The Inheritance Powder Part Three

George and Julia:

Autumn


After supper George decided he felt well enough to go downstairs. He washed and shaved but kept on his pyjamas and dressing gown. He glanced at his watch. It was 9.30pm. No point in getting dressed now. Odours of the Shepherd's Pie they had had for supper lingered in the hall. He shuffled downstairs and went straight into his study. The floor length , burgundy velvet curtains were pulled back to reveal Art Nouveau leaded windows. Books from floor to ceiling lined the walls and a large, upright Steinway piano stood gleaming in the corner covered with family photographs. On the wall above the piano hung a large oil portrait of a beautiful woman. She gazed down through blue eyes, fringed with long, dark lashes. An all pervasive air of sadness seemed to surround the painting. A thick, deep red, Turkish carpet caressed his slippered feet.

For a moment he sat at his desk and lost in thought, stared out of the front window at the rainsoaked garden. A tall holly tree stood sentinel near the gate and mature rhododendron plants huddled together to form an almost impenetrable screen obscuring the flower beds and the gravel drive. The headlights from passing cars flickered across the window as they swished through the puddles at the roadside, throwing up great sprays of water. In the twenty years they had been in Dearing, he noticed that the traffic had got heavier. A sign of the times. The excellent airport connections and only one hour from London by bus and train made the little redbrick town a very desirable place to be. He flicked on a green, angle poise lamp and directed the light downwards towards the desk, so that he was less visible from the road. With a sigh he slid open the bottom drawer and took out a bottle of Glenmorangie. He poured himself a measure of the amber liquid and sipped it slowly. He could hear the muffled sounds of a TV programme from the living room. It sounded like 'Gardener's World'. Julia would be riveted. It was one of her favourite programmes.
Good old Julia! They had been together for nearly twenty years now. For a long time their relationship had been very physical. Julia was highly sexed. Even now the sight of her erect nipples straining against the fabric of her blouse turned his bowels to water. Some things never die. In the early days they had made love anytime and anywhere. Both trembling with haste and a desire to achieve release and put out the fires of their burning lust. Of course he had the odd fling here and there. Casual, friendly, sexual encounters. He had covered his tracks well. She could never have found out. He smiled involuntarily, delighted with himself and the power of the secret he held. His whole life had been predicated on deception and secrecy in his intimate relationships! He excelled at conspiratorial games and thrived on subterfuge. He thought how shocked Julia would be if she had any inkling of his affair with Erica. He sat back in his chair and allowed his mind to drift down those crowded corridors of memories, so rarely visited.
When Helena died he felt empty, bereft and sick with guilt. His sense of loss was palpable. For the first time in his life he felt alone and abandoned. She was the one who kept him from falling apart. She sensed and soothed his moods. When he sneaked back home in the early hours stinking of another woman's scent, babbling lies and weak excuses, she would reward his shoddy behaviour by cooking him a delicious snack! She gave him her unconditional love but he repaid her loyalty with betrayal and humiliation. She took him back without question over and over. He had always been weak where women were concerned. He seemed to need their constant attention and approbation and was lured to them like a moth to the flame. So many lovers lost in the conflagration. He loved their feminine paraphernalia. The perfume bottles and myriad of mysterious jars and aerosols cluttering up the bathroom cabinet. The coloured hair ornaments and glittering trinkets spread in disarray over the dressing table. Their very female scent set his nostrils twitching like an old dog fox tracking a vixen. He knew he would never leave her. However, he was to be denied that privilege, for Helena lost her long and painful battle with breast cancer and died a quiet and convenient death. A cardinal chapter in his life was closed for ever.

He poured himself another drink and tossed it back quickly, feeling the fiery liquid sear his tonsils, almost making him retch. As he bent down to replace the bottle in the drawer his eye fell on the little key he kept taped to the upper part of the drawer and not immediately visible to the naked eye. It lay winking at him in the bottom of the drawer in full view. The tape must have perished and it had come unstuck, he surmised. He inserted it into the lock of the last drawer, opened it stealthily and took out a photograph. An attractive woman with shining, shoulder length red curls laughed up at him. Her dark brown eyes crinkled up at the corners echoing her wide-lipped smile. He absently caressed the glossy image with his forefinger and allowed his thoughts to drift. It was hard to imagine now how he had managed without Erica in his life. Theirs was a clandestine relationship of snatched kisses and furtive rendezvous. Erica was married. Yet another one of life's little ironies. She was sympathetic and understanding when he got drunk and cried shamelessly for Helena. Julia curtly told him to 'pull himself together'.
He had felt wretched when Julia took down Helena's portrait and replaced it with a portrait of herself that she'd had painted by a local artist. Ever shrewd and cunning, she made a great show of packing it carefully in bubble wrap and putting it in the wardrobe, but days later George discovered it concealed behind an old filing cabinet in a dusty corner of the garage. He had said nothing. Julia pandered to his every whim and she really was a marvellous cook and hostess and much admired by his friends. He needed her. Their affair had begun whilst Helena was still alive. He squirmed inwardly with self loathing as waves of remorse washed over him. He wondered if she had known all along.

