Love in the Valley

by Susan Napier

  ‘Can you imagine what it must have been like for Hugh?’ Connie asked quietly. ‘Growing up in an atmosphere like that? Watching his mother beaten time and time again, helpless to intervene … being beaten into submission himself both physically and mentally. His father became a genius at punishments: locking him into cupboards for hours at a time, denying him meals for imagined offences, or forcing the boy to watch as he systematically destroyed everything that the child valued—books, toys, schoolwork, clothes. It got so Hugh didn’t dare show an affection for anything, in case it was used as punishment against him. And then there were the beatings themselves—belt, bottle, hot iron … whatever was to hand.’

  Julia was shaken with a sickening, sobering hatred. Not only for the animal that could so torture an innocent child, but also for the gentle woman who had seen it all happen and done nothing. Why hadn’t she had the guts to protect her son? Even if she herself couldn’t leave her husband, she could have sent her son away. Instead she had turned him into a victim too.

  ‘One night George went too far. Lydia went into hospital with a fractured skull, broken arms and ribs. Her lung was pierced and she developed pneumonia with all sorts of complications. Not surprising, considering that both she and the boy were suffering from malnutrition along with everything else. She had no reserves to draw on, Julia. She just gave up and died. But she did tell the whole sordid story to the police. I don’t think she cared for herself … she was afraid for her son, she knew she wouldn’t be there to shield him from the brunt of his father’s frustration and anger as she had always tried to do before. I’m sure that she loved Hugh, and that she felt guilty for clinging on to him. I think she had shut out all the pain and ugliness by trying to live through her son, her only joy in a joyless world.’

  Oh, Hugh, my darling, was Julia’s anguished, internal cry as Connie told her how he had finally ended up in the Marlow household, through the desperate offices of a friend in Social Welfare. It was a gamble, taken after Hugh had disrupted foster home after foster home, but it paid off. Connie had done a lot of work with disadvantaged children, for charity, as a means of occupying her time after the twins were born, and she and Hugh had seemed to ‘click’. Perhaps it was the twins themselves, smaller and more helpless even than he, that helped Hugh come to terms with a wide, bewildering world, or perhaps it was the death of his father … the final threat removed.

  ‘Either way, he never looked back,’ Connie remembered. ‘He developed by leaps and bounds; discovered his brain, built a sense of self-esteem, lost his fear of authority. But there’s always been something missing.’ She leaned forward earnestly, urgently. ‘He needs to learn to love and trust, as a man—emotionally, spiritually, intellectually and sexually. If he doesn’t he’ll settle on Ann or some ghastly clone and never reach his full maturity or discover his destiny as a well-rounded human being. That—or he’ll stultify in bachelorhood. I don’t want that for Hugh, he deserves so much more. He’s a fine man and I want him to find peace, real inner peace, the kind that comes with loving and being loved.’

  ‘Oh, Connie …’ Julia looked at her helplessly, aware of the tears on her cheeks, but unembarrassed by them because Connie was crying silently too. ‘I can’t force him to trust me, to accept something he doesn’t want…’

  ‘But he does want it,’ Connie cried. ‘That’s exactly why he’s turned you away. Don’t you see, don’t you see what I’ve been trying to tell you. Follow the twisted reasoning: everything that he ever loved was taken from him, so he dare not love again, because what he loves, past experience tells him he will lose. On top of that there’s this fear that what he doesn’t lose he himself will destroy. He’s not a fool, he’s well-read and knowledgeable… and it’s a well-publicised fact that often battered children grow up maladjusted, to become abusive parents themselves …’

  Julia trembled on the verge of realisation. ‘You mean …’

  ‘I mean that he’s afraid history will repeat itself. He forgets that he carries his mother’s genes as well as his father’s. He’s put such effort into controlling his personality that he doesn’t realise that the control is merely reinforcing a basically gentle nature. He desperately needs that last piece of self-knowledge. As long as he thinks he’s capable of hurting those he loves, he’ll deny love. Deny himself.’

  Julia shook her head, which was suddenly aching badly. ‘I don’t see … all this doesn’t mean that he loves me.’

