Beware the Roasburies! Pt. 05

'Buck House' = Buckingham Palace (The hovel H M the Queen inhabits in London)

Chapter Twenty

Sunday 3 January 71

A week may be a long time in politics as Harold Wilson opined, but that week between Christmas and New Year was longer by far.

On Sunday the 3rd of January I sat in my armchair in my empty flat, or at least it felt empty even though Colette was sitting on the sofa. I had heard nothing from Connie since she had left on Boxing Day with her father.

We sat in silence, the feeling of oppression mitigated only by the music playing on the radio. Colette was reading a novel and I was sitting staring into space, something I had done frequently during that week.

What was it with these Roasburies? Two sisters, and they behaved in exactly the same way, except that the older sister had cheated under the impression I had cheated, and now it seemed Connie had the same impression. I had thought the episode at the Orchards in November had cleared that one up.

For the first two days I thought nothing of it, but by the Wednesday I began to worry. She had taken enough clothes for a short visit and all the rest were still in the second bedroom. The girls rallied round as usual, though I did not feel any need of sexual comfort from them. They were, however, just as puzzled as I was.

They dragged me to a New Year's Party, and I wondered all through that evening if she would phone while I was out to wish me a Happy New Year, but there was nothing. On New Year's Day divorce in Britain became very easy and that affected me: it seemed symbolic of the Roasburies, causing something to snap inside me. I rang the house. The dragon answered.

"What do you want?" she asked, after I identified myself.

"And a Happy New Year to you too, Mrs Roasburie," I replied, putting in all the sarcasm I could muster. Bad move. Silly move.

"I don't need any of that from you," she replied tartly.

"I would like to speak with Connie please," I said softening my tone.

"She's not here." Click.

I phoned Derek. Ingrid answered.

"Graham?" she sounded surprised, as well she might. "What's the matter?"

"Happy New Year, Ingrid," I began, "though it isn't very happy for me at the moment."

"I don't understand."

"You remember coming to see me to ask if Penny could talk to me?"

"Yes."

"She never came."

"But that is because what you told to us was wrong. It was not true. You had been seeing other girls. We were there at Christmas, and her mother had proof you had been seeing other women while engaged to her. Derek is here."

"Graham?"

"Hello Derek, what's going on? Connie left here on Boxing Day with her father for a couple of days. It's a week now, and I've heard nothing from her."

"We didn't see Connie," he replied curtly. "We left on Boxing Day morning. They didn't say they'd found her or we'd have stayed."

"So what's this about proof I'd been seeing other women when I was seeing Penny?"

"Mother's brother engaged a Private Investigator to watch you last year when Penny was in Liverpool, and he came up with a report. Cost her the earth she said, thousands. They watched you for months. She didn't use it because you broke up, but after the fracas in November, she showed Penny and at Christmas she showed the rest of us. It's convincing, Graham."

"If there's a report it's a fabrication, because there weren't any women while Penny was in Liverpool. I thought the girls explained that in November."

"Graham, the report detailed your relationships with all those women who backed up your story with dates. From what we saw, you and the three women weren't telling the truth. Quite a little harem you've got there. It's clear the lot of you were lying through your teeth. I think it would be better if you kept well clear of us all in future. Go fuck your sluttish colleagues." Click.

I was dumbstruck. This seemed so unreal, so far from the reality of what actually happened. So now my suspicion began to grow that Connie had also seen and believed that report. I could not understand how it could be so convincing, but it was unlikely I would ever find out, or that I would ever see Connie again either.

I had relayed the information to the girls, and Colette had come to stay for the weekend. We slept in the same bed but by unspoken agreement did not engage in any carnal pursuits. So there we were reading on a dull afternoon as the dusk fell.

"Graham," Colette said at length. "You could do with a break. Why don't you take next week off? You've got holiday entitlement coming to you that needs using up. Have a break. I have some time owing as well, we could go away for a few days. Take the whole week off, and I'll join you."

It seemed a good idea. Colette went home, since we were back at work the next day, when we both booked the following week off. No one else wanted the second week in January! It turned out the week's weather was the warmest for many years, early summer temperatures, though it did rain quite frequently.

