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Overview
When a man dies and leaves behind a wife and a mistress, we expect certain responses to follow. But as the narrator of Salley Vickers's second novel explains, "this is not an account of feminine jealousy, or even revenge, and not all human beings (not even women) conform to the attitudes generally expected." Indeed, in this ironic and witty novel nothing is quite as we expect to find it. Telling the story of Bridget Hansome and Frances Slater, Vickers brings to life a loving marriage and a love affair that exist side by side for years - and continue to reverberate after secretive, generous, sexually prodigal Peter Hansome dies suddenly in a car accident, on his way home from an assignation with yet another lover, about whom neither woman knows.
While Frances, a London art dealer and sometime artists' model, gradually makes friends with the older, Shakespeare-loving Bridget, these two unconventional women start to learn the whole truth (or almost the whole truth) about the man whose death brought them together and whose ghost watches over them still.
Wise, wry, and intellectually playful, Instances of the Number 3 explores the mysterious power of triangles in love, art, and theology. It confirms Salley Vickers as one of the most intelligent new voices in British fiction.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780374706128 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Farrar, Straus and Giroux |
| Publication date: | 04/01/2007 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 320 |
| File size: | 292 KB |
About the Author
Salley Vickers's novels, Instances of the Number 3 and Miss Garnet's Angel, have been acclaimed bestsellers in Britain. A former university lecturer in literature, she is a trained analytical psychologist and lectures widely on the connections between literature, psychology, and religion. She lives in London and Bath.
Salley Vickers has worked as a dancer, an artist’s model, a university professor of literature, and a psychoanalyst. She is the author of fiction including Miss Garnet's Angel, Instances of the Number 3, and Mr Golightly's Holiday. She lives in London and now writes full-time.
Read an Excerpt
Instances of the Number 3
By Salley Vickers
Picador
Copyright © 2001 Salley VickersAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-374-70612-8
CHAPTER 1
AFTER PETER HANSOME died, people were surprised that his widow seemed to be spending so much time with his mistress. Bridget Hansome was not the kind of woman who could have failed to notice her husband's discreet, but regular, visits to the flat in Turnham Green where Frances Slater lived. And, indeed, anyone married to Peter Hansome would have needed to learn the art of turning a blind eye. Had the various friends and acquaintances of the Hansomes' been asked to bet on how the wife might deal with a mistress discovered in the aftermath of the husband's death (were it the thing to gamble on the likely effects on a widow of the discovery of a long-established infidelity), the odds would probably have been on Bridget allowing Frances to attend the funeral, but with an unspoken provision that no mention be made of the reason for her being there.
In the event the punters would have lost their bets, for this is not what occurred. In spite of the fact that she lived nearby – the cremation was conducted at a cemetery off the Lower Richmond Road – Frances did not attend the funeral ceremony. She had a still lively recollection of a warm evening, on which the same cemetery had been the scene of one of Peter's more flamboyant acts of lovemaking. Whether it was this, and the fact that she could not, therefore, easily reconcile herself to it as the place from which she must make a final farewell to the body that – flanked by marble angels and other funerary pieces – had lately enjoyed her own, must rest as one of those matters into which we shall not, for the moment, enquire. What is known is that on the day of the funeral, Frances took the Eurostar to Paris, where she concluded a walk by the Seine with a visit to Notre-Dame – stopping, before entering the cathedral, to buy a bunch of anemones from a flower seller.
Bridget Hansome was well aware that she was not the only woman to enjoy her husband's affections. 'Handsome is as handsome does!' she had been in the habit of saying, making a small pun on her husband's name. This observation was generally accompanied by one of her little ironic smiles. These smiles might have been described as affectionate, but they might equally have been described as sly. Whatever the truth of the matter (and it is also a truth that human emotion tends to be made up of different, and often competing, strands), Peter took the smiles in good part. He was a physically vain man and, not quite understanding the point of the saying – more accurately, for he was not stupid either, not really troubling to comprehend it – was mildly pleased to have a wife who appreciated his looks enough to joke about them, despite the fact that they brought with them certain consequences.
