Marnie by Winston Graham
When I could get my tongue away from the roof of my mouth I clutched Mark’s arm. He’d been talking to Mrs Holbrook and he looked surprised.
I said: ‘Could I – have a word with you. I’ve just remembered something.’ When he’d excused himself I went on, ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve left the oven on.’
‘What oven? At home?’
‘Yes.’ I laughed weakly. ‘I put it on about five and quite forgot it. I think I’d better go back and—’
‘Oh, it’ll be all right, surely.’
‘No, it won’t, Mark. I put something in the oven and wrapped it in grease-proof paper. I was cooking a cake, experimenting. If it gets too hot it might catch fire. It might set the house on fire.’
‘If you’re that worried, ring Mrs Leonard and ask her to come up from the village. It’ll only take her ten minutes.’
‘She can’t get in.’
‘Yes, she can. You know she always has a spare key.’
‘She told me yesterday she’d lost it. I – really, Mark, I think I’d better go.’
‘My dear, you can’t. It would take you an hour and a half to get back here. It’s impossible. Why if—’
‘Mark, I have to get out.’
‘Why—’
‘At once. In five minutes it’ll be too late. I’ll explain later. Please, please trust me.’
Terry came up. ‘Hello, my dear, you’re looking quite ravishing. But pale, I think. Pale. Is Mark treating you badly?’
‘No. Very well,’ I said, and took two steps and then saw it was too late. Mr and Mrs Strutt had come into the room.
Rex was making the introductions. I saw Arthur Strutt smiling at Gail MacDonald, and I thought, perhaps I have changed myself enough. You can never tell. Colour of my hair’s different, of course, and the style quite; I was wearing my hair behind my ears in those days. And it was two years. Maybe he never really looked at me. He was a fat little man, and his wife was thin and faded, and—
He saw me and his face changed.
Rex said: ‘And this is my cousin and his wife, Mr and Mrs Mark Rutland.’
We said the usual things. I didn’t look at him much but I could see Strutt blinking behind his library spectacles the way he did when he was excited.
After what seemed about an hour he cleared his throat and said: ‘I think we have met before, haven’t we?’
I stared at him in surprise and then smiled. ‘I don’t think so. At least I don’t remember. Where was it?’
‘In Birmingham. With Mr Pringle?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m awfully sorry. I haven’t often been up there. How long ago?’
‘Two years. Rather less.’
His wife was looking at him suspiciously.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I lived in Cardiff two years ago. I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, but he moved on. He had to be introduced to this Malcolm Leicester and his wife.
I took a gulp of the drink the maid had just given me. It was strong gin but I needed it. My hand was shaking so much I had to put the glass down before anyone noticed me.
Then someone was holding my arm. ‘Bear up,’ Mark said under his breath. ‘He’s gone. Can I help now?’
I think if anything could have warmed me to him it was that. It did me more good than the gin to know he was like that about it. I smiled at him and shook my head.
But Strutt wasn’t satisfied yet. I saw him talking to his wife, but he didn’t come over again because Mrs Leicester started talking to him, and by the time she’d got through it was time to go in to dinner.
It was one of those good dinners, with plenty of the right food cooked the right way. You could see how the Newton-Smiths kept their strength up. Mark might think it was all a waste of time, but I saw now that the Newton-Smiths weren’t so simple after all, because of Malcolm Leicester. Somehow by inviting him as well as Mark and as well as the Holbrooks, Rex was calling the Holbrooks’ bluff. It was a new sort of game of poker, and afterwards I wasn’t so sure I’d have liked to play poker with fat Rex.
I had Terry on one side and a man whose name I forget on the other. Although it was all so good, everything I ate sat like an iron lump on my stomach.
Half-way through dinner I heard them talking about Rutland’s at the other end of the table. Leicester leaned across and said something to Mark and Mark said something back that made them all laugh; but I could see Mark had taken the point all the same.
I looked across sidelong and saw Mr Strutt watching me. I lowered my eyes just as quick as he looked away. His wife was on the other side of Terry, and she wasn’t exactly being showered with attention by Terry.
Terry said: ‘D’you mean it’s true – you can never come again to one of my little parties, my dear, my dear?’
‘I didn’t say so.’
‘We’re having a special one next Saturday. No holds barred. Think you can make it?’
‘Terry, is that Malcolm Leicester of the Glastonbury Investment Trust?’
An uneasy smile went across his face. ‘Yes. How d’you know? Did Mark tell you?’
‘No. I do it with tea-leaves.’
‘Or with reading letters? I remember my father saying once that you read personal letters when you were in the firm.’
It was the only bit of talk I recollect over that dinner, and I waited for the meal to finish. Afterwards all the women went upstairs. I knew I was in for more trouble yet, but I wasn’t expecting Mrs Strutt to start it. She came over to me when the others were all chattering and said:
‘I understand you knew my husband some years ago?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry but he’s confusing me with someone else.’
She looked at me in the mirror while I made up my lips. I mean, it wasn’t easy to concentrate. She was a drawn sort of woman, not too old, but she’d lost her looks.
‘Arthur never forgets a face.’