  ‘No? How do you know? But you could find out. For once and for all.’ Connie clasped her hands, in a gesture of supplication. ‘He’ll be back here on Sunday night. Go and see him, Julia, please. If not for your own sake, then for his. Try and get him to see how wrong he is. We both know that he’s as gentle as a lamb. Please, Julia. And don’t be put off by his stone-face, just remember, as I do, that the more he feels the less he shows.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Julia whispered, overwhelmed with misgivings. It was all right for Connie, she wasn’t the one risking yet another rejection. Julia didn’t know how many her ego could take!

  ‘I know it won’t be easy, darling. And that you have your pride and feelings too. But if you really love him, you’ll give it a try. Just think, if I’m right, and you succeed, you’ll have a pearl beyond price. You’ll have Hugh. And isn’t he worth more than pride?’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HAVE HUGH. The two seductive words had lost quite a lot of their magic. Julia shivered. Not all Charley’s tinkering had succeeded in stopping up the VW’s draughts. A damp chill sank into her bones and stayed there, niggling at her concentration.

  She leaned forward in the driver’s seat, as if she could urge the car faster with the momentum of her body, cursing herself for her impulsiveness. It was Connie’s last warning that had done it:

  ‘Our doubts are traitors,

  And make us lose the good we oft might win

  By fearing to attempt.’

  Shakespeare had hit the nail on the head. Julia’s doubts were a legion and she had been afraid to give them time to join ranks. She had waited only for grim, grey dawn and a measure of sobriety before flinging a bag into the car and setting off, leaving a garbled note of explanation for Phillip. He would be furious, but at the moment that was the least of Julia’s worries.

  She peered out through her misty windscreen as the little car was buffeted across the Hauraki Plains. Who said that spring had sprung? This was winter weather back with a vengeance. It had been raining steadily since she had left Auckland and it seemed as if she had been on the road for days, stiff and tense from the battle with the elements.

  She should have waited for Hugh to come back to Auckland, of course, but patience wasn’t one of Julia’s strong points. Two days was two days too long. She had to know. Now. Today. So that she could start to plan the rest of her life … Virgin Islands and all!

  Connie’s story haunted her. It explained so much. How smug I must have seemed to him at times, Julia thought sadly. How shallow. Mouthing platitudes about life and its meaning, so confident of the all-healing properties of love. What reason did Hugh have to trust in love? His mother’s love had been no protection for either of them. She had died for the sake of love, or misguided loyalty, or whatever strange, twisted emotion had bound her to her husband.

  No, it wasn’t with soft words or sweet love that she would reach Hugh. In fact, she wasn’t quite sure how she would do it. By blind instinct probably … that was the way she worked best. The thought of Charley—and Olivia—heartened her somewhat. The shell had cracked a little, perhaps it just needed a sharp tap in the right place to fall apart completely.

  She wasn’t surprised to see the AA sign in Kopu telling her that the road via Tapu was closed. She had planned on going the ‘safe’ way in any case, across the base of the peninsula and up the coast. It was further, but less hair-raising than the Tapu way.

  Nonetheless, by the time she crossed the Tairua River Julia was a mass of nerves. The river below her was swollen; a rolling, th
reatening, muddy brown and all around her she noticed hillside slips. In some cases she had to steer around scatterings of clay and boulders on the narrow road. What if some came down on top of the car? She crawled along, not daring to hurry in the treacherous conditions, trying to batten down her fear.

  She felt almost ill with relief when she turned off the coast road to head down into the valley. Mist lay heavy on the trees and Julia’s teeth began to chatter as she neared her destination. What on earth had she allowed herself to be talked into? Hugh would eat her alive for interfering once again in his well-ordered life. He had already thrown her out of it twice! Julia moaned aloud. If she wasn’t more afraid of turning back and risking the boulders she would give up the battle here and now, without a shot being fired.

  It was raining harder still as she steered gingerly down the driveway at Craemar, a distant roll of thunder accompanying her arrival; rather appropriately, she thought. Her aching legs betrayed her as she sloshed over the swampy gravel and a spasm of cramp jerked her foot on the accelerator. The car shot forward and the wheel slipped in her sweaty hands. Desperately she grabbed at it but the VW skewed madly sideways, out of control, and slipped with a dull clunk into the shallow ditch that ran along the lower side of the drive where it sloped towards the stream.

