he had introduced Patsy.
‘I was,’ said Gerald morosely, yet more comfortable too, as if he had sensed the passing of danger. ‘Old school friend, over from Australia, like you. Asked me in for a drink.’
He gestured round vaguely. ‘Bowman. Andrew Bowman. Know him? Good on the wing. Hockey, you know. You know Andrew?’
‘Oh yes. Andrew. Allied Carpets.’
‘I think so. Yes.’
‘Good chap.’
‘Yes.’
Peter thought savagely, bloody good, great, yes. Asked his old mate in for a drink, taken one look and run for cover. Andrew Bowman was nowhere in sight. Not that you could put a finger on what was wrong with Gerald. Flashy perhaps. Not impossible, just unsuitable. Though he’d suited Bethany for a while. Actually, seeing Gerald pleased Peter. He was confirmation that he had been right to leave them all behind him, that Bethany was bound to fail or, more importantly, that had he stayed, he would have failed with her. Peter settled himself on a stool.
‘Said he had a phone call. I expect he’ll be back,’ Gerald said, peering around.
Patsy was beginning to look ashamed. She liked to do things well and instead she had landed them in this.
‘We’d better —’ she started.
‘We’d better have a drink,’ said Peter at the same time. ‘Come on, drink up, Gerald.’
‘Well, I — thank you.’ Gerald did a fancy tap of his fingernails on the top of the bar, starting with the forefinger and following through finger by finger, only so rapidly that it was hard to define the motion precisely. The noise was staccato and jarring. He drained his drink hurriedly.
‘Back on the grog then?’ said Peter maliciously.
‘Not me. Too bloody dear.’
‘Never mind, industry can stand it — once in a while.’ Just like Gerald, he thought, mean. You could bet Gerald didn’t drink except at someone else’s expense.
‘Perhaps we should be getting along to dinner,’ said Patsy, betraying her nervousness. She looked round the room, trying to locate one of their new friends.
‘What do you do then?’ she said, when there was no sign of rescue.
‘Commercial artist. Advertising.’ The busy tapping finger flashed a gold signet ring.
‘Oh rea-lly,’ said Patsy, her interest rekindled. ‘How fascinating.’
Gerald named a firm that was into timber accounts.
‘Still into conservation?’ asked Peter. Gerald blushed. Really, he was too easy. Peter had wanted to attack him. Now he could see that it was he who held all the advantages, that although Gerald might be held responsible for any number of offences it was he, Peter, who must be kind if only because Gerald was vulnerable.
‘Have you heard from Bethany?’ said Gerald, as the silence grew between them.
‘No. Have you?’ said Peter. Again, it sounded abrasive. He tried to soften it. ‘I mean you’d be more likely to.’
‘You know she threw me out?’ said Gerald.
Patsy glanced at Peter.
‘That’s not what she told me,’ he said evenly.
‘I’ll bet she didn’t.’
‘She said, the last time I saw her, which was — a long time ago —” he halted, unable to say that it had been at Ritchie’s funeral, yet feeling that he ought to for Patsy’s peace of mind, and searched for a way to indicate that he was not in the habit of seeing his ex-wife. ‘Two or three years ago,’ he resumed, ‘she said that she was sad to see you go.’
‘Oh, then. Oh yes. I’ll bet she was sorry to see me go then. I went back to her. Did you know that?’ Gerald wore an air of triumph.
‘No.’
‘Well, I did. I mean, it was the least I could do, wasn’t it, in the circumstances?’
Peter thought, you turd, you devastating, rotten, smelly, fart-holding turd, you’ve got the nerve to be self-righteous with me. And, on second thoughts, wondered why Gerald shouldn’t be so. After all, it was he, Peter, who had set the precedent for leaving Bethany, if that’s what they were talking about. He supposed it was and was humbled.
‘You mean you went back to look after her!’ exclaimed Patsy. ‘Oh, that was nice of you. She must have needed someone.’
‘That’s what I thought, too,’ said Gerald, shaking his head. ‘I mean, look, she was on the booze, going to pieces. Well, you should have seen her.’ He gave Peter a serious, meaningful look.
‘I wrote to her and asked if she was all right,’ said Peter. He studied his drink. He had not told Patsy that, but it was reasonable. She must surely see that. Afterwards he would talk to her about it.
‘Well,’ said Patsy, flicking an imaginary speck off her trousers, ‘Peter couldn’t do more than that, could he? And if she didn’t answer …’ She didn’t say if what, but there was an implied question in the air.
‘She didn’t answer,’ said Peter.
‘Oh, she wouldn’t,’ said Gerald. ‘She was off on a liberation jag.’
‘Bethany?’ said Peter, though it didn’t really surprise him. Something in his chest, lifted and stirred.
‘Oh no,’ Patsy was saying. ‘Not all that nonsense.’
‘Oh yes. Got a bad dose.’
‘I thought you would have approved,’ said Peter. ‘Sounds like your thing.’
‘Oh, well, some of them are extremists, you know.’
‘She was always very independent,’ said Peter defensively.
‘Oh, come on now, Peter,’ said his wife, turning on him, ‘you always told me how Bethany made a laughing stock of herself trying to be different. That’s why you left her. Well.’ She gave a small inner smile. Peter was silent. He would not let her see how angry he was. He couldn’t have explained why anyway; it was just a choking, breathless feeling, locked in here among all the civil, well-balanced people who were the substance of his life. He breathed deeply, nodded affably to an acquaintance across the room.
