Free The Merciless Ladies by Winston Graham Page B

– they had been darkened a shade – were falling out, becoming softer; they gentled her face, made her less elfin, more feminine. The stresses of marriage, and a failed marriage, had done no harm to her looks at all.
    She said: ‘It’s good to have you back. I rely on you. Did you know that?’
    I smiled. ‘Come off it.’
    â€˜Well it’s true! We were – sweethearts for a time, if one can still use the expression. I like – après Paul – to think I still have my friends.’
    â€˜You must have many, Olive. You’re better looking, more glamorous than ever.’
    â€˜Oh, that. Yes. Well, I have my little side-amours. But that’s not quite what I mean. You’re something more .’
    I sipped my drink again, wondering where this was leading.
    I said: ‘Does it have to be après Paul?’
    â€˜Well, what do you suggest? I can tell you he’s hell to live with.’
    â€˜You didn’t give it a very long try.’
    â€˜Two years . It seemed a lifetime!’
    She was sitting with a puckered frown, her face tightened as if to resist inquiry. I said: ‘ These things don’t always fall right the first time. Why not give it a second throw?’
    She shrugged. ‘ Did he tell you he was willing?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜No. Nor is he likely to while he’s got that bitch Marnsett in tow.’
    â€˜But you might be willing?’
    She got up. ‘What d’you think I am, Bill – a squaw, waiting for the Big Chief to lift his finger? To hell with him and his cheap entourage!’
    I looked at her standing by the window in her flimsy emerald-green frock and wondered – not altogether idly – if Paul ever bad painted her naked. She was a very attractive woman. And could be a dangerous one.
    â€˜What are you thinking, Bill?’
    The question came sharply. ‘Thinking? About myself.’
    â€˜That must be quite a change.’
    â€˜Don’t you believe it. I’m constantly in my thoughts. But sometimes you intrude on them.’
    â€˜Do I?’ She smiled. ‘Tell me.’
    I shook my head. ‘It’s time I went. Is Maud still here?’
    Maud was a plump spotty woman who had let me in and handed round the drinks.
    â€˜Why? D’you need a chaperon?’
    â€˜No … She put my coat away somewhere.’
    â€˜She’s in the kitchen. I’ll call her in a moment.’
    We looked at each other. Olive came across and stood on. tip-toe, hands on my shoulder. I bent and kissed her, my hands moving up and down her back. She gave her whole body to me, like something without bone. After a long time she used her hands to push me away.
    â€˜Yes’, she said, ‘I see what you mean. You do need a chaperon.’
    I said: ‘ Perhaps you need Paul.’
    It was a queer note to part on, half sexual, half antagonistic, but that was the way it went between us.
II
    I was busy for a while and did not see any of them. I was sent up to cover one of the Jarrow unemployment marches, and after that the prosperity and the quarrels of my friends did not seem quite real for a while. When I did call on Paul, Diana Marnsett was there and had just been sitting for him, so I proceeded to back out, but Paul gripped my arm.
    â€˜There’s a drink behind you, old boy. What’s the worst the Press can do these days?’
    â€˜I’m an amateur’, I said. ‘ Refer you to the society editor.’
    â€˜It must be healthy to be a journalist’, Diana said, blowing smoke rings. ‘One can work off one’s lower nature in print. Sort of spiritual purge taken daily. I wish—’
    â€˜One thing’, Paul said. ‘ Printer’s ink smells better than turps. My stomach is beginning to turn.’
    I raised my eyebrows. It seemed as if I had come at a time when feelings were roused.
    â€˜Is this the conventional complaint of a rich man?’ I