‘Winifred, you’re so energetic. We could just laze on the beach.’
‘We’ve been lazing already, Archie. Don’t you miss work, all this lazing?’
‘Not at all. This is what life is about, isn’t it, trying to get a few good hours, a few good days?’ he said. ‘Monica used to say I was too frivolous for words. She liked Edward,’ he said, turning to Laura, ‘because he was so ambitious. Why don’t you work as hard as Edward? she used to say … I’m sorry …’ It was the wrong thing to say, but it was Peter who steered the conversation into easier waters, saying something about the good life and leisure, and how it was only in modern times that people associated work with the good life.
Laura saw how his statement irritated Winifred, who interrupted him, arguing that without proper jobs they were just drifters, exploiting the work done by others. Laura wanted to tell Winifred that even with her job she was still reliant on the work of others; it wasn’t as though she produced anything – but of course she said nothing. She didn’t have a leg to stand on. They were all, in that room, exploiting others, relying on the wealth of their class, of the group, eating, drinking, taking drugs, playing cards, while others cleaned up after them and cooked for them and made and washed and ironed the crisp cotton clothes for their ageing, sweating bodies. It all seemed so ugly to her.
But she must not forget the game they were playing. Laura played her lowest diamond to follow Archie’s king, and looked over to Peter as he sat contemplating his cards, with his deadpan face, and suddenly asked, out of the blue, ‘I can’t remember if you met Edward, Peter – did you?’
His expression did not change, as he threw down his six and said, ‘A few times, at the club.’ Winifred put down a queen, with a heavy sigh. Peter looked up from his cards and caught Laura’s gaze. Caught it, held it and looked down again. That rhythm was too slow. Like the wrong chord on a piano, held too long. Did it mean something? For a moment Laura wanted to believe it did. Could Valance be right? As she let that possibility grow in her, she thought that, if so, if Peter really was part of the network, then maybe she had finally found a route to Edward. Maybe she could discover something from him – how to pass a letter, how to find out what was going on, what was being planned. She felt an answering note of expectation sound inside her.
But as soon as she heard it, it died. This was too unlikely; she could not be such a fool. Would she trust a suggestion – almost an introduction – from MI5? More likely it was a trap. It would be absurd for her to trust anyone ever again. The looming shadows – the Rosenbergs, the executions, their orphaned children – they were the darkness of the summer still.
The next trick started with hearts, and Laura tried to follow the game, but was aware that she had lost track of the conversations around her. She had moved back into the world where nobody was what they seemed. Her whole body seemed to rebel against the thought of being trapped in that net again. She felt a pain in her stomach and her hands slipped with sweat.
‘Is it time for a cocktail, do you think?’ she asked, as the cards were slapped down.
‘Good idea – I’ll go and get the things,’ said Archie. As he mixed martinis, Amy and Gianni left the room again.
‘Pretty sad seeing Amy in this state,’ Peter said, gathering up the cards. ‘I’d heard she was a complete addict now, but hadn’t realised how bad it had got.’
Laura took the cold glass from Archie’s hand and crossed over to the window, looking out, saying that it looked as if the rain was easing off and maybe they could go to Ravenna after lunch.
On Sunday night, all the others left. She saw how Amy looked at Winifred as she wished her goodbye: it was a complicit, amused look that made hot jealousy rise in Laura’s throat, a look that was followed up by a quick, almost aggressive kiss on Winifred’s mouth. What a relief that they were all driving off to other parties and travels; the house was easier and fresher when it was just Archie with her and Rosa and Aurore. There were a few days to go before Laura had booked the train back to Geneva, and even Archie seemed relieved that the relentless partying of the others was over, and the days asserted a more gentle rhythm.