One of these 'consequences' was Frances. There had been others – not too many – over the years, but Frances was the only one who could be said to have stuck. In fact it was Bridget herself who had been the cause of the introduction, during one of her trips abroad.
Early on in her marriage Bridget had discovered that her husband disliked her being away from home. It is unlikely that Peter himself was aware that his extramarital escapades had more to do with an incapability with his own loneliness than the outward appearance he was quietly proud of – women tending, perversely perhaps, to be more susceptible to marks of inward frailty than rugged good looks. It is a fact, however, that it is easier to be tender towards a failing when it is not part of one's daily dealings. Bridget had been first alarmed, then concerned and finally increasingly impatient when she found that Peter became fractious, and prone to what she privately termed 'sillinesses', when she made one of her regular trips abroad.
Bridget sold old French bric-à-brac. She had started with a stall on the Portobello Road but now ran a thriving shop in Fulham, which traded in garden furniture, aged linen, enamel pans, lace curtains, parasols – items of faded beauty from a French pastoral past for which she had a particular eye. In these days of shabby chic such shops are commonplace. But Bridget, in perceiving that something worn and traditional might be what was missing from modern lives, had been in the vanguard of contemporary taste. It was she who pioneered the belief that the venerable might be more stylish than the smart glass and steel designs which were once the height of interior fashion for the well heeled. Ahead of her imitators, she became established as a 'name', of sorts; the 'Living' pages of newspapers and magazines deferred to her for hints on the newest 'old' styles.
Bridget was also blessed with sources of supply for the items she sold in her shop – still-secret places in the heart of rural France which her later competitors had neither the luck nor the stamina to discover. The stamina was required for the combination of long drive and longer conversations in vernacular French, accompanied by large quantities of coffee or wine or, as the day went on, spirits drawn from complicated bottles. These tête-à-têtes would be conducted with elderly men or women in minor decaying chateaux, who were pleased to off-load the mouldering relics of a bygone way of life to the blonde Anglaise who seemed sincere in her love of their country and its artefacts.
And there was no doubt that Bridget was sincere. One of her hallmarks was that she was a person who lacked 'side' – too much so for some, who found her blunt. This did not mean, however, that she necessarily revealed all that she thought. Indeed, experience had taught her to keep many of her observations to herself, full revelation, she couldn't help feeling, being something which was a virtue only among the reckless or the cruel. So that finally – for her rather late in the day – perceiving that her husband missed her, she did not voice this realisation directly but instead asked Mickey, who lived next door, if she would 'keep an eye' on Peter.
Mickey had lived in their terraced street since long before Peter and Bridget had married and bought their house. Although the house had not been fashionable when they bought it, they had had to scrape around to find the deposit, as these were the days when Bridget was just starting her Fulham shop and Peter had another wife and another establishment – one with children in it – to keep. The area had 'come up' since, but Mickey was a survivor of its more modest past, having inherited the house from her mother, whom she had womanfully looked after till the day the old lady died.
'It's my pride my mum never saw the inside of a hospital,' Mickey had said to Bridget when the latter had called asking to borrow sugar for the removal men's tea, thus setting the tone for a relationship in which Mickey had continued, on and off, to supply sugar for twenty years. Mickey loved to chat and as Peter liked, in a certain mood, to chat himself – chatting being something which Bridget was conscious of not always sufficiently supplying either for her husband or her neighbour – the hope had been that Mickey might go some way to fill the gap made by Bridget's periodic 'French leaves'.
Mickey also liked her drink. Driving through the quiet countryside of mid France, observing the boles of mistletoe silhouetted in the columns of poplars against a wide azure sky, Bridget would think of her husband and Mickey sipping whiskies together; it was easier to feel fond of them both when she was away.
