The Wispy One
People spoke endlessly about Fitzwilliam, especially his romantic affairs. It was as if everyone had lived right there with him, in the same flat, privy to his breakfasts and his secrets.
For instance, they all knew that Charles Fitzwilliam valued comfort and orderliness above all else. He liked predictabilitya proper homecoming, with his wife waiting, of course, in a floral dress, with tidy shoes and her golden hair styled in soft curls, lips a subtle rose and parted in a beaming, not-too-eager smile, murmuring, Hello, love, Im so glad youre home at last! Though not at lastfor that sounded accusatory, as if hed barely deigned to return. So glad youre home, Ive missed you, watched the lane all day for you… Yes, that was better.
Finally crawled back, have you? Whereve you been? Thats how Charless father was interrogated by his own wife and mother, as young Charles often overheard. His father would grumble, trudge off, and smoke in the loo, sending slow whorls up toward the fan vent, hiding from those raised voices.
Why not smoke on the balcony, or just step outside? Charles wondered as a boy. But, wellthat was where his mother nagged, or his gran cawed on about what a terrible son-in-law fate had given her, clutching ever more proof to her chest.
When his father did smoke out on the street, he lingered for ages, going through half a packet. Burnt lips blotched with black specks from endless cigarettes. He died when Charles was nineteen, having spent his last days as a hermit on a friends allotment in Surrey, refusing visitors, telling young Fitz, Son, here theres such quiet, its as if your ears are stuffed. No one chips away at you, nags you, peels you like a potato for being just as you are. Go back to your mum, Ill be fine. Ive got a bit of work at the garagelifell trundle on.
After the funeral, Charles swore his life would be different. Love, peace, harmony. But would it? Could it?
Fitzwilliam cherished a well-kept home. No dreary tights or slips draped over radiators in the kitchen, no tiny socks, no faded underthings hanging like limp flags. Such was the way in that old communal flat where he grew up, and never again! He wanted air redolent of good supper, savoury pies and roast lamb, never damp laundry billowing above the hob. Perhaps a small glass of whiskywhats a London office man to do at days end if not? Its not against the lawjust a fortification for the nerves, a lull for sleep.
A woman would do well with Fitzwilliamplenty, security… theyd whisper. When Fitzwilliams wife wanted an oak sideboard, Charles procured one. When she yearned for a table like the one at old Evangelines wakewell, off he went to every car boot sale and antique shop until the news spread: Mr Fitzwilliam seeks a set just like that. Soon, it was delivered, gratis.
Why? Because Fitzwilliam was respected and influential. The mere rumour of his displeasure could close a restaurant, send inspectors sweeping through, glancing at kitchens, poking at broth, muttering about cockroaches and suspicious stews. In no time, the owners would fret and beg, but the reports were made, the fines paid. The old place shuttered, a new, more fitting bistro opened in its stead. Charles was often there with his demure wife, Geraldine, the wispy one.
So the stories swirled. Folks embellished and embroidered for the sake of importance.
His wifeGeraldine…
Not the sort of grand name suited for a man of consequence, youd think. Margaret, Beatrice, or even Catherinethose are women of stature. But Geraldine? It fluttered from their lips like a petal squashed underfoot: Geraldineeee…
What does he see in her? murmured the Margarets and Catherines, watching her pass, so unremarkable to their eyes. Nothing! Absolutely nothing!
They say shes clever, others shrugged. Keeps a tidy house, guests rave about her. Quite the finda good maid, and barely eats. And he doesnt love her. Shes there for show!
Have you been to the Fitzwilliams?
No! Only the chosen get an invitation…
Charless colleagues were always among the chosen. There was invariably someone for weekday supper, and at weekends the house filled with guestssometimes as early as breakfast, if Charles had been off for a bit of night fishing and returned triumphant.
The table was always abundant, Geraldine trim and effortless, carrying morsel after lovely morsel from the kitchen, smiling, tilting her head, her blue eyes lowering with modesty. Never any staffGeraldine did everything herself.
Fitzwilliam boasted of his wifes abilities.