  Julia could have screamed. The back wheels spun uselessly in the mud. She gave up, turning off the ignition, and stared up towards the blind windows of the house. There was smoke coming from Hugh’s chimney. His curtains were open but there was no sign of movement in the attic room. Julia looked at her watch—nearly one o’clock! It had taken her over five hours to make what was usually a three-and-a-half-hour journey. No wonder she felt like a wet rag! The mist and thunderously dark skies had forced her to use her headlights over the last few kilometres, and that had been an added strain.

  Suddenly Julia saw a blurry figure in the rain coming from the garage. She wrenched open her door and squelched on to the grass, gasping as the large, cold drops of rain sliced through her thick sweater and jeans. She howled against the wind: ‘Hugh?’

  The figure veered towards her, wielding a large, black umbrella against the windy onslaught. As he came closer Julia saw Hugh’s face, white and rainwashed against the collar of his dark oilskin coat; strained in disbelief.

  ‘Julia? What …’ There was a loud boom, and the ground shook beneath their feet. Julia screamed, and scuttled towards the only solid thing in a shifting world.

  ‘My God, was that thunder?’ she yelled. ‘The storm must be directly above us.’

  Hugh cocked his head. ‘I don’t think …’ he broke off as a crashing, thrashing, roaring sound came to them through the sodden air, like a wild animal on the loose. He muttered sharply and started to run towards the house, dropping the umbrella and dragging Julia with him.

  ‘What is it? A landslide?’ she gasped, her words whipped away by the wind.

  No answer. She was half-yanked, half-carried through the front door and hustled up the dim staircase.

  ‘What’s the noise? What’s happening?’ earned her another brisk shove in the back. ‘Now look here …’ She was propelled into the welcome warmth of Hugh’s room and ignored as he shrugged out of his oilskin and strode over to the window that looked down over the front of the house.

  Panting Julia followed him, going on tip-toes to peer through the rain-distorted glass, gaping with horror at the sight that met her eyes.

  A sweeping wall of slurry was smashing through the lower end of the grounds where the stream had been, snapping trees like matchsticks, bulldozing a tangled mass of fern and undergrowth before it. Behind the wall came a churning, boiling, devouring flood of water which rushed with menacing speed up the slope towards them.

  Julia made a choked sound. ‘Will it reach the house?’

  ‘I doubt it. We’re on pretty high ground here.’ Hugh’s voice sounded rusty with disuse and Julia stared at the beloved profile, turning again with a cry as he added: ‘Unfortunately your car isn’t.’

  ‘Oh no!’ The brown waters swirled around the VW, nudging it slightly adrift, seething greedily around the bonnet. The roaring sound eased to mingle with the drum of the rain and Julia, who had had visions of climbing out on to the roof, was relieved to see the rise of the waters slow. ‘But where did it all come from? That stream’s only a trickle.’

  Hugh swung to look at her, his eyes as grey as the skies beyond the window. In cream shirt and trousers he looked bigger than ever. There was a slight stubble on his chin, softening the hard line of his jaw and his mouth was ominously thin.

  ‘How do flash floods usually happen?’ What a lovely familiar ring his sarcasm had. ‘We’ve had seventeen inches of rain here in the past twenty-four hours— where do you expect it to go? There are floods all over the peninsula. The whole of Coromandel is cut off.’

  ‘Is it?’ Julia gulped. Thank God she hadn’t known! ‘I don’t have a radio in the Beetle.’

  The skin around the grey eyes twitched. ‘Do you mean to tell me that you didn’t know? Half of Thames is flooded! There are people trapped in homes and farms waiting to be lifted out by helicopter; the whole region has been devastated! You were out there …’ he pointed, a savage jab, ‘… and you didn’t know?’

  ‘Why are we up here if the water won’t reach the house?’ Julia prevaricated nervously, her gaze skittering away from his intimidating hulk.