‘I don’t suppose he’s forgotten it, Mrs – er – Stott. I think he’s just mistaken it. Anyway, does it matter?’
She looked over her shoulder at the others. ‘I knew he was infatuated with a woman all through 1958,’ she said in a low voice.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I could never find out her name. He used to go off on these business trips . . . Did you leave him or something?’
I screwed the lipstick back in its thing and put it in my bag. ‘Honestly, Mrs Stott—’
‘Strutt, as you well know. He tells me some story now about you being in the Birmingham office; but I know he would never have blurted it out if you hadn’t taken him by surprise. He’s always so careful . . .’
There was a whole burst of giggles from the other women.
‘I sometimes look in his suitcases, his pockets . . . Only once in 1953, I really caught him. And even then . . .’
Well, I looked at her again in the mirror, and her eyes were brimming up with angry tears. And I suddenly felt awfully sorry for her, so I said: ‘Look, Mrs Strutt, honestly, your husband’s never been in love with me. Really, dear. He’s making a mistake and so are you. We’ve never even met before. Won’t you believe me?’
Mrs Newton-Smith had come up to the table. ‘Are you girls ready to go down?’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Strutt, and she turned away, but I didn’t know which one of us she was answering.
I knew of course he was going to have another stab at me. In a maddening sort of way his poor suspicious wife made it all the more necessary for him to prove himself right. Apart from that, he wasn’t the type of man who’d easily part with money. I expect Mr Pringle had got it hot at the time for not making more sure of my references.
I kept near Mark all the time. It looks silly when you come to think of it, but I felt he was a protection. I felt he was on my side. I’d never felt him on my side before.
We stayed on and on talking and drinking and chatting. Then Rex came over to me and started talking about hunting. But I’ve really no idea what he said. Ten-thirty came and ele
He blinked and said: ‘I’m sorry to keep on about this, Mrs Rutland, but you were Miss Marion Holland before you married, weren’t you.’
It wasn’t a question at all. It was just him stating what he knew to be true.
‘No,’ I said, not politely. ‘I wasn’t.’
Strutt blinked up at Mark, then glanced at his wife. ‘The Marion Holland I mean was employed by my firm as a confidential clerk between September 1958 and February 1959. In Birmingham that was, under my manager there, George Pringle.’
I sighed. After all, I’d every reason to be getting impatient by now. ‘Is it necessary to say it again? My maiden name was Elmer. But in 1958 and 1959 I was living with my then husband in Cardiff. He died late in 1959. His name was Jim Taylor. I’ve only been to Birmingham twice and that was five years ago.’
He stared at me, as if any minute he was going to call me a liar. Then Mark suddenly said: ‘I can confirm that, Mr Strutt, if it will give you any satisfaction. Though I don’t know what all the excitement’s about. I knew my wife before we were married.’ I was staggered by him coming in like this.
‘When?’ said Strutt. ‘In 1958?’
‘Yes. I met her first in Cardiff in June 1958. I’ve known her ever since. I don’t know what’s worrying you about the resemblance, but I can assure you it can only be a resemblance.’
That really upset him. You could see the conviction, the absolute certainty, dying away, and in its place for the first time, real doubt. ‘Well I’m jiggered . . . I’ve never seen such a resemblance, honestly. I admit, Marion Holland was a blonde, but you know how women change their hair . . .’
Someone behind us laughed. It was Terry.
Mr Strutt looked at me. ‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Rutland. I’d – you see, I’d a special reason for wanting to meet Miss Holland again. She – well, there it is, I think I’ve made rather a fool of myself. You haven’t a twin sister, I suppose?’
‘No sisters at all,’ I said, smiling now that he was backing down.
The suspicion crept around in his eyes, like quicksilver in a saucer. ‘You even smile like her . . . Well, I promise you I’ll never disbelieve one of those Prisoner of Zenda stories again.’
They left soon afterwards, and we were not long behind them.
Terry came down the steps with us, and instead of going over to his own car walked with us to ours. He talked away about this and that; but one thing I was certain, he wasn’t thinking what he was talking about. He kept darting little glances first at me and then at Mark.
He said: ‘I didn’t know Leicester was a friend of Rex’s before, did you, Mark?’
‘No.’
‘I never met him before,’ Terry said, ‘but he seems a nice chap. Powerful in his own way, too. By the by, I didn’t know either that you two knew each other as early as 1958. You weren’t ragging, were you?’
Mark said: ‘’Fraid not. You remember I was in Wales in June 1958 on that dispute with Verekers. I met Marnie then.’
‘While Estelle was alive?’
Mark hesitated. ‘I didn’t know Marnie well. We wrote once or twice.’
Terry laughed. ‘Deceitful, wasn’t it, my dears. All this business of her coming and asking for a job. Why so roundabout, eh?’
Mark hesitated again. ‘People talk, Terry. Even you. I didn’t want some silly scandal to get around.’
‘Ha, ha. Well, you see how your misdeeds find you out.’
He slammed my door and we drove off.
We drove off in one of those silences. I waited for Mark, but he said nothing at all. And his face had really nothing you could read on it.
