Guns in the Gallery

‘She too has not fulfilled her early promise. Every year the art schools churn out another generation of aspiring artists. Most of them are at that stage described as “promising”. Very few of them actually make it.’

‘Is it a disappointment to you that you weren’t one of those who made it?’

‘A constant disappointment, yes.’ There was a dry bitterness in his tone.

Jude was silent, wondering where next to direct her questioning. Then she asked, ‘Has your relationship with Bonita been going on a long time?’

‘Yes, a very long time. We met as students at the Slade, had a wild fling, then drifted apart and married other people. Both married too young, of course.’ He sighed. ‘Everyone marries too young.’

‘I think they may have done in our generation. I’m not sure that they still do.’

‘Maybe not. Certainly Denzil shows no sign of leading some poor unfortunate girl to the altar.’

‘He told you, I assume, that I and my friend Carole visited him at his studio on Monday.’

‘He mentioned it, yes.’

‘We were there when he got the text about his mother’s death.’

‘Oh.’ The intonation was so flat it was hard to tell whether this was news to him or not.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ said Jude formally.

‘You don’t need to be. It’s been common knowledge for years that Philomena and I didn’t get on. We’ve lived apart since Denzil was about five.’

‘Did you separate because of your relationship with Bonita?’

‘That was one of the reasons on my side. Not Philomena’s. I worked very hard to ensure that she never knew about me and Bonita.’

‘I don’t see how that could have been possible.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if you walk through the London streets arm in arm, surely there’s a very real danger of your being seen by friends of your wife or, given your high profile, being spotted by a press photographer and—’

‘You don’t understand. What you’ve witnessed this morning is something very new. Something I wish could have happened a very long time ago. Up till now our relationship has been conducted exclusively within these walls. We haven’t dared go out together, even to a restaurant, in case, as you say, we were seen by someone who might get the news back to Philomena. Now the situation is different.’

‘Because of Philomena’s death?’

Addison Willoughby nodded. ‘For that very reason. Now there is nothing to stop Bonita and me from doing what she should have done many years ago – and getting married.’

‘But why did you feel you had to wait so long? It’s not too hard to get a divorce these days.’

‘There are two reasons why we waited. One was that, though Philomena and I didn’t get on, I didn’t hate her. I still had a lot of respect for her, and I wanted to spare her the pain that must inevitably be caused by her knowledge that Bonita and I were lovers. The public explanation of our marriage breakdown was that I was a workaholic – which is probably true, by the way. Anyway, that ensured that Philomena was not publicly humiliated.’

‘You said there were two reasons.’

‘Yes. The other was that both Philomena and I are Catholics. She’s considerably more devout that I am.’ He was unaware of using the present tense, as though his wife were still alive. ‘But it got to me too. I was taught by Jesuits. And you know the old maxim: “Give me a child for his first seven years and I will give you the man.” Well, much as I resent it, that has worked its evil magic on me . . . with the result that I could not contemplate the idea of divorce. Bloody nuisance, but there you are.’

‘Now, though . . .?’

‘Yes. With Philomena dead, my problems are at an end. Well, some of them are, anyway.’

‘Does Denzil know what’s about to happen?’

‘No. I am going to see him this afternoon to tell him. It is not an encounter that I relish. But once that hurdle has been overcome, the future for Bonita and me looks set fair.’

A new line of enquiry offered itself to Jude. ‘What happened to Bonita’s husband?’ she asked.

‘Hugo? He drowned on a family holiday in Greece. A merciful release.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because he was severely crippled. He had a pretty miserable quality of life.’

‘Was he crippled from birth?’

‘God, no. We were all contemporaries at the Slade. Hugo was a huge, boisterous character. Very good-looking, zapped around London on a Harley-Davidson, vacuuming up all the female students. I think initially the marriage to Bonita worked pretty well. They had the two kids, with about seven years’ gap between them. Bonita didn’t have much time to do her art, but Hugo was becoming very successful.

‘Then, maybe four years after Giles was born, he was in a horrendous crash. Came off his Harley on the M1. Hugo was smashed to bits. No one thought he could possibly survive. Somehow he pulled through, but he was condemned to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. A terrible fate for someone with a larger-than-life personality like Hugo. And there was no way he could continue with his painting.