Dominion

Chapter Twenty-Seven

ON THURSDAY AFTERNOON, Sarah drove with David to Mrs Templeman’s funeral. It was held at an ugly modern church in Wembley, not far from the stadium. On a wall nearby someone had painted a Resistance ‘R’; it made Sarah’s heart rise a tiny bit. A hearse was waiting at the churchyard gate, a flower-covered coffin in the back. Sarah’s stomach clenched as she thought, the lid must have been nailed down after the autopsy, nobody would be allowed to see that ruined head. It was cold for late November; as she walked up the path arm in arm with David she noticed frost on the grass around the graves. She remembered Mrs Templeman, on the train last Sunday, saying brightly, ‘They say it’s the coldest November for years.’ A little way off, two men in overalls stood by a newly dug grave, spades on the ground beside them, holding their caps as a mark of respect. Sarah clutched David’s arm tightly, grateful to him for coming.

People in black were gathering in the doorway of the church. She recognized some from Friends House committees; others must be family and friends. She was introduced to Mr Templeman, a small, thin man, his face white as paper under his Homburg hat. He seemed to have collapsed into himself with grief, leaning heavily on the arm of a woman who, from their resemblance, must be a sister. Sarah thought, thank God the poor man has family; she remembered Mrs Templeman saying their son had died in the 1940 war. Mr Templeman shook her hand and smiled without recognition when she offered her condolences; he must have forgotten speaking to her on the telephone. A top-hatted undertaker came and murmured quietly to the sister. She said, ‘Yes, we should go in now.’

Sarah glanced back down the path. The coffin was being unloaded from the back of the hearse. She looked at the houses opposite the church, wondering if there might be a Special Branch policeman at one of those windows, watching who went in and out. David said, ‘Come on, darling.’ She turned and went into the church.

Sarah had been dreading the funeral, and that morning had occupied herself by doing some mending, then preparing lunch for David, who was coming home to pick her up. She put the radio on, hoping the Light Programme might relax her a little, but when the doorbell rang she jumped.

On the doorstep was a man in his sixties, in cap and brown overalls. He touched his cap. ‘Mrs Fitzgerald?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m Mr Weaver. Weaver and Son. You asked us to estimate for some redecoration. Your staircase.’ Sarah had forgotten they were coming this morning. She asked him in and showed him the torn, discoloured wallpaper where the gates had been. ‘We’ll need to change the wallpaper all the way up if it’s to look right,’ he said. ‘I won’t be able to find an exact match.’

The man took measurements, then asked what sort of wallpaper she wanted. Sarah realized she had no idea. He produced a book of patterns and she chose something more or less at random.

‘Can I leave it with you now?’ she asked the man. ‘Only I’m getting my husband’s lunch.’

‘All right. I’ll send you an estimate.’ The decorator smiled. ‘What was it you had there, a child’s gate?’

‘Yes.’

‘Old enough to get up and down stairs now, is he?’

‘Yes,’ Sarah said quickly, ‘that’s right.’ Only a short time ago the man’s words would have brought her close to tears.

‘Well, I’ll get on,’ the man said. ‘I’ll let you have a full quote in a couple of days. Would you like it done before Christmas?’

‘As soon as possible, really.’

The cheerful dance music from the kitchen had stopped for the twelve o’clock news. At the end of the broadcast, as after every bulletin that week, the announcer asked any Jews not yet relocated to attend at the nearest police station. Mr Weaver said, ‘Looks like some are still at large.’ He spoke neutrally, the way people did nowadays to someone whose political views they didn’t know.

‘Yes,’ Sarah agreed. After closing the door she looked up the staircase. She felt somehow that Charlie had really gone now, disappeared into whatever place the dead went to.

The vicar at the funeral was dull, uninspired. He told the mourners he had known Mrs Templeman for years, praised her faith and good works and kindness. He said that she had had a quick and painless end, for which all should be thankful. He promised she was safe now, in the arms of Christ Jesus. Sarah saw Mr Templeman wasn’t listening; he looked as though he didn’t really know where he was. It had been like that for her and David at Charlie’s funeral. She glanced at her husband; he was looking at the minister with a sort of uncomprehending anger. They sang a hymn, ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. Her voice was shaky. David sang tunelessly in his heavy, flat baritone. Neither had ever been good singers, they used to joke about it.

After the burial they walked back to the gate; the reception was for family and close friends only. Sarah said, ‘Thanks for coming, David.’

‘Everybody seems to believe the story about the heart attack,’ he said quietly.

‘Nobody knows otherwise, except us. Those poor people.’

He said gently, ‘Let’s go home.’

In the car she told him about the decorator’s visit. ‘We should have done it ages ago,’ he said, but when they got home he suddenly said, ‘I’m afraid I may have another funeral soon. Uncle Ted’s not doing so well.’

‘I thought he was getting better.’

‘So did I. But he’s back in hospital. You know how it is with old people and hips.’

‘How did you hear?’

‘I gave the hospital my work number. He could go at any time, they said.’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘If it happens I’ll have to go up and sort everything out. No need for you to come.’

She frowned. ‘That doesn’t seem fair to you. I’ll come with you. You came today.’

‘I’ll have to take several days off to arrange things. I’m his executor, you see.’

She thought of blank-faced Mr Templeman. ‘Poor Uncle Ted,’ she said quietly. ‘No-one to really mourn him.’

David looked uncomfortable. ‘No-one left suffering, you could say. As we have with Charlie.’