Apparently Walsh made a sarcastic remark to his secretary in someone else's hearing about us taking the same week as holiday, but that did not surprise me at all.

Colette insisted we splash out on a really luxurious hotel in London to cheer me up, so we agreed she would book a suite at the Cavendish Hotel in Mayfair, from Wednesday 13th January to the Saturday after, with the intention of 'doing' the Museums and Art Galleries. We also booked first class returns on the train. It cost us frightening amount of money and as always we split the cost, but it was still very expensive.

I spent the week at work re-organising my diary, working late to complete work and having meetings that would not wait until I returned. Zena would field any urgent developments that might come up.

Wednesday 6 January 71

When I arrived home on Wednesday, quite late on, I knew someone had been in the flat. Nothing seemed to have been touched or moved around, but I had that feeling. I ranged round the flat and ended in Connie's room, when it became obvious that she had been there that day. More of her clothes were missing, and things had been moved around in the room.

I looked for a note. Nothing. Well, I changed that. I wrote one instead and left it prominently in her room.

Bad manners. Ingratitude. Distrust. Underhand behaviour. I didn't think you were like that. OK, you want to throw all the good my friends did for you in their faces, so why don't you take away the rest of the stuff they bought you and sneak out like a thief as you just have.

Whatever you've been told about me by your conniving mother and sister that's made you behave in such a hateful manner, is all lies. You want to think hard about the short time you were with me, about my family's love, my friends' care for you and Mary's helpfulness.

What evidence did you notice of me sleeping around while you were here? You knew about Colette but you also knew we did not get together while you were here. If you still won't talk, you're as bad as your sister. In which case good riddance to you. I'm sick and tired of you Roasburies. You're bad news the lot of you.

The note was still there on Thursday evening, but had disappeared on Friday. As far as I could see, she could not have taken very much more. However, there was no note from her in response.

As I might have expected with the Roasburies, I spent much of the weekend wondering if it would provoke any reaction. I could not work out if any more clothing had been taken. There was no reaction, no response.

On Monday I slept in and then Colette took me out shopping and for an evening meal.

"Tomorrow I'll come over and stay the night again, OK?"

"OK."

"In your bed."

"Definitely. I think Connie's in the past. She's gone."

"I'll bring my Sexy Nightie."

"Oh yes, please."

Tuesday 12 January 71

On Tuesday, Colette came over in the afternoon with her suitcase and we checked we had everything - train tickets with seats and breakfast on the train booked, and hotel reservations confirmed. She dropped her bag in Connie's old room and we then sat in the living room and drank our tea.

Late in the afternoon, we were both startled by the sound of the front door being opened with a key. Zena had a key but was at work. The only other person was Connie! Wouldn't you just believe it!

Colette made to get up, but I signalled her to sit tight. Whoever it was went to Connie's bedroom. There was an exclamation of surprise. We nodded at each other grimly. We assumed it was Connie and she had found Colette's bag.

The footsteps came to the living room and Connie entered, and stopped short at the sight of us. Her face showed shock and surprise, then dislike.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"If you've come for the rest of your things, get on with it." I snapped.

"I've not-"

"Constance, the property you are taking away is yours, but that is not the point. The point is your sheer bad manners and deception in not facing me and giving me an explanation. It's a real slap in the face for all those people who took you to their hearts and offered you friendship. None of us deserve this sort of treatment. So what have you to say?"

She looked puzzled, and I thought that perhaps there was some guilt there, then again dislike.

She scowled and said, "You told me a pack of lies about what you did when you were with Penny. That's what it's about. You were pretending to love her and saying you wanted to get married and all the time you were sleeping with your 'girls' for months before you proposed to her, and for months after. I suppose it was for release since she was not giving you any. She was devastated when she found out.

"And you got all these other people to lie to help you." She gestured at Colette. "How could you do that? You would have done the same with me. Mum said it was a lucky escape."

"OK," I said, restraining my frustration and anger. "Putting aside the fact that all that is a pack of lies on Penny's behalf - I assume because she is ashamed of what she has done - putting that aside for now, why not talk to me? You condemned me without giving me a chance, just like your sister."