It was on just such an occasion, when Bridget was off in Normandy for a pre-Easter run, that Mickey invited Peter round. The weather was unseasonably fine, the sun quite searching for March, and they sat outside admiring the smart ranks of colour-coordinated daffodils in Mickey's garden.
'This is my friend Frances,' Mickey had said, indicating a thin, dark woman, considerably younger than her hostess, but with what Peter was later to describe as 'old' eyes. It was not exactly the case that Frances was a 'friend'. Mickey was liberal in her friendships and Frances turned out to be someone Mickey had met casually at the estate agents where she worked part-time on Wednesdays and Saturdays.
Frances was looking for a house in the area and Mickey, who liked to be of help (it was also to soak up some of that liking to help – where she was conscious of giving disappointment – that Bridget had made the suggestion about Peter), had asked Frances back for a drink to 'give her an idea of what these are like', since Frances had indicated it was such a house that she was hoping to buy.
In the end Frances bought a flat in Turnham Green, the prices of the Fulham houses having risen beyond her pocket, and there, after a suitable lapse of time, Peter visited her during one of Bridget's summer trips to the Vichy area.
'I love my wife,' he had declared, this being the gesture of fidelity to Bridget he was in the habit of making on such occasions. 'If we are going to do this you must understand I will never leave her.'
And in saying he 'loved' Bridget Peter was not, as it happens, speaking to deceive. His liking for chat was not, as is sometimes supposed, a sign of superficiality, any more than a tendency to silence necessarily indicates depth. 'Chatting' was one of Peter's means of helping himself to stay alive.
Frances, who had closed down an affair when the man was foolish enough to suggest that he was 'misunderstood', was not displeased to hear a man speak unashamedly of love for his wife. Although Frances was not prone to introspection, unconsciously she was aware that as a man speaks so he is: a declaration of conjugal love was a sign of an affectionate nature – and a loyal one, of a kind. At least Peter was not going to 'explain' any entanglement with her as a product of ill treatment meted out to him elsewhere. Frances did not care to be seen as some sort of therapist – sexual or otherwise. She liked – as most of us do – to be liked for her own inherent qualities, good and bad, and not as a reaction to qualities in another person.
Frances was thirty-six when she first met Peter – an age when women often suffer degrees of anxiety about settling down. Whether her liking for Peter was as innocent of a reactive component as his was for her is another question entirely.
CHAPTER 2PETER WAS SIXTY-TWO when he died. A truck driver, in an October fog, leaning to adjust the volume on his tape of Elvis Presley's Greatest Hits, took his eye from the road, failed to see a car coming up on the run into the Hogarth roundabout, swerved to avoid the car and, instead, hit Peter's BMW, broadside. This, not fatal in itself, had the result that the BMW was swung around in the path of a speeding Mercedes. The driver of the truck was shaken, the driver of the Mercedes damaged his arm, but Peter's neck was broken in the ensuing crash.
The Hogarth roundabout happened to be the spot where if he had been going to visit Frances Peter would have swung off to the left. The roundabout was also the final stage of the normal route home to Fulham. What no one could know was that Peter was intending to make his way to neither of these destinations, but instead to a discreetly fronted house in Shepherd's Bush where unusual tastes of all kinds were catered for. Although neither woman had any knowledge of this other destination, it is true to say that of the two Bridget would have best tolerated the knowledge.
For weeks after Peter's death Bridget was unable to do anything about his things. Reluctant to move so much as a paper clip from his desk, she walked about the house playing old records, opening and putting down books, eating cold baked beans, keeping unusual hours. Sometimes she moved in a slow, stately dance to the voices of Nat King Cole, Johnny Mathis, Eartha Kitt – tunes she and Peter had known when they were younger: 'walking out', as she herself had called it; in particular she became addicted to a song entitled 'Love for Sale'.
Because Bridget was older than Peter she had always imagined to herself that she would be the one to die first. This had mildly bothered her: past form suggested that she would be better able than her husband to cope with a permanent absence. From time to time she had allowed herself the luxury of making vivid how, in the event of her own death, she would be missed by Peter. She had not quite defined in her mind the form this missing would take, but it might have included a new-found impatience on her husband's part with an alternative source of feminine comfort.
