by Kitty Neale
‘Tom?’ Jenny said.
‘Yeah, me son.’
‘Of course you can go, Edna,’ Marcos said. ‘It was good of you to take on the extra work and hours. I’ll see you’re rewarded.’
‘It was no trouble. I’ll see yer in the morning, Mrs Cane. Bye for now.’
‘Goodbye,’ Jenny called, finding it strange to be addressed as Mrs Cane.
‘Come on, darling,’ Marcos said. ‘Let’s look around and then tuck into that casserole.’
‘It seems you thought of everything,’ Jenny said as she took his hand.
They went from room to room, Jenny unsure about the dark antique furniture, but Marcos seemed so pleased with everything that she said nothing. She’d brighten things up with soft furnishings, pretty ornaments and late flowers from the garden. For now though, the smell of chicken casserole was irresistible and soon they were seated in the dining room and eating their first meal together in their new home.
‘I suppose we’ll have to see your parents to break the news,’ Marcos said.
‘It can wait until tomorrow.’
‘They’re bound to want to see the house so we’ll invite them round, get it over with. However, I don’t want it to become a habit, Jenny.’
She was surprised by the hardness of his tone, which now turned to exasperation as he said, ‘This casserole is oversalted.’
It tasted fine to Jenny, but Marcos was very particular, and she began to worry that nothing she cooked would be to his tastes. ‘If you don’t like this, I dread to think what you’ll make of my efforts.’
‘I know you want to take lessons, and in the meantime anything simple will be fine.’
Jenny began to clear their plates while making a mental list of things she could cook. It was woefully short, but hopefully a few recipe books would help. She carried the china to the kitchen, began to fill the sink with water, but then Marcos came to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I’m putting these things in water. I’ll make coffee then wash up.’
‘What do you think that is?’ he asked and as her eyebrows rose he nodded. ‘Yes, my sweet, a dishwasher.’
Jenny remembered the stacks of plates, saucepans and meat tins she used to have to tackle at the restaurant and said without thinking, ‘When I was washing dishes in your restaurant I could have done with one of those, but not now.’
Marcos’s face darkened. ‘Jenny, you are my wife, and as such I do not expect you to criticise me.’
‘But I’m not.’
‘You’re inferring that I treat my staff badly, that I treated you badly.’
‘No, no, Marcos. I just meant that with two of us there’s hardly enough washing-up here to warrant loading the dishwasher.’
‘I see,’ he said, his face relaxing. ‘Then I’m sorry for misjudging you.’
‘That’s all right,’ Jenny said, though in truth she felt intimidated. There had been a few occasions in Scotland when Marcos had been volatile, usually because of what he saw as bad service, but his anger hadn’t been aimed at her. Now, though, it seemed he was hypersensitive to what he perceived as criticism and in future she would have to choose her words carefully.
‘I can see I’ve upset you, Jenny, but please don’t take my outbursts seriously. I’m afraid I have my mother’s temperament, swift to anger, yet swift to forgive too. I know I was in the wrong and, once again, I’m sorry.’
Jenny saw his contrition, his handsome appealing smile, and melted. She turned into his arms, her head resting on his chest. ‘Oh, Marcos, I love you so much.’
He lifted her chin, kissed her and then said, ‘And I love you too.’
Jenny was content. She’d get used to Marcos’s temperament, one that might be passed on to their children. She wondered what they’d look like. Dark like Marcos or blonde like her? As he continued to hold her, Jenny felt that strange feeling again, a longing. Maybe it would happen tonight – maybe their lovemaking would result in a baby. Jenny felt a thrill of excitement. She couldn’t wait to find out.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Marcos awoke on Sunday morning and for a moment felt disorientated. He felt an arm snake around him, and as realisation crept into his foggy mind he smiled. This was no dream – this was real, his new life. Turning on his side, he said, ‘Good morning, darling.’