Not her abilities, but his! the well-informed would scoff, waving their hands. Just look, the plainest little thing, but see how she outshines you? Charles has put you all in the shade. And that Geraldine never argues, does as shes told like its the olden daysthe head of the house rules, and the wife kisses his boots and thanks her stars she isnt battered for it!
Geraldine worked at the local printing firm, earned her own bit, but not enough to matter.
She just keeps busy, Fitzwilliam would inform guests with a patronising grin. Doesnt want anyone thinking she leans on me. Women these days, independent spirits. Right, Gerri?
Geraldine would shrug, smile faintly, nodjust like a marionette.
Oh, Charles, youre simply marvellous! a guest would croonPenelope, from the dress shop in Knightsbridge. How you arrange everything so wonderfully! Theres a warmth to your home, a scent of fresh linen and pudding. One can simply breathe here!
Penelope would lapse into silent awe, sipping her tea, her hands trembling with reverence.
Fitzwilliam laughedthe good-natured, heavy laugh of a man born to be revered. Enough now! Lets have some forfeits instead!
And so they played, they danced, cards appeared, and Geraldines gentle smile never flickered.
Shes a doll. He bought her outright, hence the silly grin, Penelope snapped to her own aunt, with whom shed lived five years. Geraldine, nothing and nobody, and lookhes lifted her right up, dressed her, so shes grateful. But shes not worthy. Not at all.
And you are, Penelope dear? Aunt Mildred, fag in hand, laying out her patience on the dining table, asked in her deep voice.
Mildred, do stop flicking ash on the cloth! Penelope gasped, handing her a glass ashtray. Youll start a fire. Me? Yes. Im cleverer, brighter, would run that house better any day. Last night, she served us potato cakes with soured cream and bony fish. I nearly choked! Id have roasted a duck, or if needs be, chicken, a spread of nibbles, jellied eel, you name it! Id never inflict a meal of potatoes and cream for company, not when there are delicacies.
Along with the potatoes, Penelopenot instead of, Aunt Mildred gently corrected. Youre an educated girl. So, my dearbe bold. Ill see to Geraldine taking a little holiday, give her a breather from all those pies and the like. Shell need it. Once shes gone, you offer Charles your help.
Oh, Auntie Mildred, youre marvellous! What a plan! Penelope fluttered.
There, theredont squeeze the life out of me. When are you off?
Wednesday, when Charles hosts his guitar night. I can play, too…I know all the ballads.
Sorted, then, nodded Aunt Mildred, looking away. If only Penelope found her own feet…
Geraldine, ever the organiser, arranged cheese, jam, seed cake, the room faintly scented with lavender and damask. The guests sipped strong black tea, feet curled under them like cats by the hearth.
Geraldine adored the sound of the guitar, its mournful, velvet strumming. Shed sway, let the music tug at her, Charless arm draped over her shoulder, damp and warm.
Charles, growing broader in the waist, felt stifled by his belt, but didnt care. There was the music, Geraldines presence, and the company.
Penelope donned ostentatiously large earringsthe very latest fashion, she declared. Charles Fitzwilliam stifled a laugh, as if fashion could ever be so tasteless, but didnt say a word.
So, Charles, will you be all alone these next two weeks? Your dear wife off to Bath, Penelope purred, leaning in, her perfume thick and spicy.
Oh, yes, quite the tragedy, Charles grinned, moving his hand from Geraldines lap. Never happened before, but shes been rewarded a little outing. I asked her to stay, but in the end, thoughtlet her. Im not a tyrant to stop her taking the waters.
And how on earth will you manage? mused Penelope.
Ill find someone, if Charles agrees, murmured Geraldine, eyes downcast.
Well see. For now, lets have cake! Gerri, love, do bring it out! Ive ordered a real treat!
Everyone gathered about the table, and Geraldine carried in a great pink confection decorated like a palaceslicing generous portions for all, her eyes down, bashful as always.
Penelope bristledbeside a man like Charles, there ought to be a bright woman, bold and radiant, not this mousy wisp! Well, soon enough, perhaps…
Geraldine left for the station in the dark. Charles did not see her off; they embraced at home, her lips pressed into his chest, a word hovering on her tongue, but he hushed her.
