Chapter 43. Rupture
Mr. Gammel the bank manger had been appropriately primed. Scarlet opened a trustee account for her son and one for herself. She did feel relieved – and rich – as she pocketed her new chequebook, even though she had yet to actually get a paycheck. The thirty pounds deposited in each account – she only hoped Ian would cover the checks when they were presented and that depended entirely on his mood – could not yet be accessed.
Enid had prepared a lovely lunch – in the dining room for a change. Her eyes shimmered.
“Salmon mousse!” she exclaimed. “Look how beautifully it came out. Miss Bottomley’s kitchen has every amenity – conveniences I’ve only heard about and am looking forward to discovering the use of. I’m having as much fun as a bride!”
In Scarlet’s memory, her “fun” as a bride was quite different, but Enid had spent her morning sorting pots and pans and implements in Miss Bottomley’s kitchen while Baby Nick waved his legs and the elderly author looked on, bemused.
“Nick was as good as gold. He had his bottle and now he’s having a sleep. I spoke to your lovely solicitor Mr. D’Arcy and he’s promising to set me right with my finances. It will be such a relief not to have to sound pathetic and uncertain when I speak to the children. My husband can well afford an adequate disposition.”
It was quite a Mediterranean lunch. Salmon mousse ornamented with black and green olives, a green salad with sliced tomatoes and buttered whole meal bread. Tea to drink – Miss Bottomley’s favorite Earl Grey. No alcohol in sight, Scarlet gratefully noted.
“Mr. Thomas seemed interested about our plan about investing in publishing,” said Scarlet succinctly, shaking out her napkin as she addressed Miss Bottomley. “He said you need another business!”
Miss Bottomley perked up visibly. “Isn’t it wonderful, being rich!”
The ladies agreed that it certainly seemed to be.
“He’ll do a bit of research and come by tomorrow afternoon to discuss it with you.”
“Good plan,” agreed Miss Bottomley. “Scarlet, how can I ever thank you enough? Enid, dear, will you mark it in my book? By the phone?”
Scarlet would have thought that keeping Miss Bottomley’s “books” was her job, but she didn’t argue. Perhaps it was best to see how things shook themselves out. After all, if Miss Bottomley really did buy a stake in Coltsfoot & Briggins, Scarlet might find herself working there. At least temporarily. Having Enid care for Nick and Miss Bottomley at the same time would clearly be the beau ideal. If, that is, she was trustworthy as she seemed. A big “if.” But she certainly appeared to be, so far.
Scarlet’s offer to do the dishes was roundly turned down.
“No, thank you,” said Enid. “I feel Miss Bottomley’s generous pay entitles me to make the kitchen my dominion. I don’t mind it a bit. In Morocco and India, we had servants and they wouldn’t let me do anything. I found it horribly frustrating. We have the most elegant commercial dishwasher and I’m dying to use it! Would you care for coffee?”
There seemed no point waking Nick merely to carry him upstairs so Scarlet took her coffee upstairs instead.
She was kicking off her shoes and looking forward to an exhausted nap when the phone rang.
“Mr. Pelham D’Arcy for Mrs. Wye,” announced the careful clerk Mr. Gotobed. Enid came on the line.
“What is it?”
“It’s for me,” said Scarlet shortly.
“That’s all right then.” Enid hung up noisily.
“Good news about Mrs. Rumson,” said Pelham as soon as he took up the line. “I wanted to reassure you that Jim Bogswell made a couple of calls and there’s no black marks against her. I think you made a good hire. Nothing damaging known.”
Scarlet felt relieved to the point of tears. “That’s marvelous. You can’t think how knowing that relieves me. Mrs. Rumson’s doing such a fantastic job here – and Miss Bottomley’s having the time of her life. I would feel dreadful if I brought a wolf into the fold.”
“It seems the wolves are all outside,” Pelham warned sententiously. “We are numbering and fighting them off, one by one. Now, don’t ring off. Bogswell had some other news. It seems your husband has more than one girl-friend.”
That more than explained Candi’s anxiety! Apparently Candi’s upgrade to “house-help” created a vacancy! Now that the poor woman found herself in Scarlet’s old job, maneuvering her way around a prevaricating, untrustworthy male, she as being acquainted with the stresses and strains of the position. Scarlet’s conscience smote her – she hadn’t even mentioned Candi’s threat to Pelham. Should she bring it up now? But D’Arcy was in full cry.
“He’s got some woman staying at the flat. Bogswell’s trying to find out more about her.”
“That was quick work,” said Scarlet. “He only told me this morning he was just beginning the move in.”
“Taradiddle,” said Pelham shortly. “Our source says some young woman – early twenties – has established base camp.”
Well then why on earth had Ian invited her over? To make her jealous? She couldn’t put it past him.
“And there’s more.”
“More girls?” No wonder Candi was feeling desperate!
“More facts. I believe I mentioned that Mrs. Pourfoyle gave up her employment and moved to Verne on Wye?”
“You didn’t say she’d quit her job!”
“Oh, yes. Gave in her notice. And she had –“ he cleared his throat – “A recent hospitalization.”
Scarlet couldn’t parse his heavy emphasis. “Some kind of miscarriage?”
“It seems,” Pelham said with the delicacy of an elephant, “She experienced a rupture.”
“A physical rupture?”
“Correct. Requiring stitches.”
Scarlet was imagining Ian had socked Candi in the eye when Pelham continued, “Er – gynecologically.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Precisely. Was your husband excessively adventuresome in the bedroom?”
“I believe I used the word “pushy”,” Scarlet said somewhat coldly. This was what people warned you about with divorce attorneys.
“Ah, yes. Forceful.” He seemed to be making a note. “Well, let me tell you this news puts our case in very good standing. We are certainly entitled to a no-contact order at the very least. I will notify you of further developments.”
“Thank you,” gasped Scarlet and fell back on her pillows, all chance of a nap gone.
Would she ever sleep again? Poor Candi! Stitches! Hospitals! She would discover first-hand that Ian really had no sympathy for the sick, the disabled, or the “hors de combat.” Candi was truly, now, a “whore de combat.”
Scarlet had never imagined feeling sorry for the woman, but it seemed her rival had unleashed a whirlwind. This was a vision of the country gent as member of the Hellfire Club. Could it be that Ian divided “wives” and “girlfriends” so thoroughly in his own mind that it liberated his aggression if the woman had no legal claim on him? If so, poor Candi! She seemed like the unlucky sorcerer’s apprentice who couldn’t manage her own spell and was now being threatened by her own creation.
In which case, why not wash her hands of him? Militate for a better position? But how could she when she had given up both husband and job?
In fact, it was apparent to Scarlet that now that Candi had given up her London work she was dramatically worse off – at Ian’s mercy in fact. How could Candi have not foreseen this? She had always bragged about her gallery job as if it were a wonderfully lucky break. Plainly she considered Ian an even luckier break, only to discover the man was all smoke and mirrors. What was the matter with women?
At the center of all this was Ian, wreaking havoc and feeling entitled to wreak more. In a way, this piece of unholy medical information erased much of Scarlet’s guilt over a “non-contact” order. She needed to come out the other side, with a good arrangement to focus Ian’s good behavior around his own son, as well as terminating Scarlet’s dependence on such an undependable man.
Alysse Aallyn 
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