Jenny’s expression was dreamy as she snuggled closer. ‘Marcos, wouldn’t it be wonderful if I’m having a baby?’
‘Yes, it certainly would,’ he agreed, for a moment daring to hope it was possible, but then, as though she was in the room with them, hissing her venom in his ear, words his mother had once spoken curled insidiously into his brain. You think yourself a man, but you are nothing. You can’t even make babies, can’t give me nipoti. He cringed from the memory, and as Jenny spoke, his arms tightened around her.
‘Marcos, what would you like for breakfast?’
‘You, of course,’ he said, determined to prove his mother wrong. With Jenny the miracle could happen, he could become a father, but one thing was certain, his mother would never know the joy of holding a grandchild in her arms.
‘Oh, Marcos,’ Jenny gasped when it was over and he was spent.
Unlike the others, Marcos knew Jenny wasn’t pretending; she didn’t have the wiles for that. She had climaxed this time and Marcos felt a surge of pure happiness. He’d been belittled so many times that he’d almost been made incapable, but then he’d found a way. He had paid for his pleasures elsewhere, and the toms hadn’t dared to snigger.
‘I need the bathroom,’ Jenny said, unravelling the tangle of sheets to get out of bed.
‘Me too, and coffee.’
‘Give me a minute and then I’ll set up the percolator.’
Marcos waited until the bathroom was free. After breakfast he’d drop Jenny off at her flat, and then make his way to Battersea. Though he had made a stupid promise to his father before he died, and guilt had made him keep that vow, he’d envisaged this confrontation so many times in his mind.
Now it was going to become a reality and Marcos was about to break the vow, to sever the ties that had bound him for so long. The leeches would be off his back, and if his old man came back to haunt him, so be it.
Jenny ran lightly downstairs. She loved the long silk robe she had on, one that Marcos had insisted on buying for her. It was pretty, rose pink, but of course Delia would have had a fit if she’d seen her downstairs in such a garment. Jenny sighed. For goodness’ sake, what was the matter with her? She was married to Marcos, this was her home, and she was free to do as she pleased. In some ways the thought gave her courage. When they had been to dinner at her parents’ house, her behaviour had been very far from that of an adult, and she had struggled under the pressure they’d put her under to change the wedding plans. Instead of speaking up for herself, she had appealed to Marcos and he had had to step in. It hadn’t ended there – no, later she had let Delia get under her skin again and had childishly fled the table.
Why was she thinking about this now? Was it because they were home again and living just a short distance from her parents? Well, it wouldn’t do, Jenny thought, getting on with the task in hand. Marcos would want his coffee shortly and he liked it strong, black and without sugar, something she had tried but found distasteful. From the kitchen window Jenny could see the huge rear garden. The lawn area was immaculate and a high wall ran alongside the wide flowerbeds, with the chrysanthemums and other late flowers still in bloom. It looked lovely, and she’d explore it later, maybe cut some flowers to brighten up the decor.
‘That smells delicious,’ Marcos said when a little later he appeared in the kitchen doorway, ‘and you, darling, look delicious.’
Jenny sat down at the large kitchen table and poured two cups of coffee, adding milk and sugar to her own.
‘What would you like for breakfast, Marcos?’ she asked, turning pink at the memory of what had happened when she ha
d posed the same question earlier.
‘Jenny, you’re blushing. I can guess why, but there’s no need.’
Despite his words, Jenny lowered her eyes. Last night she had enjoyed making love, yet there had still been something missing, something just out of her reach. She had found out what it was that morning, had felt it rising within her until she lost control, screaming with delight at the wonderful sensations that ripped through her body.
‘I…I didn’t expect it to be so wonderful.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ Marcos said, looking pleased and still standing as he picked up his cup of coffee. ‘As for breakfast, I think I’ll have a boiled egg. Bring it through to the dining room when it’s ready.’
‘Why don’t we eat breakfast in here?’
‘Jenny, this room is for preparing food, not eating it.’