Enough, the cabs waiting. I knowyour cousin Josephine arrives tomorrow, I remember. Off you go!
Obedient, Geraldine left, scurried down the stairs, casting a last glance back. The cabbie blinkedMrs Fitzwilliam, normally so demure, now skipping like a schoolgirl.
But Josephine never arrived. Penelope intercepted her at the tube, pressed a twenty-pound note into her palm, said come tomorrow.
But Geraldine said today! How can the master be left alone?
Do it at home, make tongue stew theretonights not good. Im his cousin, well have a little family night. Off you pop!
Penelope glanced apprehensively at the clouds rolling indeep purple with grey marbling, like the very tongue Josephine wagged. Thunder rumbled. Just her luck for a downpour.
Caught in the Fitzwilliam courtyard, steady rain drenched Penelopes stockings, dress, handbag, and the string bag of shopping. Shed planned a posh English spreadcanapés, bubbly, and then…well, to give herself to Charles. Then Geraldine would be banished, and Penelope would take her place. The sooner, the better.
Thank goodness Josephines a simpleton, coughing up the keys! Penelope ran into Charless flat, dumped her groceries, peeled off her dripping shoes and dress, rummaged till she found a slightly snug silk dressing gownperfect!
In the vast kitchen she felt oddly unsettled. So many pots and panshow strange, for a man who dined out. Geraldine mustnt know how to boil an egg! But what did Charles care for porridge? Penelope unpacked her strawberries (a bit bruised), her best cheese, the posh sausage, a smelly wedge of French briemust be authentic! She fetched flutes and popped the champagne in the fridge. Whats this? Soup? Probably for the staff. Never mind!
She hung her damp clothes over the heaterjust as eleven oclock tolled, and still no Charles. Starving, she nibbled a piece of cheese, grimaced, tried a strawberrysour. Where was he?
At last the car pulled in, his driver opening the door. Fitzwilliam lumbered out. Penelope peeked from the window, lights offshed surprise him!
Ghastly from above, she thought. Heavy, sweating, limping perhaps. But with a wallet! She raced to the door.
Her belly growled, nerves jangledshe just wanted that tongue stew.
A key turned, the door swung in. Fitzwilliam tangled his coat and briefcase, struggled with it, stopped, peered suspiciously.
At last, Charles! Do you know how long Ive waited? Penelope cooed. Where have you been?
Penelope? What are you doing here? His tone was surprised, almost stern.
I… Geraldine secretly asked me to look after you. I was exhausted, starvinglets have dinner! Youll order in as usualtheres nothing worth eating here, but Ive brought bubbly and snacks. Charles…I waited for you
Penelope made to approach, but he just handed her his briefcase, cast his coat aside, and walked through.
Are you sure Geraldine… My wife said her cousin would come, perhaps Josephine or maybe Nora…” he muttered behind the door.
Penelope hovered by, listening.
Oh, poor Josephineappendicitis! Whisked away in an ambulance. Geraldine rang me instead. Dont worry, Charles. Charles… she imitated Geraldines syrupy voice, as Aunt Mildred had coached her, but hunger made it wobbly. Would he ever order food?
Please, enough, Penelope. Im knackered and hungry. What is there? He rolled up his shirt sleeves, nudged Penelope aside, headed for the kitchen. Why are you in Geraldines gown?
There was a frightful storm! I was soaked and frightened. Thunder crashed, andoh! She tripped, falling against Charless back. He jerked, but she clung on, her bones pressing into him. Lets eatwhen is the food coming? Wheres your driver, gone to order?
Penelope! Get off me! Therell be no restaurant, no special dinner. Geraldine always cooked for me, herself. Didnt she tell you? Its just her soup here, nothing else. Whats this rubbish? He emptied the fridgecheese and sausage clattered on the counter. Then he spotted her stockings draped over the chair.
He shuddered. Whats so terrible? They were nice lace stockings, romantic… Why the fuss?
But Fitzwilliam snapped. He turned red, stamped his foot, threw one stocking at Penelope.
Why are you making such a scene, Charles? Lets have some bubbly, Ill sing for you, play guitarpretend Im your little wisp, all right?
