The Green-Eyed Monster Read online

  He was drying himself when the phone rang. He ran into the bedroom, convinced it would be Maureen.

  A girl’s voice, light and rather pretty, said, “Is Mrs. Jordan there—Maureen Jordan?”

  Andrew said she was out.

  “Is that her husband?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Maybe you know about me. I’m Rosemary Thatcher.”

  He knew who she was. Rosemary Thatcher was Maureen’s cousin. Her mother was Maureen’s mother’s sister and, when Maureen’s parents were killed in an automobile accident, the Thatchers had taken Maureen as a girl of fifteen to live with them for several years in Los Angeles. Recently, Mr. Thatcher who was immensely rich and in industrial design had shifted his headquarters to New York, where they had become very much in Maureen’s life again as Uncle Jim and Aunt Margaret. Rosemary, however, Andrew had never met. For the last couple of years she’d been out of the country most of the time at some finishing school in Lausanne.

  He said, “Rosemary Thatcher? Of course. I didn’t know you were in town.”

  “I only got back yesterday. I’m dying to see Maureen and meet you. When will she be back?”

  “I’m expecting her any minute.”

  “Then would it be terrible if I dropped in for a drink now?”

  “Of course not. I’m sure Maureen will want to see you.”

  “I won’t stay long. I can’t anyway. By the way, is it all right if Mummy and Dad pick me up at your place? We’re going on to dinner together.”

  He said it would be a pleasure. She said she’d be there in under half an hour and hung up. He’d just finished dressing when he heard Maureen’s key in the lock. He hurried out into the living room and she came toward him, dropping the mink coat he’d given her for their first anniversary.

  As always when he saw her, his heart seemed to turn over and all the obsessive jealous anxieties vanished like nightmare demons on awakening.

  “Andy darling, I’m dreadfully late. I’m so sorry. It’s maddening, but someone called up. She’s just back from the West Indies.” She threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Clever boy, you’re already dressed for Bill’s party.”

  “Who was the friend?” said Andrew.

  “Oh, it wasn’t a friend,” said Maureen. “It was my cousin. You know about her, darling. The Thatchers’ daughter. My Cousin Rosemary.”

  TWO

  She saw at once from his face that something was wrong. There was nothing slow about Maureen. Her hands were still on his arms; there was even a little of the smile left lingering around her lips. “Darling, what’s the matter?”

  He didn’t really know what he was feeling—a sort of numbness. “Your Cousin Rosemary just called,” he said. “She’ll be here any minute. She’s dying to see you and she wants to meet me.”

  For a moment his wife’s eyes were dead, but only for a moment. Then she laughed. “How wonderful. I might have known. I’ve always been a lousy liar anyway. Oh, darling, it couldn’t have been more silly. I do apologize. Bill Stanton called. His maid was sick and he was desperate about the party tonight. I was the substitute maid.”

  “If you were at Bill’s—why Cousin Rosemary?”

  Maureen made a little grimace. “Because I’d sworn I’d stay home all day, because it seemed so weak to let Bill talk me into it, because … Oh, Andy, you know why.”

  “Do I?”

  “Darling, I’m not blind. You never say anything, but it’s there, isn’t it? Now you know I was at Bill’s—not because he’s Bill, of course. Anyone else would be the same—but now you know, you’re—well, worried, aren’t you?”

  She still had her arms around him, drawing him closer. Her lips were very near his.

  “Andy, now it’s come out into the open, let’s talk about it.”

  He felt cripplingly embarrassed.

  “I know now,” she went on. “You’re so strong, so sure of yourself, but inside there’s something. It’s your mother, isn’t it? It’s what your mother and Ned between them did to you. They made you think you’re the dreary one, poor old Andy who nobody could ever get excited about, not even his wife.”

  It was uncanny that she had been so perceptive, and as painful as if a dentist’s probe had stabbed down onto an exposed nerve.

  “Andy, forgive me, but it had to be said because it’s getting out of hand. Look what it did to me today. As I was coming home in the taxi, I suddenly thought: I can’t tell Andy I’ve spent all the afternoon with Bill, I simply can’t …”

  Her hair, smelling faintly of jasmine, was insidiously soft against his cheek.

