The Husband's Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

him.
    â€˜I’ve just been telling Cliff about your prize,’ she added. ‘He’s ever so pleased like, aren’t you, Cliff?’
    â€˜Ever so,’ Cliff assured her. ‘Congratulations, old boy. We’ll be hearing about you one day. You’ll be famous. You’ll hit the headlines.’
    He had unzipped the bag while he was talking and had brought out a bottle of four-star Cognac.
    â€˜Try this instead,’ he said. ‘And don’t thank me. Thank the Customs. Duty free, and no questions asked. Daylight robbery, I call it.’
    His hand was on Stan’s arm again.
    â€˜Glasses, please,’ he added. ‘Ladies present, remember. Ladies present. No swigs.’
    That was another of the things that Beryl liked about Cliff. He made everything seem so carefree and cheerful. Even right back in the old days, that were so far away now, things had always gone with such a swing when Cliff was anywhere around. But now, least of all, was the time to remember. Living in the past was fatal, as she had often reminded herself.
    She tugged the belt of her housecoat in tighter.
    â€˜Well, I’m sure I don’t know what we’re all doing out here like,’ shesaid brightly, bringing out her quick hostess smile again. ‘Why don’t we go through to the lounge? That’s what it’s there for, isn’t it?’
    Beryl led the way, with Cliff following after her carrying the bottle of Cognac. Stan had to stay behind to collect the glasses. This took a moment or two because they were on the top shelf of the special glass-and-china unit. He was quite sure that it would be the best ones that Beryl would be wanting, and he had just got them all set out nicely on the matching tray that went with the set when he heard Cliff calling to him from the lounge.
    â€˜Bring the bag along, too, would you, old chap,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something else in it.’
    That was the authentic Cliff all right: as long as he’d known him, Cliff always had got something else. Samples, mostly; or discontinued lines, or broken ranges, or Army surplus, or rejects, or seconds, or miscellaneous bankrupt stock. That was Cliff’s great strength, his versatility. If Cliff could buy it, Cliff could sell it. Wireless sets, watches, lingerie sets, garden hammocks, tape recorders, costume jewellery, indoor fish-tanks, binoculars – they were all one to him. And that was only half the story. Package tours, second-hand cars, insurance, the employment agency business, home loans: he had tried them all.
    There had been ups and downs, naturally; but distinctly more of the ups. And he was clearly on an ascending curve at the moment. He was, in fact, becoming quite big in the discount trade. And, so far as he was concerned, it was all strictly cash; no credit, and scarcely any bookkeeping.
    It is not all that easy to get through a bead curtain when you are carrying an air bag and three crystal-cut glasses balanced on a shiny tray. Stan took his time, and did it the sensible way: backwards. It may have looked silly, but it worked.
    When he reached the lounge, Cliff was in the Swedish swivel chair with the black leather cushions that wheezed as you sat down on them, and Beryl was sitting sideways, half on and half off the couch, her knees together and her hands folded demurely in her lap.
    Cliff held up the brandy bottle as Stan came in.
    â€˜Forward, St Bernard,’ he said. ‘Mountain rescue team approaching.’
    Beryl glanced up for a moment, almost as if she had expected that there could be something wrong.
    â€˜You’ve forgotten the coasters,’ she told Stan. ‘The flower ones. Andbetter bring a mat like for the bottle.’
    Then she turned back to Cliff.
    â€˜Just fancy,’ she went on. ‘I can’t believe it. Really, I can’t. Three hours ago you were in Paris, and here you are now…’
    But Cliff wasn’t