ALEXANDRA WOKE EARLY; BIRDSONG was loud in the dawn. At seven-thirty there was a knock on the front door. Alexandra went down to answer it, in her blue and white silk dressing gown, Ned’s favourite. Presently, she thought, she would have to buy new clothes, so that everything didn’t keep relating back to Ned. She thought it would be the postman, wanting her to sign for a parcel, but it was Jenny Linden. She stood on the threshold, glum but defiant. She’d put on lipstick, though not very well. Her mouth seemed lopsided. She wore a nondescript padded jacket which made her look four-square, and a pleated skirt ten years out of date.
“I’ve come to take Diamond for a walk,” Jenny Linden said. She brushed past Alexandra and went through to the kitchen. She unlocked the utility room door, apparently accustomed to the difficulty with the lock—you had to push before you pulled—and called Diamond. Diamond staggered out, fresh from sleep, and seeing Jenny, leapt up at her, instantly expectant.
“Walkies,” said Jenny Linden.
“Get out of my house,” said Alexandra.
“Please can’t we be friends?” asked Jenny Linden, pathetically. “I hate you being so hostile to me. If I meet aggression I go completely to pieces. We’ve both of us lost Ned. I’m holding on by a thread. Please be nice to me.”
“No,” said Alexandra.
Jenny Linden began to turn nasty. Her voice went even softer.
“But I made Ned happy,” she said, “in the last days, his last hours, while you were off in London with Eric Stenstrom. But you don’t care about that, you only care about yourself. You don’t know what love is.”
“You’re polluting my house,” said Alexandra. “Get out of it.”
“You’re so self-centred,” said Jenny Linden. “I used to defend you but I see now Ned was quite right. And where’s Sascha? Don’t tell me you’ve just shuffled him off again? Is he with your mother? The Romanoff of the Golf Course? That’s what Ned always called her. Not even him being dead makes a dent in you, does it? The gloss is so hard. You ought to have treatment, Alexandra. You’re not fit to be in charge of that child.”
“I don’t know where you get all this information,” said Alexandra, “but it certainly wasn’t from Ned. It’s all just sleazy gabble, and evil. As for Eric Stenstrom, he’s gay, and everyone knows it.”
“That’s not what Ned said,” positively whispered Jenny Linden. “And why are you so defensive? Are you feeling guilty or something? I’m really sorry for you, Alexandra. You must be feeling ever so bad. I expect what happened is that you were in bed with your Eric when Ned died in my arms.”
“It won’t work,” said Alexandra. “You’re not going to lure me into any kind of discussion about anything. Just go away or I’ll call the police.”
“I’d have a thing or two to tell them,” said Jenny Linden. “Call away.” Alexandra lifted her hand to strike the other woman, but Diamond growled. Diamond growled at Alexandra. Alexandra’s hand fell. “Diamond knows the truth of it,” said Jenny Linden, smiling a smug little smile, her plump bottom in its dreadful skirt wedged against the Ludds’ kitchen table. “Diamond knows what you’re like. Animals always know. When you want to talk to me, Alexandra, in a calm and friendly way, you know where to find me. Ned brought you round to visit me in my studio once. I was rather flustered; I hadn’t expected it. He and I had only been out of bed about twelve hours. Well, twelve hours and twenty minutes. I was still sore. Ned could be quite vigorous, couldn’t he? Perhaps he wasn’t when he was with you: he said I was the only one really turned him on. Don’t believe me if you don’t want to. It’s true.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“We’d had this argument: he said you were so insensitive to atmosphere you’d never even guess: I said I didn’t believe that, you were an actress: he said actresses were as thick between the ears as they were between the legs.”
“Actors,” said Alexandra, automatically.
“So he brought you round to my place, took me by surprise, and he was right, you didn’t notice a thing. Not even when we went out together to look at photographs and you stayed behind and stroked Marmalade and looked bored. He was right about that too. You can do a lot in three minutes if you’re really turned on; if it’s dangerous.”
“My mother had a marmalade cat,” said Alexandra. It seemed her mind could only react to detail.
“Marmalade’s one of her kittens,” said Jenny Linden. “Ned gave him to me. Why did you take my photographs away? Ned liked me to have them. It doesn’t make any difference. I’ve got lots more and they’re there in my heart anyway. Sealed in memory. You can’t take that away from me. And Mrs. Paddle told me: you made copies of my diary, and address book. I was angry at first: not now. It just keeps you closer to me. Connected, like. We’ll be friends in the end. We’re part of each other, through Ned. I think you ought to try and be nice to me. I can make life a whole lot nastier for you if I choose.”
“Piss off” said Alexandra.
Jenny Linden smiled at Alexandra. This time Alexandra hit her: a hard slap on the cheek. Jenny wailed and ran off, a dumpy little thing pottering on too small feet. Alexandra hoped she would overbalance. Then Alexandra would jump on Jenny Linden and kick her to death. But Jenny kept going. Diamond, suspecting a game, leapt and barked around her legs. Then Hamish was standing beside Alexandra, his hand on her arm. He was wearing only pyjama bottoms. His torso was bare, fluffy with blond hair. His shoulders were broader than Ned’s. Perhaps, unlike Ned—at least with Alexandra—Hamish favoured the missionary position, thus strengthening the forearms.
“Just let Jenny go,” said Hamish. “She’s very upset. The whole thing must have been traumatic. And no understanding at all from you, which is what the poor woman needs. You’re behaving very badly towards her: in your situation it’s not wise.”
“What situation and what about what I need?” asked Alexandra.
“It’s hard for women when their married lovers die,” said Hamish, piously. “Rightly or wrongly, the widow has the sympathy of the world: surely you could afford to spare a little for her?”