Marilyn's Child by Lynne Pemberton

Author:Lynne Pemberton [Pemberton, Lynne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2013-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Before daylight I’m woken by an urgent rapping. I stagger to the door, hearing Brendan on the other side. ‘Kate, it’s me, let me in.’

I yell, ‘Give me a minute,’ before running to the bathroom to wrap myself in a towelling robe.

As soon as I open the door I know there’s something wrong. His face is white, filled with anguish. His tall frame filling the doorway, he says, ‘Will you marry me?’

If he’d asked me to accompany him on a trip to the moon I couldn’t have been more surprised.

‘You’re drunk,’ is all I can find to say.

‘I’ve never been more sober or more serious in my entire life. Watch me walk a straight line.’

Marching past me he walks up and down the room while I shut the door and stroll into the room.

‘What about Liam?’

‘What about him?’

‘I thought you and he were an item?’

‘We were – we are, but to be honest with you, my love, I’ve had it with men.’

‘Liam Hennessy cannot be classified as a man.’

‘OK, I’ve had it with boys. I’m fifty-two. It’s time I settled down. And I’ve decided I want to have a child. What do you say, Kate?’

I’m laughing; it’s laughable, the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard.

‘You’re gay, Brendan, or has that slipped your mind? Queer as they come. Bent as a nine bob note. Remember once you said to me you’d rather eat a four-day-old-haddock than a woman?’

His turn to laugh. ‘That’s why I love you so damn much. You make me laugh. I’ve never laughed as much with anyone as I do with you.’

‘Ditto. But I don’t turn you on. If I took my clothes off and made a pass at you now, you’d probably throw up.’

The corners of his mouth curl in disdain. I’ve seen the expression before, rarely directed at me I might add; it’s usually reserved for his sister or a discarded lover.

‘Sex, my lovely Kate, is not everything. Lots of married couples do not copulate. There’s no reason why we can’t have a very good marriage, better even, without sex. Messy business, and complicated at the best of times. Think of the child we might have, with my brains and your beauty.’

‘Wait a minute, Brendan: are you accusing me of being stupid?’

‘Absolutely not. I was merely painting a pretty picture, and as far as sex is concerned, you’d be free to do as you please. I mean, take lovers if you choose, as long as you’re discreet. The same would apply to me, of course.’

‘But I can do that now, Brendan, if I choose.’

Regarding me with concentrated intent he says, ‘Do you choose, Kate?’

I stammer, ‘Sometimes, there have been a few occasions.’

Staring into the middle distance I reminisce. Tim Duval’s reputation had preceded him: one of the most influential art dealers in the world, he had an international clientele and galleries in London, Geneva and New York. The first thing that struck me the day he came to look at my work was his eyes: intelligent dark brown pools, the left one flecked with green.

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