Fall of Giants

He had two glasses of hock with his lunch, but his anxiety came back when he left the dining room and made his way to the Gardenia Suite. Ethel held his fate in her hands. She had all of a woman’s soft, emotional nature, but nevertheless she would not be told what to do. He could not control her, and that scared him.

But she was not there. He looked at his watch. It was a quarter past two. He had said “after lunch.” Ethel would have known when coffee had been served and she should have been waiting for him. He had not specified the location, but surely she could work that out.

He began to feel apprehensive.

After five minutes he was tempted to leave. No one kept him waiting like this. But he did not want to leave the issue unresolved for another day, or even another hour, so he stayed.

She came in at half past two.

He said angrily: “What are you trying to do to me?”

She ignored the question. “What the hell were you thinking of, to make me talk to a lawyer from London?”

“I thought it would be less emotional.”

“Don’t be bloody daft.” Fitz was shocked. No one had talked to him like this since he was a schoolboy. She went on: “I’m having your baby. How can it be unemotional?”

She was right, he had been foolish, and her words stung, but at the same time he could not help loving the music of her accent-the word “unemotional” having a different note for each of its five syllables, so that it sounded like a melody. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll pay you double-”

“Don’t make it worse, Teddy,” she said, but her tone was softer. “Don’t bargain with me, as if this was a matter of the right price.”

He pointed an accusing finger. “You are not to speak to my wife, do you hear me? I won’t have it!”

“Don’t give me orders, Teddy. I’ve got no reason to obey you.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?”

“Shut up and listen, and I’ll tell you.”

He was infuriated by her tone, but he remembered that he could not afford to antagonize her. “Go on, then,” he said.

“You’ve behaved to me in a very unloving way.”

He knew that was true, and he felt a stab of guilt. He was wretchedly sorry to have hurt her. But he tried not to show it.

She went on: “I still love you too much to want to spoil your happiness.”

He felt even worse.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said. She swallowed and turned away, and he saw tears in her eyes. He began to speak, but she held up her hand to silence him. “You are asking me to leave my job and my home, so you must help me start a new life.”

“Of course,” he said. “If that’s what you wish.” Talking in more practical terms helped them both suppress their feelings.

“I’m going to London.”

“Good idea.” He could not help being pleased: no one in Aberowen would know she had a baby, let alone whose it was.

“You’re going to buy me a little house. Nothing fancy-a working-class neighborhood will suit me very well. But I want six rooms, so that I can live on the ground floor and take in a lodger. The rent will pay for repairs and maintenance. I will still have to work.”

“You’ve thought about this carefully.”

“You’re wondering how much it will cost, I expect, but you don’t want to ask me, because a gentleman doesn’t like to ask the price of things.”

It was true.

“I looked in the newspaper,” she said. “A house like that is about three hundred pounds. Probably cheaper than paying me two pounds a month for the rest of my life.”

Three hundred pounds was nothing to Fitz. Bea could spend that much on clothes in one afternoon at the Maison Paquin in Paris. He said: “But you would promise to keep the secret?”

“And I promise to love and care for your child, and raise her-or him-to be happy and healthy and well-educated, even though you don’t show any sign of being concerned about that.”

He felt indignant, but she was right. He had hardly given a thought to the child. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m too worried about Bea.”

“I know,” she said, her tone softening as it always did when he allowed his anxiety to show.

“When will you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. I’m in just as much of a hurry as you. I’ll get the train to London, and start looking for a house right away. When I’ve found the right place, I’ll write to Solman.”

“You’ll have to stay in lodgings while you look for a house.” He took his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed her two white five-pound notes.

She smiled. “You have no idea how much things cost, do you, Teddy?” She gave back one of the notes. “Five pounds is plenty.”

He looked offended. “I don’t want you to feel that I’m short-changing you.”

Her manner changed, and he caught a glimpse of underlying rage. “Oh, you are, Teddy, you are,” she said sourly. “But not in money.”

“We both did it,” he said defensively, glancing at the bed.

“But only one of us is going to have a baby.”

“Well, let’s not argue. I’ll tell Solman to do what you have suggested.”

She held out her hand. “Good-bye, Teddy. I know you’ll keep your word.” Her voice was even, but he could tell that she was struggling to maintain her composure.