‘Exactly,’ Gerald said, warming to Patsy. ‘That’s quite right. I mean, look, men are having a bad enough time these days. Some women expect everything. No gratitude for anything. That’s what she’s like now. You know, she had that house to herself, she didn’t come out of it badly and, God knows, she didn’t put much into it from what I can gather.’
It was as if he was talking about someone else with whom Peter had never been associated, let alone married to.
‘That’s how I look at it,’ said Patsy. ‘Nothing could have been fairer than the way Peter left her.’
‘It doesn’t matter where you go these days, women are getting the best of everything. I tell you what,’ Gerald leaned confidentially towards Patsy, his fingers tapping out their message, stacc-a-to, stacc-a-to-to, bang, bang, ‘I have arrangements with women now. I can tell straightaway whether they’re for real or not. If I go out for a meal with a woman I expect her to pay her share, straight down the middle, none of this meal ticket stuff. I’m nobody’s fool. They pay, we meet again, they hang back, I know their hand’s in my back pocket. That’s what real liberation’s all about, Patsy.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t agree more,’ cried Patsy. ‘Double standards.’
‘I don’t expect Bethany has much money,’ said Peter.
‘Well, that’s not my fault, Peter,’ said Gerald. ‘I did what I could.’
Peter was stunned. Gerald really meant it. Somewhere along the way Peter had had another black mark chalked up against him and he hadn’t said anything.
‘Confidentially, Gerald,’ said Patsy, moving forward, ‘I think Bethany’s a very demanding woman. It’s a front for laziness.’
‘Oh, lazy. My dear. She had a cat that shat in the corners.’
‘You mean she didn’t clean it up?’
‘Oh, well. When it suited her.’
‘Oh, my word. Peter told me what she was like. See what you escaped, my darling.’ Patsy put her hand on Peter’s. He moved it away but she didn’t seem to notice.
‘I must say I think it was awfully decent of you to go back to her though.’
‘I thought I should. Tsst. Then she said she could stand on her own feet.’
Peter thought it time to close the conversation. He realised, with dismay, that Patsy had begun to enjoy it.
‘Andrew must be through with his call.’
They didn’t seem to hear him.
‘Peter said that place had gone to rack and ruin,’ Patsy was saying.
‘I put in a vegetable garden for her but Peter’ll tell you what good that would do.’ He gave a funny little gesture and Peter thought, he really hates women. All this time, and I’ve never cottoned on to it. Really hates them.
‘She did have a herb garden,’ said Peter. He had forgotten but now the memory was like an inspiration revisited.
‘Oh, that. Yes, she kept that,’ said Gerald. ‘You can’t live on herbs though. I mean, can you?’
Peter thought about Bethany bending over her little bed of plants, her thyme and sage, her salad burnet and feverfew, the lad’s love, the rue, the mugwort and the heart’s ease, picking delicately between them with her slim brown hands. He wondered why he had never realised before that she did it so well.
He said, ‘She was a good reader. And she said you liked the same things.’
Gerald stretched and yawned. ‘Petit bourgeois. Very suburban. She didn’t make much progress.’
Patsy said, ‘I’m reading Passages.’
‘Enchanting,’ said Gerald, and yawned again.
‘I’ll find Andrew,’ said Peter.
‘Your job must be very exciting,’ said Patsy, working hard at regaining Gerald’s interest.
‘I’m making progress now,’ said Gerald. ‘You have to free yourself first before you can move forward.’
‘I thought that was what Bethany was doing,’ Peter remarked to no one in particular.
‘Pe-ter!’ said Patsy. She leaned towards Gerald, who was back on her side. ‘You know Gerald, Peter went through hell over that woman. He’s such a conscientious person I think he felt really guilty after they’d split up. I used to tell him how silly it was. It’s awfully good, meeting you like this. He had this crazy idea that he could have done better, but of course it’s quite obvious you’ve been kindness itself, too, and no thanks at all.’
Gerald was nodding his way through this. Peter could feel a fresh attack coming on.
‘Quite, quite,’ Gerald said excitedly. ‘I can see you’re a very understanding woman.’ His face shone moistly. ‘If there’s any way I can help, Peter, you know that’s what I’d really like.’
I’ll bet you would, Peter thought and excused himself on the pretext of catching his firm’s director before dinner. It was natural that Patsy should want to know about Bethany, he told himself. She could ask Gerald the things she couldn’t ask him because he wouldn’t let her, had put up barriers to keep out the past.
He was weighed down with a great sadness. For a few moments there he had been outraged, but unable to discern with whom he was angry. Now he thought it was with himself for ever having believed that Gerald would set him free of Bethany’s pain. He wondered how he could have been so blind, how he could have gone on believing in Gerald even when he most disliked him, and saw that it was a wilful act of his own salvation. Yet Gerald had said that Bethany was liberated, whatever that might mean. From what? From him? From Gerald? He supposed he would never know.
He looked back at them and at the same time glanced round, looking for Bowman. He was still nowhere to be seen. Patsy’s eyes were shining, her lips parted, listening to Gerald’s words. He saw the fingers on the counter, knew they were making their stacc-a-to-to sound, watched the gesture. Gerald’s excitement was mounting. He was talking about freeing men from women’s shackles. Peter tried to consider the difficulties of living with a woman who kept an incontinent cat and a herb garden and wondered if it was really as bad as all that. Obviously he was in no position to disagree.
He wondered if Patsy had chosen her duty-free goods to take home and how much they would cost him.