Connie sat down, looking more uncomfortable. She said nothing.

"Nothing to say, Constance?" I deliberately used her full name to show my displeasure and to needle her.

"OK, we move on. I'm telling you truthfully that I was never unfaithful to Penny. Ever. At all. She lies. Without talking to me first she slept with another man, and I suspect she did it, not because she thought I was cheating, but because she wanted to. I think that is why she would not face me. So what do you say to that?"

At this Connie seemed to come to life.

"I know you are lying, and it's despicable you pretending you are wronged and innocent. You really conned me. I've seen the proof of what you've done. I've seen a Private Investigator's report detailing where you went with Colette here, and with the other two, staying together overnight. You're all in this together."

"Oh yes," I said dismissively, "that so called report. I don't believe you. Show me this 'report'."

"Mother's brother had you investigated when Penny went to Liverpool. It's a full report by a reputable investigation agency of all your fucking around. So you can stop your posturing. You don't really want to see it, because you know what's in it. Just admit it, you're pitiful."

"Well, since I've not seen this work of fiction, I can't comment. So why don't you show me? I do want to see it. Where is it?"

"Penny's got it," said Connie.

"Oh! Very convenient," I scoffed. "So how are you going to produce it? She won't come near me."

"I could go and get it," said Connie.

I burst out laughing. "And I'd never see you again. You and your darling sister have got form for disappearing. I think this is a bluff to get you out of my flat. Admit it."

I was goading her: at last I had a chance to get Penny to meet me.

"I could phone her," said Connie, uncertain and now puzzled about my urgency to see evidence that should condemn me. "How would that be?"

"OK," I said, "Get her here with the report, and let me see it."

Connie looked confused at my wanting to see the report, but went off to the hallway to phone.

Connie returned. "Penny's just got in from school. She doesn't want to see you, but she'll bring the report."

"Tough!" I said, "She will see me, because I'm going to answer the door. Then at last we can talk properly."

"We'll talk all right," Connie said harshly, "and there will be some grovelling to be done."

The doorbell rang, and I went to answer it. I opened it. There she stood. She looked surprised, perhaps astonished.

She was just as pretty as she had been when we were together, though now she wore a grimace of distain. It reminded me of her mother and did nothing for her looks. I looked inside myself for some feelings for her but she was like a stranger.

"Come in," I said, no more.

She walked past me and went to living room. She had a briefcase which she put on the dining table, opened it, took out a large envelope and extracted its contents: an official looking booklet. Then she shed her coat and put it over the back of the dining chair.

She stood back, her arms folded. She said nothing to me.

I went to the table, sat down on another chair and read the report carefully, which purported to be a record of the investigator's surveillance of me on and off from October 69 until April 70.

I glanced at the front of the booklet. The agency was one our practice used! That was why I remembered that man who kept appearing when I was out with one or other of the girls in the summer. The report was very helpful in that it headed each time of surveillance with the date.

Lawyers are trained to look for small details, and there were enough details to make me wonder why neither of the Roasburie girls had seen them. The first thing was the dates were just that, dates with no day mentioned, so perhaps the dates alone did not ring any bells with Penny.

Perhaps they didn't want to notice, or perhaps like most people, they only saw what they expected to see.

There were thirty occasions when I was supposed to have offended, just before and then mainly after Christmas and before Easter. Something did not look right, and I went to my room, returning with my diary for that year and my photographs. Then I went through each occasion putting days to the dates lightly in pencil. At length I sat back.

Now I knew that some of the descriptions were outright lies, of the sort the red top tabloid newspapers concoct about the famous.

One supposedly had a neighbour of Zena complaining of the noise we made making love because the walls were so thin, and moaning about the frequency of such trysts.

Another detailed a two day hotel visit where the 'investigator' saw evidence of 'intense sexual activity' in our hotel bedroom.

"It's a fabrication," I said. "Some of the descriptions actually refer to the summer after we broke up, and some are totally fictitious. I'm surprised no one noticed, it's obvious if you have a diary."

