FORTY-FIVE

Godfrey stood on the doorstep, suitcase at his feet, overcoat held over his arm, hat in his hand. Miss Chettling was looking from Godfrey to Arlette and back, her face a picture of anguished uncertainty.

“Miss De La Mare,” she began tremulously, “this gentleman says that he is here to see you?”

Arlette looked at Godfrey, her love, her joy, her future, and she gulped back a cry of misery. “Godfrey,” she said stiffly, “what are you doing here?”

“My dear,” he said, “I was worried. I had expected to see you at the station.” The smile on his face was strained and slightly embarrassed.

Arlette’s heart lurched. “Yes, indeed, did you not get my note?”

“No, I did not.” His smile faltered a fraction, and he squeezed his hat nervously between his beautiful fingers.

Arlette swallowed down a sob and said, “Oh dear. I posted it on Friday morning. I had hoped . . .”

“Oh, now, that is a pity. Was there a change in your plans?”

“Yes, there was, there was . . .” She paused and said, “Miss Chettling, I would like to talk to Mr. Pickle in private, if that’s possible.”

Miss Chettling looked momentarily shocked and then recovered herself. “Yes,” she said, “if you’re sure.”

“I am, thank you, Miss Chettling.”

Miss Chettling tiptoed back up the stairs, and Arlette turned to Godfrey.

“Shall I come in?” he asked.

“Um, well, I’m not sure that’s necessary, Godfrey. I just . . .” She wrung her hands and stared at the ground, at the gleam of Godfrey’s patent shoes, at a cobweb embedded between the bricks in the doorway. She felt her stomach contract and expand, and she forced the words from her mouth, dry and painful as a stone. “The thing is, Godfrey, my circumstances are somewhat changed. I, um, I no longer—” She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “I am no longer in a position to . . . I think we will have to finish this.”

“Finish this,” he repeated.

“Yes. You and I. I can’t. Not anymore.”

“I’m not sure I understand entirely.” He blinked at her.

“Oh, Godfrey,” she exclaimed, “please don’t make this harder than it needs to be! I can’t see you anymore. Things have changed while you’ve been gone. Irreversibly. I’m so very sorry.”

His big eyes glistened and she saw him gulp. He passed his hat from one hand to the other and said, “I see. And in what way have things changed?”

“I’ve taken up with a new man,” she said, bile rising at the back of her throat as she released the awful words of truth.

“Oh.” His brow twitched. “And am I allowed to know who this new man might be?”

“It is Gideon,” she said tersely.

Godfrey turned his gaze from Arlette and up to the sky, as though the answer had been up there all along. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Yes. Of course.”

“Why would you say that?” she asked.

Godfrey laughed bitterly. “Oh, my dear,” he said. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Clearly I do, otherwise I should not be asking.”

He sighed and stared at Arlette with a mixture of fondness and irritation. Then he put his hat back upon his head, picked up his suitcase, bowed his head at Arlette, and very slowly turned and walked away.

Arlette watched him. Every fiber of her being wanted to chase after him, wanted to hurl herself at him, wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to bring him inside to her room, to her bed, to her life forever and ever. But then she remembered: That avenue had been closed to her four weeks ago against a tree in Leticia’s garden. That avenue had been closed to her when Gideon’s sperm had entered her body and fertilized her egg, and although no doctor had confirmed the terrible truth, Arlette knew. Her monthly curse was two weeks late. Her breasts were large and tender. And there had been, for the past twenty-four hours, a peculiar taste in her mouth, a taste of metal and dirt.

And no, it was not Godfrey’s baby. She had been bleeding when Godfrey left for Manchester; they had not had encounters of that type since before her last curse. Even then they had been careful, had employed techniques to ensure that conception would not take place. As they always did.

It was Gideon’s baby inside her. She knew it. She felt it. She hated it.

She watched Godfrey until he was but a toy figure in the distance, and then he turned the corner and was gone.

• • •

She called at Gideon’s house that afternoon, dressed as a far plainer woman than the one he had last seen in white knife pleats and a marcel wave. The house that she had entered first as a virgin, with Lilian as her escort, the house that had charmed her with its vagueness and its clutter, now looked ominous in the dark gold October light. She felt nausea rise from her stomach to the back of her throat, not knowing how she would feel when she saw his face again, heard his voice, watched those lips turn up into his oafish smile. He opened the door to her half-dressed, his hair lank behind his ears, his eyes full of sleep. He blinked at her, and then there it was, that smile, Gideon’s smile. Childlike, pure, slightly confused.

“My God,” he said. “Arlette! How wonderful! I thought you were cross with me.”

Arlette could barely think straight; her words jumbled up and rearranged themselves inside her head. She breathed in deeply and pulled them back together, and she said, “Gideon. I believe I am pregnant. I believe it is yours.”

Gideon said nothing at first. He merely ran a hand through his hair and stared at her. “But surely not,” he said with a hoarse laugh. “I mean, we made love only once.”

Arlette closed her eyes and inhaled, trying to calm herself against the twin assault of his misuse of the words “made love” and his blatant ignorance about matters of a reproductive nature. “It only takes one . . .” she said, unable to find a word to complete the sentence that would in any way be an accurate reference to what had occurred between them. “It only needs to happen once,” she finished.

He rubbed at his stubbled chin and nodded, as though grateful in some way for the clarification. “I see,” he said. “Well . . .”

“I have an appointment tomorrow with the doctor. If I am right, if I am pregnant, then you are to marry me. Immediately.”

“Marry you?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

She nodded.

“Why, of course. I mean, Arlette, as you know, I adore you, I—”

“This has absolutely nothing to do with love, Gideon. Far from it. I am pregnant with your child—”

“Are you sure?” he interrupted. “Sure that it is mine?”

“Yes,” she snapped, unwilling to enter into an explanation. “I am sure.”

Gideon smiled and rubbed his chin, chewing over the prospect happily. “Well, well, well,” he said.

“I am pregnant. With your child. I will have to give up work. I have already given up Godfrey. You will marry me and be a generous and kind father and husband. You will care for us both and ensure that we have everything we need. In perpetuity. But Gideon, you will never, ever lay a single finger of yours upon my body again. I will not so much as feel the touch of your breath against me. Do you hear? And if you do, I will tell everyone what happened at my birthday party. Absolutely everyone. And I will leave out not a single disgraceful detail. I will also take away your child and make sure that you never see it again. Do you understand?”

Gideon stared at Arlette and nodded dumbly.

“Goodbye, Gideon,” she said. “I shall be in touch. And keep Saturday free.”

“What for?”

“For a wedding,” she said. “Of the most inglorious variety.”