‘Agatha,’ said Archie. ‘Please. The servants will hear you, and the child.’
‘The child. The child! Don’t you talk to me about the child.’ Because he refused to stand, she had to bend from the waist to pummel him, fists balled up, raining down upon his suited chest. The blows caused Archie no pain. He told me he had to watch himself to keep from laughing.
‘How cruel you are,’ I said, but let the words fall lightly, as if cruelty bothered me not one whit.
Poor Agatha. She had woken from her fondest dream into her worst nightmare. And nothing she said or did could wrest any emotion from her husband.
Finally, Archie stood. He grabbed her wrists to stop the blows. ‘Enough of this,’ he said. ‘I’m leaving. After work, I’ll be going to the Owens’ for the weekend. We can sort the rest next week.’
‘I suppose she’ll be there too?’
‘No,’ Archie said, because it was the reply he thought would cause the least reaction, and lying had become second nature to him since he first got tangled up with me.
‘She will be there,’ Agatha said. ‘I know she will. A house party, a couples’ weekend. Only you won’t be with your wife, you’ll be with her, that harlot. That nasty little harlot.’
A common mistake wives make as they watch their husbands go. The road back to Archie’s affections was not paved with insults to me. He was that most impenetrable of creatures, an infatuated man. The darkest scowl crossed his face and he tightened his grip.
‘You mustn’t talk about Nan that way.’
‘You,’ she said. ‘Telling me what I shouldn’t do. You shouldn’t go away with a woman who’s not your wife. You shouldn’t be leaving me now, when I need you most. I will talk about Nan any way I like.’
‘Calm down, Agatha.’
She kicked him in the shins. As she only wore slippers it barely made him flinch. How maddening her own ineffectual strength must have been. She twisted her wrists out of his grasp so furiously that when he let go she fell backwards. Archie noted welts already beginning to form as Agatha stroked each wrist in turn, but he wasn’t able to regret it, so firm was his conviction that she had brought this on herself. He had one goal and one goal only and that was to be rid of her.
The night before, Archie had succumbed to nostalgia and carnal longing. But today he returned to his mission. Like any good zealot he would not allow himself to be dissuaded. With long-legged strides he crossed the study to return to the front hallway. He picked up his valise and walked out to his car, the second-hand Delage Agatha had bought for him with money from her new contract. It was rather a grand car and Archie preened in its presence, as if its ownership were something he’d achieved entirely on his own. It had an electric starter motor, no cranking was necessary, and he could just hop in and escape. How galling it must have been, as she flung herself through the doorway, seeing him drive away in that extravagant gift.
‘Archie!’ she cried, running down the long drive. ‘Archie!’
Dust flew up from the tyres, a cloud in front of her. Archie didn’t even turn to glance through the back windscreen. His shoulders were set, firm and determined. He was gone from her, unreachable in every possible way.
‘Unreachable’ is the same word Honoria used later, to describe Agatha. It was Honoria’s job to wake Teddy and ready her for school, and after she’d risen, she heard loud voices from inside Mr Christie’s study: a marital squabble and a bad one at that. So she went to the nursery, where Teddy sat in a corner, already awake and playing with her dolls. That was the sort of child Teddy was, a seven-year-old who could climb out of bed and set to amusing herself, troubling no one.
‘Hello there, Teddy.’
‘Good morning.’ Teddy pushed dark hair out of her eyes. She was not surprised to see Honoria. Often Teddy awoke to find both parents already gone for the day. Before she was five her parents had left her an entire year, to travel round the world. Agatha herself had been raised largely by a beloved servant she called ‘Nursie’。 To Agatha, it was a perfectly reasonable way to bring up a child.