"You can't wriggle out of it that easily," said Penny coldly. "They catalogue action by action how you cheated on me with dates and places."

"I don't need to do any wriggling," I said. "If the report is actually by this agency, I will be suing them for libel: I'll destroy them. It is not necessary for me to prove that all this is fantasy, I can show it has malicious intent by merely asking you some simple questions."

I'm afraid the lawyer in me had come to the fore. I was cross-examining a witness. It was Penny in the witness box. Penny bridled but I was ploughing on.

"Do you remember when we went to the Everyman Theatre?" I asked her.

"Yes."

"Remember the date?"

"It was the beginning of March, we'd only just got engaged. We hadn't announced it."

"It was the Saturday 7th of March. Here, see the entry in my diary. Now, do you remember I took you to the Free Trade Hall for a concert, about two weeks later?"

"Yes, it was Sibelius, Tchaikovsky, and Beethoven."

"Well remembered, that's right," I said. "Sunday 22nd March: see - here is the diary entry.

"Again do you remember where you were the weekend after I proposed to you on the Valentine's Day weekend? Weekend of the 21st and 22nd of February?"

"I came to your flat that weekend, I remember I worked and you read, but I don't see..."

I went to the relevant page in the report. The report showed the same dates.

"OK, I think those will do. Now look at this page. Here, I've underlined them in pencil: the report dates them, 21st February, 7th March; now here: 22nd March. See?"

Penny began to look puzzled. On each of those days there was a description of me with Colette in compromising situations, hugging or kissing, and the dates were quite clearly the same, except the report did not show the days of the week.

"This one. it says I went into my flat with Colette hugging and kissing, on Saturday 21st February. It even says we had hands on each other's bottoms, me goosing her and pushing up her skirt. I'm sure you'd have noticed us in the flat, since you were in there yourself the whole weekend! Perhaps you were too wrapped up in your work?

"The Everyman theatre, 7th March, in Liverpool, staying overnight in your bed, remember? The report shows me on that date staying in Colette's flat overnight, and leaving early on the 8th in a 'dishevelled state'. Again it does not show the day or you would have known it was a weekend.

"And here I am going into the Free Trade Hall, the report dates it 22nd March, with - you? No! With a woman called Susan with whom I went to a Tom Paxton concert on Wednesday the 20th of May!. Perhaps you went with my doppelganger?"

"I remember the Tom Paxton concert," she said, thoughtfully, "I wanted to go but couldn't get tickets. That was way after we split up."

"Now this one's a pearler!" I must confess to crowing. "Surely you saw this travesty?"

"No? What's so special about this one?"

"12th to the 14th December? Here I am in Ironbridge with Colette!"

"So?"

"Think Penny! What weekend was that? The last of your autumn term? Two parties?"

It was almost fun to see the dawning realisation. "You organised a weekend away for me, and I didn't go."

"Who went instead, Penny? Colette?"

"No, Kitty. And you went to London. She wouldn't let me forget it!"

"Well, according to this report there was evidence on the dishevelled bed Colette and I shared, of rampant sex! You remember that don't you Colette?"

"First weekend in June," she said, off hand. "The report is accurate about the state of the bed!" she giggled. "Great weekend that!"

Penny looked perplexed. "But...? Why didn't I see that? Especially that date?"

"Perhaps you didn't want to see? Perhaps you were so eager to get proof?"

"No, Graham! I just didn't notice!"

I was being a little unfair. Further the dates without days attached would not have rung a bell. I was actually looking for lies, so I found them. I continued.

"Penny, I don't need to prove when all these events in the report happened, most of them in the summer, only that these are fakes, deliberately falsified. If these, then all!"

She paled. "No, you're right. It's all a nasty lie."

"When did you first get sight of this so called report?" I asked.

"Well, after the November dinn..." She lapsed into silence.

"Exactly. You couldn't have seen it earlier - say just after Easter - because it was concocted over the summer when all those events happened, I assume in case you ever had second thoughts."

"Now, look at this diary entry of mine: Monday and Tuesday 9th and 10th May."