‘But my parents have breakfast in the kitchen.’
‘That’s their choice, but it isn’t mine,’ he said shortly, then walked out of the room.
Jenny sighed and rose to her feet. She knew that Marcos had high standards, something she would just have to get used to. She now hoped that she wouldn’t ruin something as simple as a boiled egg.
Marcos was already feeling contrite as he waited for his breakfast. After such a wonderful start to the morning he’d been a bit short with Jenny, but this spacious house was the culmination of his dreams, a chance to live like a lord, and lords, he was sure, didn’t eat in the kitchen.
The dining room was large and the long mahogany table perfect. He pictured it with every chair filled, he at the head of the table of course, magnanimous in entertaining his guests. Jenny would be the perfect hostess, gracious, and instead of feeling shame, he would be able to proudly show her off.
‘I hope this is all right,’ Jenny said as she carried in a tray. ‘I know you hate it if the yolks are overcooked.’
‘It seems our time in Scotland has revealed my little foibles. Don’t look so worried, I’m sure it’s fine, and it won’t matter if it isn’t. Where is yours?’
‘I had a slice of bread and butter while waiting for your egg to boil and now I want to get dressed. I know it’s silly, but it doesn’t seem right sitting down to eat in my dressing gown, especially in here.’
‘So you just had a slice of bread and no doubt think I’m to blame for that.’
‘No, Marcos,’ Jenny said in surprise. ‘It’s just something I was brought up to. Delia never appeared downstairs before she was dressed and insisted that we follow her example.’
‘I’m sorry, Jenny, I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just that I have rather a lot on my mind this morning,’ Marcos said, hoping the excuse would serve. He had to stop this, refrain from expecting criticism where none was intended. ‘Yes, get dressed, darling, and I must admit I admire your mother’s standards. In fact I’ll ring your parents shortly, invite them round this evening and we’ll tell them then that we’re married.’
‘All right, but I dread to think how my father’s going to take it.’
‘How we chose to get married was our decision, not his.’
‘Yes I know, but he’s going to be unhappy,’ Jenny said, kissing him on the cheek before going upstairs.
Marcos tucked into his egg, and though it was hard boiled, he ate it. What did it matter? Jenny would learn, and until she did he’d have to put up with it. However, that was all he would tolerate. Jenny should concern herself with his feelings now, not those of her father, and once again Marcos was determined to find a way to put a spoke between them.
Chapter Thirty-Three
When Edward answered the telephone he straightaway recognised the voice as Marcos, who told him they’d returned from their holiday. He was puzzled by the invitation to the new house, asked a question and then accepted it, knowing full well that Delia would be thrilled at the prospect.
‘That was Marcos,’ Edward said, returning to the kitchen.
‘They’re back?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank goodness for that. It’s already the end of September and there’s so much to do.’
‘We’ve been invited round to Almond Crescent.’
‘Really! When?’
‘Today at six, but it’s odd. I didn’t know Marcos was living there. In fact I seem to remember him saying something about moving in after the wedding and honeymoon.’
‘Perhaps he just wants to show it to us. Are they coming back here afterwards?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask.’
‘Edward, I need time to talk to Jennifer about the arrangements I’ve made. I need her input on the flowers among other things.’
‘You can talk to her at the house.’
‘It’ll be empty, probably cold, and I doubt we’ll be there for long.’
‘Then I’m sure they’ll be happy to come here. I just hope you haven’t jumped the gun and that Jenny appreciates all the arrangements you’ve put in place.’
‘I’ll have to change. You never know, we might bump into Penelope Grainger. When I last saw her at the WI, I told her that our daughter was going to be a neighbour of hers.’
Going along with it, Edward said, ‘I suppose that means you’ll want me to wear a suit.’
‘Well, of course.’
He sighed. Yes, Delia was a snob, out to impress, but nowadays it was her only fault…and hopefully Jenny would soon see that.