Fitzwilliam choked.
Who? Who did you just call me? Out! What ever gave you the idea Id dine, sing, or drink with you? Im marriedmy wife is everything, the perfect woman, the best housekeeper… Dont lay hands on me! He shoved her away.
Penelope, for a second, saw himlost, frightened, almost small, his eyes darting about the kitchen, searching. For whom? That wisp, Geraldine? That snail with no shell, shy little beetle?
Charles, please… You frighten me. Where are you going? I only wanted to please you, make things magic. You live so effortlesslycant we go to a restaurant together? Ill dress quickly! Stockings? Did you put them in your pocket? Give them back! Starved and feverish, Penelope stuck out her bare leg, lost her balance, and collapsed on the stool.
Charles groaned, pulled a stockinghe had no idea how it got into his pocket.
I dont want magic with just anyone! I dine at homealways what Geraldine makes. I know it against her strengthshe rushes home from work, heads aching, but cooks. Ive begged her to give it up, be a housewife, hire staff; theres nothing shameful in that. But she cant, you understand? She feels what suits me, what is best for me, and only does that. What are you looking at me for? You think Im a despot? A tyrant? Shes enchanted meIm lost without her. Today, leaving for work, I mismatched everything, realised only in the car, had to come back. I cant cope, not without Geraldine. Its like my hearts gonecarried off to Bath with her. Fine. Dont cry, Penelope. Whats all this blubbing?
I had no idea you loved her so. I thought she was just a maid, and I could do betterbe bolder, more desirable, exciting… But you Penelope faltered.
Heavens! What goes on in your head? Drama, passion, excitement! I love GeraldineI do as she asks. She says invite people, we do. Cake? Bought exactly the one she wanted. The guitarher idea too. Shes my star, my sun, the only air I breathe… Through her I am what I am.
Penelope stared, wide-eyed, at poor Charles. His chin trembled; his breathing ragged as he murmured her name.
You truly idolise her? But shes just a wispso tiny next to you.
But radiates when its just us. Shy, yeshates attention, seems a mouse. Youll never see her true self. Thats not for outsiders. As the saying goes, small, but precious. Thats Geraldine. Now, forgive me, but you need to goIm heading for the station. I know I promised to stay tonight, but I cantwithout her, Im empty. In meetings today, I talked such nonsense they had to stop memortifying. All because Geraldines not here, didnt see me off, didnt kiss me. Thats it. Im off!
He barely waited as Penelope gathered her cheese and sausage, dressed and left. He locked up and was gone.
So early, Penelope? whispered Aunt Mildred from her shadowed hallway. No luck?
He loves his wife, Penelope sighed hopelessly.
Oh, how platitudinous! Never mind; your day will come. Chin up, girl! boomed Aunt Mildred, putting the kettle on. Now she and Penelope would sit up gossiping. Theres nothing else to do at midnight but gossip about men.
Fitzwilliam arrived at Geraldines lodgings pale and flustered, crumpled hat in hand. The wispy one, frozen just a second in surprise, suddenly rushed into his arms, half laughing, half weeping.
Hello, love! Im so glad youve come! she whispered in his ear.
And he melted at those wordsplain, ordinary, but meant only for him and from her alone. There was no greater joy for him than being with Geraldine. People gaped as the heavy, tired man kissed his wifes hands, and she blushed, begged him to stop, but he could nothed missed her so. Nearly an eternity…
That spring, Geraldine bore a son, the image of Charles Fitzwilliam.
Little Fitzwilliam, too, could not live without Geraldine. It must run in the family.
Whats her secret, Aunt Mildred? Shes a stump on legs! Penelope moaned. Shed just been sacked from the dress shopnot her day, and now the news that Fitzwilliam had a son. He worships her, and hes so much grander, more majestic!
Its charisma, darling. You cant learn it. Accept it, shrugged Aunt Mildred. Behind every grand man, theres always a modest woman who makes him so. Never mind. Forget it. What are you moping for? Theres a husband for you out there! Aunt Mildred fetched a bottle of sherrymedicine for heartache. Penelope would recover in time. And with luck, find her place soon enough…