  “Listen, Andy dearest, I love you even more now than when we were married. You’re the easiest person in the world to love. And if how I feel isn’t obvious to you, then it’s partly my failure too. Maybe all this dashing around to parties … Darling, if you hate all that it can stop in a minute. You know it can. Oh, Andy.”

  He put his arms around her, feeling split in two. Part of him was glowing, reassured, hungrily eager to believe her. But there was the other part. Why should Maureen be the one Bill Stanton asked to help him? Bill Stanton was an attractive bachelor on the town with a stable of girl friends. Why Maureen?

  “Andy.” His wife was looking up at him. Her eyes, so close to his, seemed huge, green as emeralds under the thick canopy of lashes. “Darling, we won’t talk again—not if you’d rather not. But it’s all right now, isn’t it?”

  “It’s all right,” he said.

  He was relieved but a little surprised too that she could be so quickly satisfied. She broke away from him and glanced at her watch.

  “My God, the hour. And Rosemary’ll be here any minute. Come, darling, talk to me while I change.”

  She grabbed his hand and they went together into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed, watching her as she slipped out of her clothes. He was still there, smoking a cigarette, when she came out of the shower and, dropping the towel, rummaged around dressing for the evening. All the time she was chattering amusingly and slightly maliciously about Bill Stanton. Finally she took her red-leather jewel box out of the drawer, unlocked it and selected the diamond earrings he’d given her as an engagement present, the earrings which, thanks to Ned, still lacked a matching bracelet.

  She was just ready when the buzzer rang and Andrew went to let in Rosemary Thatcher.

  From the European finishing school and the fact that she was the Thatchers’ daughter, Andrew had been expecting something sleek and expensive. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Cousin Rosemary was very young; she had the right clothes; she obviously went to the right hairdressers; almost certainly her teeth had been straightened by the right orthodontist, but that was all, visually, that could be said for her. She wore heavy-lensed glasses and, although she had the assured good manners which come with being a child of the very rich, the first impression was one of almost pathetic homeliness.

  Andrew got drinks. They all sat down and she and Maureen started to gossip. They didn’t seem quite as pleased to see each other as Andrew had imagined. Rosemary in particular was ill-at-ease and almost constantly her eyes behind the glasses kept moving with shy curiosity to him. At first he assumed she was merely trying to decide what sort of a bargain Maureen had got herself. But as the oblique scrutiny continued, he began to feel uncomfortable.

  At one point, when her interest was especially obvious Maureen said, “Well, do you approve of my mate?”

  “It’s incredible,” said Rosemary Thatcher. “I mean, the likeness. It took my breath away the instant I walked into the room. He’s Neddy exactly—a grown-up Neddy.”

  “So you know my brother?” said Andrew.

  A brilliant smile lit up her face, bringing it a quite unsuspected prettiness. “Oh yes, I know Neddy.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “We’re going to be married next month.”

  Because she’d said it, Andrew had to believe it, but the statement was staggering to him. That Ned, with his horror of emotional entanglements an
d his genius for sliding out of them, should have fallen for anyone at all was improbable enough, but that it should be—Cousin Rosemary!

  He heard Maureen’s voice, rather edged, saying, “But Ned was here only a few days ago. He didn’t say anything about it.”

  “I know,” said Rosemary. “It’s all still a secret. I wasn’t supposed to say anything either. But when I saw your husband looking the way he looks—I just couldn’t resist. It doesn’t matter though. Neddy can’t really mind you two knowing, can he?”

  She leaned forward and took a cigarette out of a box on the coffee table, waggling it vaguely the way girls do when they’re used to having someone else light cigarettes for them. Andrew went over with a lighter.

  “We met at Hialeah,” she said, “at the races. I was there with friends and he came into the box. A few days later we flew to St. Thomas and chartered a yacht. We’ve been sailing from island to island. It was an absolute dream. Can you imagine, Maureen? Me doing something as enterprising as that?”