What Bridget found she disliked most, in the weeks after Peter's death, was having to talk about him. There were numerous phone calls; the letters were not such a pressure – these she could reply to in the familiar-smelling comfort of their double bed, where she wore Peter's shirts and sometimes, because her feet had grown unaccountably cold, his woolly socks. But the talking ... how she loathed it! And yet, how kind people wanted to appear – really, it made one take against 'kindness'. Yet for all Bridget's indifference to appearances it seemed wrong to her to leave the answerphone on. She must not be stingy with her loss – she felt it should be shared, available to all, like the torrential rains they were having this autumn.
And it was the case that the skies seemed to have some secret sympathy for her dead husband: they wept and howled impressively, highlighting her own lack of tears.
Bridget found she could not cry for Peter. Indeed, when she was obliged to participate in the conversations she so detested, she was conscious of a note in her voice which she knew must sound at odds with her situation. She was aware that this was disconcerting to those who had called to condole.
To call this note 'gleeful' would be inaccurate. It was not glee in Bridget's voice, but it might have been mistaken for it; so that Frances, when she plucked up the courage to call the Fulham number, thought for a moment, as Bridget peremptorily answered the phone: Oh, she doesn't mind!
'It's Frances Slater,' she said. And waited.
Bridget knew, of course, who Frances was. Peter, with unusual foresight, had once said, 'If anything happens to me there's someone who might get in touch,' and Bridget, with perfect understanding – though not, as it turned out, perfect prescience – had replied, 'Nothing's going to happen to you – don't be melodramatic.' But had added, less briskly, 'Of course I would speak to anyone who mattered.'
However, when she took Frances's call, she simply said, 'Ah yes!' which Frances found discouraging.
'I knew Peter,' Frances had continued, and just in time prevented herself adding 'a little'. She did not want, by implying the connexion with Peter was less than it had been, to slide into appeasing Peter's wife.
Bridget had never been one for appeasement. 'I know,' she said. 'I expect you're feeling odd, aren't you?' which was a surprise to Frances after the discouragement.
The two women met first in the café at John Lewis. This was Bridget's idea – she was keen to avoid anything which hinted at the scent of camellias. And it was convenient for Frances, who worked in Soho nearby.
'I've bought a night light,' Bridget announced after Frances had found her ('You'll know me, I expect, I'm big and once was blonde and I'll be wearing green'). A conical transparent light with coloured seahorses bobbing around in it sat, slightly absurdly, on the pale teak-effect table between the two women. 'The seahorses rise and fall when the light is on.'
'Are you sleeping OK?' Frances asked. It had sounded like a cue.
'Moderately,' said Bridget. 'And when you switch it off there's a mermaid at the bottom, combing her hair and admiring herself in a looking glass. See!' She pointed out a small but perfectly formed maiden with a curvaceous green plastic fishtail.
Frances, who was quick, got the drift: there was to be no demonstration of emotion. 'I had something like that once,' she offered. 'It was in one of those globe things children get given – you shook it and bits flew around.' The remark felt like a shot in the dark.
Happily it hit home. 'Usually snow,' Bridget agreed. 'Do you want tea? If so we'll have to get another pot – I've drunk nearly all this already.'
Outside the weather rained down tears. Bridget thought: She's not too bad, and felt it was not impossible that she might, one day, drop tears too.
'You don't look like the kind of woman who "needs to talk",' Bridget said. 'I'd better say, frankly, from the outset, that "talking" is not part of my plan. However-' she went on, as if there had been an attempt to interrupt, which was not the case, for Frances was listening in silent fascination – 'it seems discourteous, somehow, to Peter if we don't meet, though I hardly know how we should conduct ourselves.'
What Frances thought was: Why does she have to be so different? Aloud, she said, 'I don't know that I want so terribly to "talk" either – though there are things I could probably only say to you.'
