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Christmas short story

Humiliation

William Boyd

Wednesday, 12th December 2007

The Spectator's short story for the holidays

The woman returned and they began talking, leaning intimately towards each other across the table. Like lovers.... It came to me as a revelation and I almost laughed out loud. Maltravers had handed me my revenge. ‘Thank you, Mighty Zeus,’ I said softly to myself, composing the short deadly letter in my head: ‘Dear Mrs Maltravers, Last week, your husband was in Ste. Radegonde, Dordogne, accompanied by a woman. Sincerely, a Friend.’ There was a Mrs Maltravers, that much I knew for sure, and I fancied there was quite a sizeable litter of Maltravers children, also. I felt a warmth spread through me, an inner calm, as I looked across the room at them. Maltravers ordered more oysters. Forty-eight — of course, the legendary aphrodisiacal qualities of the bivalve. What did that really very — not to say extremely — attractive woman see in the faintly repulsive, saurian Maltravers? Why should that man have her as his mistress? Still, I was about to ruin his life. Let him enjoy the last few days of the affair. But then another idea began to take hold of me, far more subtle and satisfying than a simple anonymous letter. My piece was written, my fee was telegraphically on its way to me, why not stay on in Ste. Radegonde and enjoy a well-deserved holiday while I dallied with Maltravers and considered whether I could elaborate a more intriguing outcome to this unhappy encounter?

In the Dordogne valley sudden storms driven inland from the Atlantic can erupt even in summer: the rain pelts down but we know the deluge will not last, the darkness will not endure. Look, the sun is out again, the hedges steam damply, and we can happily resume our journey.

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