Pugh tried once again to persuade her that they should open a joint bank account, but Ross needed to catch only the occasional word drifting his way from the next table to realize that she still wasn’t convinced. When he told her he would be returning to the bank in the morning to close his account so the same bank could take care of both of their affairs in future, she nodded, but didn’t comment.
Ross had already decided he wouldn’t be following Pugh to the bank in the morning, but would remain at the hotel in the hope of detaining his wife for a few minutes in order to, in the commander’s words, enlighten her.
The conversation at the next table turned to a proposed visit to the theatre the following evening. Pugh confirmed that the hotel had managed to get them front-row seats in the dress circle for a performance of Les Misérables. Mrs Pugh seemed delighted by the news, and although Ross could catch only the occasional word coming his way, the laughter and clinking of glasses suggested that the atmosphere between the newlyweds had changed. After they had given the waiter their orders, Pugh leant across the table and said something in a stage whisper that took Ross by surprise.
‘Your wig has gone a bit skew-whiff, my love.’
Mrs Pugh rose slowly from her place and said, ‘I’ll only be a few moments, my darling,’ and left without another word.
Ross readjusted the mirror in his cigarette case, and watched as Pugh took a cigar holder out of an inside pocket, which struck Ross as strange, as the Pughs hadn’t yet been served with their main course.
Pugh unscrewed the holder, removed a cigar and placed it on the table in front of him. He looked cautiously around the crowded room, before tipping the tube upside down and emptying some white powder into his wine glass. He stirred the wine with the handle of his fork, before placing the cigar back in its holder and returning it to his pocket. Pugh glanced around the room once again, before he switched wine glasses with his wife’s. The whole deception had taken under a minute.
Ross caught the eye of the ma?tre d’， who was showing some guests to their table. He scribbled a few words on the back of his menu and put a finger to his lips as the ma?tre d’ approached him. He read the message before moving casually to the next table, where Mr Pugh was staring intently towards the entrance of the restaurant.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, sir,’ said the ma?tre d’， ‘but you have an overseas call. If you could go to reception, the caller is holding on.’
‘Did they give you a name?’ demanded Pugh.
‘No, sir. It was a lady. She said it was urgent.’
Pugh quickly got up and scurried out of the restaurant. As soon as he’d left the room, Ross dropped his copy of the New York Times on the floor. He bent down to retrieve the newspaper and, as he stood up, he switched back the Pughs’ wine glasses with a sleight of hand that would have impressed Jimmy the dip.
Ross was walking towards the bar when an angry Pugh stormed past him. He had only just sat down when his wife reappeared.
Ross climbed onto a stool at the far end of the bar, ordered a coffee and continued to read his newspaper. He looked up to see Pugh raising his glass in a toast, to which his wife happily responded. He drained his glass, and she took a sip from hers, as their main courses were placed in front of them.
No sooner had Pugh picked up his knife and fork than his face turned ashen. He began to shake and fell forward onto the table, foaming at the mouth.
‘Fetch a doctor!’ shouted Mrs Pugh hysterically. A man seated a few tables away jumped up and hurried across, but after only a cursory examination it was clear to everyone watching that there was nothing he could do to help.
Ross watched as events unfolded in front of him. A few moments later two waiters appeared carrying a stretcher, accompanied by the ma?tre d’。 Some of the guests turned away, while others looked on with morbid fascination as the lifeless body was lowered onto the stretcher and carried out of the room, followed by the distraught widow.
Ross took advantage of the commotion and quietly left the restaurant. As he passed the ma?tre d’， he slipped him a hundred-rand note which he acknowledged with a slight bow. From the foyer Ross watched discreetly as the stretcher was carried out to a waiting ambulance, where two redundant paramedics took over. Mrs Pugh burst into tears as one of them checked her late husband’s pulse, closed his eyes and gently pulled a sheet over his head.
Ross had come across many grieving widows over the years, and he wasn’t in any doubt that Mrs Pugh’s tears were genuine, which took him by surprise. Was it possible she really had loved that odious creature? Perhaps she would have felt differently had she known it should have been her, not him, being whisked off to the morgue. As the ambulance drove off, he strolled across to the reception desk to pick up his key.