As Marcos drove Jenny to Chelsea, a thought crossed his mind.
‘Jenny, I’m sorry we haven’t had a honeymoon. I’m too busy now, but maybe later.’
‘We had three lovely weeks in Scotland.’
‘Yes, but I’ve never heard of a honeymoon before the wedding.’
‘Or one in separate rooms,’ Jenny said, smiling now. ‘It really doesn’t matter though. I’ve got lots to do in the house, and perhaps next summer we can have another lovely holiday.’
‘Yes, we’ll do that and I’ll make it even more special.’
‘I think the one we just had will take some beating.’
‘What about glorious sunshine, blue sea, palm trees?’
‘That sounds wonderful, but wherever we go, our first holiday together, culminating in our marriage, will be one I’ll never forget.’
‘Nor me, darling, but here we are. I’ll pick you up again in a couple of hours.’
Jenny leaned over to kiss his cheek. ‘Don’t get out, there’s no need. I’ll see you later.’
Marcos made the kiss a proper one, and when Jenny had gone inside he drove off. It wouldn’t take too long to get to Battersea, and now he grinned. This was it.
The Sunday morning traffic was light and soon Marcos was pulling up outside the house. The two-faced bitches were both staunch Catholics, but he was there well before they went to the Sunday service. There was only one of them there to greet him and he asked abruptly, ‘Where is she?’
‘Uppa stairs, making my bed.’
‘Upstairs, you old hag. Not uppa.’
‘You should not speaka to me like that.’
‘Yeah, she’s right,’ a voice drawled.
Marcos spun round and seeing the cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, he spat, ‘Keep out of this or else. It’s got nothing to do with you.’
‘It’s me who looks after her, and let me tell you she won’t be able to make it upstairs soon. It’s just as well you’re back ’cos you’ll need to turn the front room into a bedroom.’
‘I’m not staying. I’m moving out. Permanently.’
‘You can’t do that!’
‘Don’t pretend you care, especially as you’ll still be taken care of.’
‘All right then, I don’t give a shit,’ she said, actually having the nerve to smile, but then a calculating gleam sparked. ‘What about her? I ain’t being lumbered. It’s your job to look after her, not mine.’
Marcos wasn’t fooled. He knew how close they were, in fact almost joined at the hip. They weren’t twin sisters, far from it, but acted like ones
and he knew this was just greed, a way to up the ante. He felt like laying into her, wiping that smug smile from her face, and his fists clenched.
As though aware of his feelings, she said, ‘If you’re thinking about giving me a smack, go ahead. After all these years I’m immune to it.’
‘In that case I won’t waste my energy,’ Marcos said, nonchalantly sitting down. ‘And as for her, she stays with you, but don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘You’ll have to.’
‘I don’t have to do anything. In fact I could just get rid of the pair of you. Yes, why not? It would save me a packet,’ he mused, loving the fear he saw on both their faces now. ‘However, as long as you just take my money and keep your mouth shut, I’ll leave you in peace. Now this is the way it’s going to be from now on…’
Her expression when he’d finished was a picture. There was still fear, but mixed with greed too as she said, ‘Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. I’ll go along with that.’
‘What about you?’ he asked turning cold eyes to the other one.
‘I will say nothing. Go! Just go! You are dead to me.’
‘Listen to yourself, after all these years you still sound like a wop. As for being dead to you, good, that’s just how I want it. Just make sure I remain that way or the pair of you will end up in a coffin.’
With that final warning he left, slamming the door behind him. It was done.
Jenny had finished sorting her things out, and after carrying her cases downstairs she knocked on Sue’s door.
‘Jenny, come in. Goodness, you look wonderful.’
‘Thanks. It’s one of the new suits that Marcos brought me,’ Jenny said, placing her cases on the floor.
‘One of them?’ Sue echoed, her brows rising. ‘It must have cost a fortune.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid it did, and…and while on holiday, we were married.’
‘What! But I thought you said December?’