She sighed. ‘I suppose we’d better get some wine to take to Steve and Irene’s tonight.’

‘I wish they hadn’t invited us.’ Irene had phoned with the invitation the day before.

‘Well, they did. I’ll go up to the shops. I saw they had some Belgian chocolates in. We can taken them to Irene’s. A box will cost the earth with the import duty, but still—’

‘All right.’

The telephone rang. It didn’t make them jump this time, but they both tensed. Sarah was closer and picked it up. ‘Hello.’

For a moment there was silence at the other end, then a woman’s voice, cultivated and a little breathless, said, ‘I wonder if I could speak to Mr Fitzgerald, please.’

Sarah turned and looked at David. ‘Who is it calling?’ she asked.

‘My name is Bennett, Miss Bennett. I work with Mr Fitzgerald. Is that Mrs Fitzgerald?’

‘Yes, it is. How can we help you, Miss Bennett?’ Sarah asked, quietly and evenly, looking at David as she spoke. His eyes widened but the rest of his face seemed to constrict slightly, go deliberately blank.

The voice at the other end was anxious. ‘It’s about a problem at work, something that’s come up. I really would be grateful if I could speak to him.’

‘Hold on a moment, please.’ She put her hand over the mouthpiece and looked at David.

‘What does she want?’ he asked.

‘She says there’s a problem at work, and she wants to talk to you about it.’

‘Hell.’ David reached out for the telephone. Sarah stayed standing next to him, so she could hear. She remembered Carol Bennett’s face from office functions: thin, intense, predatory.

‘Hello, Carol,’ David said, in a puzzled tone. ‘What happened, why are you ringing me at home?’

‘Why did you leave that message cancelling tomorrow’s concert? Did Mr Hubbold ask you to?’ Sarah could hear her; the woman’s voice had risen in volume, sounding panicky.

‘No,’ David answered. ‘I said in the message, I had to go to a funeral today and I’ll have to catch up on work tomorrow. We’ve just come back.’

‘Only – have they been asking you questions about a missing file?’

David hesitated, then said, ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Only they’ve been asking me, and I’m afraid I’m in trouble. I’m sorry to ring you at home, I looked your number up in the book. Can we meet for lunch tomorrow? I need someone in the office I can talk to.’

‘Is it about a confidential file? Only if it is—’

‘Please meet me tomorrow, for lunch. At the British Corner House. One o’clock. Please.’ And then she must have put the phone down, because David stared at the receiver blankly for a moment before replacing it on its rest.

Sarah’s legs were shaking. She went into the lounge and sat down. David came in after her. Sarah took what felt like the longest breath of her life, then said, ‘Are you having an affair with that woman? A lost file, was that your cover story in case I answered the phone?’

He stared at her blankly. ‘Of course not. What on earth would make you think such a thing?’

‘She said you cancelled a concert. You’ve been going to concerts with her. I know, I found a ticket with her name on it, weeks ago!’ She heard herself beginning to shout.

David stood looking down at her, his face suddenly red with anger. ‘You’ve been going through my pockets?’

‘Of course I bloody haven’t! I found it when I was getting your coat ready for the cleaners. And don’t you think anyone would get suspicious, the number of evenings you ring saying you have to work late? The number of weekends you go into the office? Tennis evenings with Geoff that are arranged all of a sudden? You must think me a fool!’

‘I don’t—’

‘I phoned the tennis club the week before last, when you were supposed to be there, and you weren’t!’ The words came tumbling out. She felt frightened but it was a huge relief as well. ‘Why would she phone you at home about some missing bloody papers?’

David stood there, breathing hard. ‘Sarah,’ he said. ‘For God’s sake. I am not having an affair with Carol Bennett. I’ve been to lunchtime concerts with her, but apart from that I’ve never seen her outside the office. Never, not once.’

‘You’ve been to office functions with her—’

‘Only when you were there as well—’

‘I’ve seen the way she looks at you—’

He shouted, ‘I can’t help that! I’ve been to concerts with her to get a break from the bloody Office. It’s only once every few weeks!’

‘What about that time you weren’t at the tennis club?’

She saw he needed a second to think before he answered. ‘There must’ve been some mix-up at reception. I was there. You can ask Geoff.’

‘Oh yes, Geoff. Your best friend, he’d cover for you!’ It was flying out of her now, all the anger.

‘Now you’re being stupid. Geoff wouldn’t do anything like that.’

‘I’m not bloody stupid!’

David closed his eyes, sighed deeply. When he opened them again he spoke coldly and evenly. ‘I’m not having an affair with Carol Bennett. Or anyone else. If she’s got herself into some sort of trouble at work, I’ll tell her to speak to – to the authorities.’ Then his face softened, and he said, ‘Don’t be too hard on her.’

‘Why not?’

‘She’s just a silly, lonely woman.’

‘You feel sorry for her, don’t you?’ Sarah pressed. ‘That’s what women like her do. Get men like you to feel sorry for them. That’s how it starts.’

‘I’m not having an affair.’ David went on, quietly, ‘I’ve tried to protect you. God knows what I’ve done to try to protect you.’

‘From what? From this affair?’

‘There is no affair!’ He, too, was shouting now. ‘From the world, from everything that’s happening outside this house.’

She stared at him. ‘I don’t need protecting. Tell me the truth.’

‘I’m not having an affair with Carol Bennett; I have no interest in her. That’s the truth. If you won’t believe me, I can’t make you.’ And then, as though he couldn’t trust himself to say more, David left the room.