'That's true,' conceded Bridget, and lapsed into morose silence.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Instances of the Number 3 by Salley Vickers. Copyright © 2001 Salley Vickers. Excerpted by permission of Picador.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Reading Group Guide
"The classic threesome -- husband, wife, mistress -- proves mathematically unstable in Vickers's profound comic novel . . . In the tradition of the late Iris Murdoch, this extraordinary book will inspire and delight." -- Publishers Weekly (starred review)
About This Guide
The questions and discussion topics that follow are intended to augment your group's reading of Salley Vickers's novel Instances of the Number 3, a window into the lives of the widow and mistress of the recently deceased Peter Hansome. We hope they will enhance your discussion by providing different angles from which to approach the various layers of this sophisticated ghost story.
Introduction
After Peter Hansome's death, his wife, Bridget, is contacted by Frances Slater, who had been her husband's mistress for the past seven years. Although aware and unusually accepting of her husband's numerous in?delities, Bridget cannot help but be hurt by the longevity of his relationship with Frances. Yet in the weeks after his death, an unlikely friendship springs up between these two women, whose only apparent bond is having loved the same man. As their ?rst Christmas without him approaches, a young Iranian boy, who also played a role in Peter's life, arrives on Bridget's doorstep. As Bridget slowly unwinds the mystery of Zahin's connection to Peter, she is surprised by another unexpected guest -- her husband's ghost.
Soon the levelheaded Bridget ?nds herself involved with a married man, and Frances is caught between two artists whom her gallery represents. As their lives without Peter become increasingly complicated, each woman is surprised to discover the lasting legacy of Peter's life with them.
Salley Vickers's literary love story is a fresh look at the inconsistencies, passions, and foibles of the human heart.
Questions for Discussion
1. With whom does your initial sympathy lie, Bridget or Frances? Compare their reactions to Peter's death. Do your sympathies change through the course of the novel?
2. Describe Peter's character. How do Frances's and Bridget's impressions of him differ? Which woman has a better understanding of him?
3. Compare the personality traits of Bridget and Frances. In what ways are they similar? Do their characteristics complement each other? How does the idea of reactive components (p. 9) account for Peter's attraction to both women?
4. Discuss the secular and religious significance of the number 3. What instances are there of each throughout the story?
5. How can Peter's declaration of love for Bridget (p. 8), delivered moments before he consummates his relationship with Frances, be considered a sign of loyalty? Why is Frances moved by his assertion?
6. How does the voice of an omniscient narrator function in this novel? What makes this technique especially effective?
7. How would you describe Bridget and Peter's marriage? Would Peter have been happier married to Frances?
8. Why is Peter initially attracted to Zelda (pp. 157-60)? Does the nature of his desire change? He tells Zelda about Frances, but not about Bridget. Whom is Peter trying to protect by this omission?
9. Why does Bridget accept Peter's indiscretions? Does her response seem different from a typical American response? In what ways does the John Donne quote illuminate her thoughts on this topic (p. 236)? Why did she remain loyal to Peter? Why does her relationship with Stanley make her feel as if she were being unfaithful to her husband? Does your opinion of Bridget change after she begins a relationship with a married man?
10. All three of the main characters experienced tragedies during their childhoods. How did they react to these incidents? In what ways did their pasts draw them together?
11. Why does Peter begin to haunt Bridget and Frances? Although he watches over both his wife and his mistress, he communicates only with Bridget. Why does he reveal himself only to his widow?
12. Discuss Bridget's relationship with Sister Mary Eustasia. Why were these two women attracted to each other? What effect did the nun's death (p. 123) have on Bridget?
13. What does Zahin want when he arrives at Bridget's home (p. 25)? Does he know that Peter has been killed? Does Bridget's decision to let him into her home seem uncharacteristic? How do his motives change through the story? When does Bridget begin to realize the nature of Peter's relationship with her young boarder? Why doesn't she share this knowledge with Frances?