  Andrew was feeling far too many things to sort out at the moment, but paramount was “we chartered a yacht.” Who chartered a yacht? Ned? With what? Instantly he thought of his mother and the five thousand dollars.

  He glanced at Maureen. As he’d suspected, she had on her “Ned” face, that special closed look.

  “But why the secrecy?” he said.

  Rosemary flicked ash into a tray. “It’s Neddy’s idea. He wants everything to be done properly. You see, Mummy and Dad haven’t met him yet and, although I’m not Dad’s real daughter—Mummy was married before—he’s always been mad keen to have an heir and I’m the next thing to it. Making sure I marry the right boy is terribly important to him.”

  Andrew said, “And they don’t know a thing about it?”

  “Not yet. Not that we’re really worried, of course. After all, how can they fail to be crazy about Ned? Everybody is. And then he’s the son of that wonderful woman with all the husbands. Dad met her once. He was very impressed.”

  In a chilly little voice Maureen said, “So just what is Ned’s plan?”

  “It isn’t really a plan. It’s just that I’m having dinner with Mummy and Dad tonight. I’m going to give Neddy a big build-up and then break the news. You see, they love me; they want me to be happy. Once they realize, I’m sure …”

  The door buzzer rang.

  “Heavens,” said Rosemary. “They’re here.”

  Maureen looked bewildered.

  Andrew said, “I forgot to tell Maureen your parents were picking you up.”

  Rosemary clutched Maureen’s knee. “Maureen, have lunch with me tomorrow—both of you, so we can talk.”

  “But …” began Maureen, her face taut and distracted.

  “Please.” Rosemary turned a pleading gaze on Andrew. “You will, won’t you? One o’clock at Pavillon. I’ll pay. I insist.”

  The buzzer sounded again. Andrew glanced at Maureen. She refused to catch his eye.

  Wishing almost anything but this had happened at this particular moment, he said, “All right.”

  He went to answer the door.

  The elder Thatchers didn’t stay long. Andrew had met them several times and wasn’t too mad about them. They were always very kind to Maureen but to Andrew it seemed to be the special sort of kindness reserved for poor relations. Mr. Thatcher looked like a clever, distinguished and rather formidable banker. Mrs. Thatcher was gracious and unadorned, with a very grand manner. She expressed herself “delighted to see dear Maureen’s little place at last.” It was a charming neighborhood. Her bridge club was right around the corner. They both made a few too many polite remarks about the “décor” and then whisked Rosemary off because they “hated to keep the chauffeur waiting.”

  By then Andrew and Maureen were late for Bill Stanton’s party and had to leave immediately. In a way it was a relief to Andrew because it postponed the full-dress discussion which he was sure Maureen would be dreading as much as he. But it couldn’t be left altogether up in the air. In the taxi he put out a feeler.

  “I suppose we’d better get Ned’s version.”

  “Of course.”

  “You never know. He may be in love with her.”

  “Ned?” Maureen exploded. “In love with poor Rosemary? In love with himself, you mean, as the son-in-law of a multimillionaire.” She put her hand on her husband’s knee. “I’m sorry, darling. I do hate being beastly about Ned. But when it’s the Thatchers! They’re my family.”

  “I know.”

  “And Rosemary’s marriage is the most important thing in the world to them. Ever since I can remember, it’s been: When Rosemary finds the right boy … If they ever heard about the Las Vegas affair, for example! Oh dear, what a mess.”

  Her hand slipped into Andrew’s. “Darling, let’s agree on one thing at least. Whatever happens, we won’t let it come between us.” She leaned toward him and kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

  The party at Bill Stanton’s was a big catered buffet. Bill was by the door, very smooth and toothy in a red dinner jacket.

  “Ah,” he said, “the most beautiful woman in New York and her spouse.”

  “The most beautiful maid,” said Andrew.

  “Maid?” Bill echoed. “Are you renting her out these days for a little light housekeeping?”

  “Oh, Bill, look, there’s Gloria,” said Maureen and, looping her arm through his, dragged him off to greet a new arrival.