George reached for the bottle and poured himself another drink. He stared thoughtfully into the glass. Recently he had sensed a change in Julia. Nothing concrete, nothing he could put his finger on, just little things. He noticed that all his books and papers he kept on their bedside table had been tidied away. Cupboards had been emptied and the garage had been cleared of the packing cases containing his 'collections'
'Really George, those packing cases were taking up so much room. There's hardly any space for the car and anyway, it's just a lot of old junk you've had since the year dot!! It simply had to go!!'
George sighed heavily. There was no point in arguing. She had made up her mind. There were so many memories in those boxes. The whole of his past life lay slumbering in those containers. In fact she seemed to have embarked on an unseasonal spring cleaning session. Only yesterday he noticed there were hardly any of his clothes in the wardrobe. He couldn't find his old cardigan with the leather patches on the elbows.
'Oh that old thing! I put it in the Oxfam box and they came and collected it this morning. It was so dirty and smelt terrible! Besides' her voice dropped, 'You don't need it, you've got lots of others in much better condition.'

'What do you mean? 'you don't need it'. Of course I'll need it. Winter's coming on. You know damn well I feel the cold,' said George crossly.

Julia raised her head and smiled sweetly, ' I simply meant that you'll need a new one darling' she purred, but just for a moment he was caught in the ice blue glare of those unsmiling, cat's points eyes. It was then that he suddenly became aware of how cold and calculating Julia's eyes could be. He wondered why he had never noticed this before.
His thoughts were interrupted by a cacophony of applause and laughter coming from the TV. George stared at the red telephone on his desk for a moment then he snatched up the receiver and keyed in a number. A female voice answered guardedly.
'Hello!'
'Hello' murmured George softly. 'It's me, is this a good time to call?'
A rush of exhaled breath. Then, 'Yes, you're in luck! Paul is giving a lecture in Birmingham tonight. Glad you rang though. I was thinking of giving you a sneaky call myself'.'
George smiled. 'This is going have to be a quickie. Julia's watching TV.'
'My God! She'll hear you!' gasped Erica.
George gulped some whisky and gave a liquid chuckle into the receiver. 'Not a chance, she's going deaf. She's got it turned up so loud you could hear it in Hyde Park!'
'How are you feeling today?'
'Lousy! I had a terrible bout of pain this morning. I honestly thought I was going to die!'
'Oh you poor thing!'
George's hand trembled as he poured himself another measure of whisky, the glass clinked against the bottle. He paused. 'You know Erica I think that Julia is trying to poison me'. It came out in a rush. There was a shocked silence at the other end. Then, in an artificially calm voice, 'Oh! Come on George darling! Don't be so dramatic!'
'Look! I've been healthy all my life. Have you ever known me have an illness in the ten years you've worked for me? No', he went on without waiting for her answer. 'Of course you haven't. I've been subjected to a barrage of tests. Some of them very embarrassing I can tell you, and the doctors still haven't come up with anything.'
'But darling! Julia dotes on you. She adores you. She.....'
'She will inherit everything when I die. The house, the money, my pensions!' George hissed fiercely.
'But how....I mean when does she....' stuttered Erica.
George lowered his voice to a whisper.
'I just can't pinpoint when exactly but.....'
Without warning the study door opened and a triangle of light formed on the blue chinese rug. Julia stood quietly in the doorway. 'Im making some Horlicks, can I tempt you ?'
George replaced the receiver carefully and without turning round said, 'No thanks dearest. I think I 'll have an early night. I didn't sleep very well last night.'
Julia turned to go into the kitchen then stopped in the doorway, 'It'll settle your stomach', she persisted.
'Who was that on the phone?'
George stood up and yawned hugely. He gazed at her steadily. 'Ah! It was one of those cold callers trying to sell us double glazing.'
'How odd,' she muttered and bustled into the kitchen and began clattering cups and plates.