14. In what ways does the art gallery crowd -- Roy, Frances, and Painter -- constitute another "instance of the number 3"? How does the birth of Petra alter this relationship? How does she bring Frances and Painter together?
15. Discuss the literary references that run throughout the novel. How does the author use works like Hamlet and the poem "When You Are Old" to further illustrate elements of her story? How did Bridget's passion for literature affect her relationship with Peter? How did it affect her relationship with Stanley?
16. Who is the third woman who is always present in Peter's mind during his sexual encounters? Why does this image of his young lover haunt Peter so relentlessly? What does Veronica represent to Peter (p. 107)?
17. Does Bridget bear any responsibility for Peter's infidelities? Consider her reaction when she learns that he does not like to be left alone. Why is it easier for Bridget to feel fond of Peter when she is in France (p. 7)?
18. Peter died on his way to visit Zelda. At the moment of his death, did he come to understand the truths that Father Gerard spoke of? Has Peter been punished for letting his desire for Zelda creep into all other areas of his life? Is there something morally wrong with their relationship?
19. Discuss the concept of forgiveness in this novel. Why is it so important for Peter to have Bridget's forgiveness? When does Bridget truly forgive her husband?
20. Consider Peter's first meeting with Bridget, his holiday in Paris with Frances, and his long car ride with Zelda. With whom does he seem happiest? How do his feelings toward these people differ? What does he need from each of them?
21. Why does Peter begin seeing Father Gerard? What elements of the Catholic faith is he drawn to? Discuss the role that religion plays in the story. Is seeing Peter's ghost a spiritual experience?
22. Why does it take Frances so long to realize that she is pregnant with Peter's child? Is it fitting that his mistress, instead of his wife, should carry his child?
23. Are Frances, Bridget, and Zahin happier without Peter? How did they each come to terms with his death? In what ways has his absence liberated them? What futures do you imagine for the three lovers that Peter has left behind?
24. In what ways does Salley Vickers's story borrow from a traditional drawing room comedy? Can you think of any examples? How does the author modernize her version of this genre?
25. Love is very important to all the major characters in this book, but each one sees love differently. How do you think Bridget, Frances, and Peter would describe love? Do you agree with Bridget when she says, "I wonder if it really matters who you love . . . It's that you love that counts, isn't it?" (p. 227)?
Praise for Miss Garnet's Angel
"Miss Garnet's Angel is a little jewel of a novel: brilliant and beautiful and multifaceted, perfect in its way. Clear-eyed and unsentimental, it is nonetheless filled with genuine feeling, crammed with wit and wisdom, aesthetic visions and ethical judgments . . . Miss Garnet's Angel is a most impressive debut, and one eagerly looks forward to Vickers's next book." -- San Francisco Chronicle
"[Vickers's] juxtaposition of ancient and modern well serves her larger purpose, summoning up a palimpsest of cultures, faiths and civilizations that have infused and enriched one another. Artfully wrought, yet told with a bracing directness, the story of Miss Garnet is indeed a gem." -- The Wall Street Journal
"Miss Garnet is a respectable, middle-aged Englishwoman who is overwhelmed by her first visit to Venice. We think, well yes, we know this plot; but the book turns out to be subtle, unexpected, and haunting in a way we certainly never guessed." -- Penelope Fitzgerald, author of The Blue Flower and Offshore
"Miss Garnet's Angel is the sort of novel I really enjoy. It is decorous, very kind, very funny; and I knew as I read it that I would want to read it again -- probably quite soon. The best of tests. Barbara Pym fans, please note!" -- John Bayley, literary critic and author of The Red Hat and Elegy for Iris
About the Author
Salley Vickers's novels, Instances of the Number 3 and Miss Garnet's Angel, have been acclaimed best-sellers in Britain. A former university lecturer in literature, she is a trained analytical psychologist and lectures widely on the connections between literature, psychology, and religion. She lives in London and Bath.