  Andrew pushed his way through the crowd and got a drink from the bar. He could feel his hand a little unsteady, feel the hordes of unwelcome demons once again plunging and tumbling through him. “Maid? Are you renting her out these days for a little light housekeeping?” Bill hadn’t got the allusion and Maureen had instantly pulled him away. To break up the conversation?

  As Andrew wandered around, avoiding acquaintances, he counted the hired waiters. One, two, three, four—and the barman. With five in help, what difference could it have made whether Bill’s maid was sick or not? Then … then …

  The tension in him was getting out of control. Across the room he saw his wife standing in a group of people, laughing, chattering, dazzling as she always dazzled. She caught his eye and beckoned. He went over to join her. The moment he reached her, she put her hand on his arm and, still chattering and laughing with the others, kissed him on the cheek.

  It could have been a coincidence. Bill could have been distracted by the other guests. At just that moment Maureen could have wanted to greet Gloria—whoever she was.

  Some people he knew came up and carried Andrew away. He talked to them. Eventually he ate the inevitable turkey and ham with the inevitable television actress whose show he hadn’t caught the week before. The evening wore on and he was suffering more than he’d ever suffered before, helplessly, like a doctor with cancer recognizing every symptom of his disease and yet unable to check them. Looking back as through a distorting mirror, he could see a veiled motive behind everything. In particular, her decision not to go with him on his business trip to Scandinavia two months ago was goading him. She had seemed so reasonable at the time. There was the extra expense. He was going to have to work so hard. She would so much rather wait for their first trip to Europe until they could go properly, just the two of them, just to have fun. Had she meant it? Had it been that? Or …

  YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE IN NEW YORK

  WHO DOESN’T KNOW ABOUT YOUR WIFE.

  Maureen and Bill Stanton? Why not? They’d known each other long before Andrew had met her. But then … if it had been Bill, why hadn’t they got their signals straight? Maybe it hadn’t been that at all. Maybe she’d been somewhere quite different. Maybe when she’d been caught out in the Rosemary lie, she’d clutched at Bill because she knew, as a cynical old crony, he would be more than ready to cover up for her—provided she could brief him in time.

  Oh, Bill, look, there’s Gloria.

  Andrew glanced around the room. He couldn’t see Maureen anywhere. He went into the other rec
eption room. She wasn’t there either. He started to search the apartment. He was just outside the door of the bedroom where the guests’ coats were kept when he heard her voice inside. It was hoarse with urgency.

  “You’ve found it?” she was saying. “Thank God, I was going out of my mind that she …”

  He was already moving into the room. It was too late to turn back even if he’d had the will power. Maureen was at the telephone on the dressing table. The instant she heard someone she spun around. She saw her husband. Her face went quite blank. Then she was smiling a vivid welcoming smile.

  “Hello, darling.” She turned back to the phone. “Well, thank God it all turned out all right. I knew it would. It’s senility creeping on, sweetie. That’s what it is. Good night.”

  She put down the phone. Still smiling, she shrugged her shoulders. “Gloria Leyden,” she said. “The idiot. She swore she’d lost her sapphire clip. I made her go home and of course it was just as I supposed. That was her roommate. She told me Gloria found it right there on her dressing table.”

  Andrew stood looking at her, frighteningly unable to control himself.

  “Andy,” she said. “What is it?”

  “Who were you calling?” he said.

  “But I told you. Gloria Leyden. I don’t think you know her. She shares an apartment with Mary Cross. You remember, the girl I was rooming with when we met. She …”

  “Rosemary,” he said. “Bill’s sick maid. Gloria Leyden’s sapphire clip.”

  “But, Andy …”

  She moved around the bed and put her hand on his arm. He jerked his arm away. Two people came into the room, a man and a woman whom he vaguely recognized.

  “Ooops,” said the woman. “Pardon us. We’ve just come to get our coats.”

  They found their coats and left. For a long moment the Jordans stood looking at each other.

  Then in a very soft voice, Maureen said, “Andy, poor darling Andy. So it’s as bad as that. All right. If you don’t believe me, call her.”