It was freezing in the car and I leaned down to switch on the heater. It began to whirr but the engine was so cold that only cold air came in to begin with. The air swirled round my ankles and I shivered. I pulled the collar of my coat up. There was another car on ahead that had come from the house but I couldn’t remember who had left before us. There were one or two icy patches under the trees and once the car in front skidded. But it kept ahead of us almost half-way home. The moon was rising and sometimes it looked like a headlight coming the other way. A slight warmth began to come through the heater.
I said: ‘Mark, I want to thank you for what you’ve done tonight. You’ve been a real friend tonight, sticking up for me the way you did – I shall never forget it.’
‘No?’
‘No. I – it was wonderful and reassuring to feel that you wouldn’t let me down. I really am most awfully grateful.’
He said: ‘Well, d’you think in that case it’s time to start being most awfully truthful?’
‘About – tonight?’
He said patiently: ‘What else?’
‘Are you angry with me?’
He glanced at me. ‘Angry isn’t quite the word. Rocking on my heels, you might say – and anxious.’
‘It was marvellous the way you backed me up.’
‘So you’ve said. But let’s not make too much of that. Just put it down to the fact that I still don’t like the idea of your going to prison.’
I sighed. ‘Well, thank Heaven for that.’
‘I honestly think, Marnie, that it’s time you stopped thanking Heaven, or me, or anyone else, and faced up to the facts of life.’
‘Which are?’
‘That you’re going to have to tell me about all the other money you’ve stolen in the past.’
‘What d’you mean? Who said it was anything to do with money?’
‘I asked Strutt.’
‘You what!’
‘I asked him. I was entitled to know why he was so worked up at the thought of meeting Marion Holland. Eleven hundred pounds is enough to work any man up.’
‘But he’ll think—’
‘He’s suspicious anyway; but no more so than he was before. I think we’ve pretty well choked him off, at the expense of making Terry believe I was trailing round after you while I was married to Estelle. Oddly, it’s just the sort of explanation Terry would most easily swallow.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about that—’
‘You needn’t be.’
The other car had gone. We went miles in silence. He said: ‘I must know, here and now, I’ve just got to know what the real score is. Helping you at all may be unprofitable, but helping you blindfold is a fool’s game.’
‘I suppose it looks as if I’ve cheated you. But you see, I never wanted you to know—’
‘I can believe that.’
‘Let me finish. I never wanted you to know because I felt you had faith in me, and if I told you any more, that would destroy it. You may think I care nothing about you but . . .’ My voice broke.
‘Whatever else happens tonight,’ he said gently, ‘for Pete’s sake let’s not get the issues blurred with crocodile tears.’
We turned in at our drive and he drove into the garage.
‘D’you remember,’ I said, ‘when you caught me before, when you brought me back here and we were having supper, I said I was a thief and a liar. I told you so plainly then. I said forgive me and let me go. And I said it later too. You wouldn’t let me go.’
‘So what’s followed is really my fault?’
‘I didn’t say that—’
‘But I have to bear a share of the responsibility? Is that it? Well, quite right too.’
He cut the engine and we sat a minute in the dark. I wriggled my handkerchief out and blew my nose. In the garden you could hear the wind sighing through the bare branches of the trees.
‘Quite right too,’ he said. ‘I wanted to believe what you told me before we were married. I checked some of it and took the rest on trust. After all, I was in love with you, and trust must begin somewhere. To tell the truth, I was afraid even then of going too deep, just in case there was something wrong with your story. I thought, what’s over
‘Mark—’
‘But it was pretty bad reasoning all the same. What’s over isn’t over. I’ve got to go into your past life, Marnie.’
‘I’ll tell you everything I can—’
‘You mean you’ll tell me everything you can’t avoid. I’m afraid that won’t do this time. We’ve really got to go a bit deeper.’
I opened the door of the car and moved my legs to get out.
He said: ‘Marnie.’
‘All right.’
‘No, it’s got to be more than all right this time. I’m no longer the man you married. With your willing aid I’ve become cynical and disillusioned. So, though I still want to help you, I swear to God that if I find you out in any lies tonight I’ll go to Mr Arthur Strutt and tell him of the mistake I made. After that nothing can save you from the police. So bear it in mind, will you?’
We didn’t go to bed that night until five. Except that he was so polite about it he’d have made a good man for the Inquisition. His face got whiter and whiter as the night went on. He looked like the Devil. Sometimes I cried, sometimes I screamed at him; but he just went on.
In the end I told him all about the Birmingham affair, all about the one in Manchester, all about Newcastle. In the end I was so exhausted I couldn’t stand. And I hated him more than ever. All the good he’d done by sticking up for me at the Newton-Smiths was lost.
Even then I didn’t tell him about Mother, and I didn’t tell him about Swansea. He thought he’d squeezed me dry but he hadn’t quite. I clung on.
But three was bad enough. I’d never have thought anyone could have made me tell so much. I’ve heard about prisoners being questioned in the war, how once they started talking they went on.
At five o’clock he made a cup of tea and we drank it together. We’d been in the kitchen all the time because it was warmest at that time of night. The windows were steamed as if it was with all the hot air.
After we’d been sipping for a time he said: ‘I still don’t know why you did it, why you began.’