  ‘Because the rest of the house is cold and covered with dust sheets,’ he explained with steel-eyed patience. ‘This house has been here over a hundred years, Julia. It’s withstood floods before and I’m sure it’ll withstand this one.’

  Julia shivered, hoping for a little belated sympathy.

  ‘Stand by the fire if you’re cold,’ she was told tersely. ‘If you get pneumonia you only have yourself to blame.’

  Julia put her hands out towards the blaze, thinking that one over. ‘Look,’ she said, trying to sound reasonable, ‘so I took a little bit of a risk. There’s no need to go on about it. I’m OK aren’t I?’

  ‘What in the hell are you doing roaming around on the loose anyway?’

  As if she was a stray dog! Julia bristled. ‘Looking for you of course!’ she snapped.

  He swore. ‘You’ve come all the way from Auckland this morning?’

  ‘Through hell and high water,’ said Julia flippantly.

  ‘Of all the stupid, irresponsible bitches!’ He exploded, hands thumping on his hips as he strode across the room to tower over her. ‘You must be a complete cretin! And why, for God’s sake? What if I hadn’t been here, what would you have done then? Gone straight back I suppose—probably driving to your death in the process!’

  Julia muttered a sullen negative to the effect that she wasn’t completely idiotic. ‘I knew you were here because Connie told me.’

  ‘So? No doubt she also told you when I’d be back in Auckland,’ he shot at her.

  ‘I couldn’t wait.’ Julia lifted her chin defiantly, her clothes beginning to steam along with her temper.

  ‘You couldn’t …? God give me strength!’ He grabbed her by the shoulders with a quick, jerky movement. ‘You could have been killed out there you little fool.’

  ‘All right, so I’m a fool, what else is new?’ she flung at him. ‘What are you so mad about? You would have been well rid of me wouldn’t you!’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody childish!’ He gave her a furious shake and then suddenly he wasn’t shaking her anymore, but kissing her, crowding her close to his body, his mouth hot and hard on hers. For Julia it was bliss, vindication of all her doubts, but when she wriggled to come up for air, he let her go as if she was a hot coal.

  ‘You can’t stand around in those wet things all day,’ he said hoarsely, backing away hurriedly as if the dampness was infectious. Julia stood open-mouthed, tingling all over from his delicious attack, her anger dissipating in delight at his nervousness.

  ‘All my clothes are in my poor car,’ she said faintly.

  He frow
ned thunderously at her as she plucked at the sweater where it held her breasts in wet embrace. ‘Go and take a shower,’ he ordered, in the manner of ‘get thee behind me, Satan’. ‘I’ll see if Connie or the girls left anything.’

  ‘What about hot water?’ asked Julia, as he reached the door. ‘Is there any power?’

  ‘We’ve got a generator. That’s what I was checking on down in the garage.’

  Julia stood under a wonderfully hot stream of water, hoping he wouldn’t find anything. She would look very sexy in one of his shirts—maybe irresistibly so, if he could be driven to kiss her when she looked like a drowned rat. She smiled dreamily at the tiled wall. He had been so mad. She had loved the way his teeth had gritted and his ears had flushed, the way his eyes shot silver sparks. The shell was definitely in imminent danger.

  Wrapped in one of Connie’s luxurious velvet robes, her clothes draped in front of the fire, Julia munched on toasted cheese sandwiches, eyeing Hugh as he sat in his chair, staring fixedly at the flames in the grate. They listened to the latest news and weather report on the radio through a veil of static. Coromandel was indeed cut off and on the verge of being declared in a state of emergency.

  ‘Further rain, with isolated thunderstorms and easterlies up to gale force can be expected, decreasing slowly tonight,’ finished the earnest young man from the Weather Bureau.

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while,’ said Julia, viewing his frustration with glee. ‘You make a lovely toasted sandwich, Hugh, although you can’t really fail with those griller gadgets. Don’t you want yours?’ She took his untouched share and wolfed them greedily—it was her first food since the chicken and champagne of the previous night. ‘Umm, delicious,’ she licked her buttery fingers. Hunger satisfied, it was time to go into battle. Much as she hated what she had decided to do, she really had no choice. Hugh was proof against propinquity alone.