were already marshalling her rose bushes, which offered white and pink cups of petal to the wind; they shook gently under a cloud of greenish-white butterflies. She frowned, saying: ‘I must get the garden boy to spray those roses this morning.’
He nodded, saying: ‘I might not be back for lunch,’ and walked off, hands behind his back, towards the gate.
Mrs Maynard, a solid dark blue shape, moved frowning over the crisp lawn, narrowing her eyes at the roses.
Maisie Gale had a room in one of the avenues, and it was not more than five minutes out of Mr Maynard’s morning walk to the Magistrates’ Court. He was counting on catching her before she left for work. In fact she was just wheeling her bicycle towards the gate when he appeared.
She said amiably: Thank you for coming, Mr Maynard,’ and leaned the bicycle against the trunk of a jacaranda tree.
Some weeks before, Mr Maynard had visited her, in order to persuade her not to marry his son, or at least to wait until Binkie returned on his next leave. He had expected opposition, but met none. Yesterday she had written him a letter saying she was pregnant. ‘I would like to talk this over with you at your convenience, Yours truly, Maisie Gale.’
She seemed to be agreeably surprised that his convenience was so readily at her service.
‘I suppose you are quite sure about this?’ he inquired.
Maisie leaned against the brown stem of a young jacaranda tree, one bare arm wrapped about it, the other propped on her lazy hip. Her pretty plump face showed blue stains under the eyes. She said: ‘Oh, yes, I’m two weeks over.’
‘And I suppose you are quite sure Binkie is the father?’
She turned wide blue eyes on him, studying him as dispassionately as he was studying her. ‘Oh, yes. You see, we were engaged.’ This, offered with the conviction that it must make the ethics of the situation perfectly plain, caused Mr Maynard to frown, and to raise his black brows at her.
‘What I thought was this,’ she said. ‘Binkie told me Mrs Maynard has friends high up in the RAF. I thought Binkie could get compassionate leave. Yes, I know it’s a long way off, and they say the lads’ll be in Italy by now perhaps, but I thought perhaps it could be worked.’
Mr Maynard’s eyes focused on her face with a suddenness he must have felt himself, for he lowered them, allowing himself a small knowing smile.
‘I know a girl who had a friend in the office. She got pregnant, but her boy got compassionate leave and came home to marry her.’
‘My dear girl,’ he said, his voice weighted with ironical meaning. ‘I assure you it is quite out of the question.’
She looked puzzled. She had begun to blush. ‘Well, if it is, it is,’ she said, and grasped the handlebars of her bicycle.
His face was hard. ‘The CO must be pretty well used to the cries of complaint from the girls left behind, you know – whether justified or not.’
She looked even more upset. Her face was a clear scarlet. ‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ she queried.
He did not reply save for the ironical stare. She shrugged and got on to her bicycle.
‘Wait,’ he said. She waited, moving the bicycle along the earth under her, back and forth, back and forth. He grimaced with irritation. ‘There’s no need to fly off. What are you going to do?’
Her eyes filled with tears, and she turned her face away.
‘The sad thing is this, with my other two husbands I wished I could have a baby, and we didn’t do anything but I didn’t get pregnant. This time, Binkie and I took precautions because we were only engaged and not married, and I’m pregnant. Well, that’s life.’ She ended humorously, but the tears were running down her face.
‘But my dear girl, you can’t have an illegitimate baby,’ he said, making his voice scandalized.
She replied coldly, because of the falseness of his tone: ‘I never said I should. What I said was, couldn’t Binkie come on leave so we could get married and I could have the baby.’
His stare at her was prolonged. She met it with wet eyes. There was a look of distaste on her face.
‘You’ll need money,’ he said on a tentative note.
‘I’ll go to Joburg,’ she said. ‘I know a girl who went. It cost her seventy pounds. Fifty for the operation and twenty for the travelling. If you could lend the money, I’m sure Binkie would give it back to you when he comes home.’
‘Tell me, what do you get as widow of your two husbands?’
The dislike on her face was now so strong that he began to feel apologetic and to be angry because he saw no necessity for apology.
‘I refused the allowance when my second husband was killed because he had a widow for a mother and she got it. And I didn’t get money from my first husband because I didn’t like the way his mum and dad behaved after I married him.’
Mr Maynard thought: It’s easy to check on the first marriage. I know the parents. This idea expressed itself in a furtive set of his facial muscles, and she saw it, saying hotly: There’s no need to make inquiries because what I say is true. And it’s nothing to do with you either,’ she added.
Now they stood opposite each other, antagonists, the bicycle standing between them under the thick green layers of shade.
He said: ‘If I make it £150, will that do?’
‘But I said an abortion would cost £70.’
‘Look here, let’s call it £150 and make it quits. But I must have any letters Binkie wrote you, and you must undertake not to make trouble.’
The scarlet flamed up again, over her fair exposed neck, her angry face which was bright against the pale glistening tendrils of hair. Even her arms were red. ‘I don’t understand you,’ she said. ‘What’s the £150 in aid of? I said £70. That’s what it costs. And I don’t see why you are making such a thing about it. If I wrote to Binkie he’d send it to me. He’s fair. He sees things fair, the way I do. But the posts take so long with the war, and I don’t want to wire to get him into trouble.’
His eyes moved fast over her, resting for a full glance on her stomach. Now she smiled sarcastically. ‘What are you thinking? You think I’m trying to put something over on you? Well, I’m not. And I’ll tell you something else. You needn’t think that I don’t know why you asked me not to marry Binkie on his leave. You think I’m not good enough. Well, what I think is, if I married Binkie I’d be stuck with you for in-laws, and I wouldn’t like it. I don’t like the way you think. You’ve got dirty minds. I like Binkie well enough, he’s a fine kid, but you’re too much for me. As far as I’m concerned, it’s off for always. You can choose him a wife with your ideas, haggling over money when a girl’s in trouble. And you can keep your bloody seventy pounds. I’ll borrow it somewhere else.’ She got on to her bicycle and went off down the avenue, cycling erratically beside a stream of early-morning office-bound cars.
Mr Maynard was left under the jacaranda tree, all his susceptibilities in flux. He thought: Well, she’s not much of a hand at blackmail. Then a nerve
