Forsaking All Reason

by Jenny Cartwright

  Jane nodded. ‘Go ahead. I think I’m about to fall asleep, anyway.’

  But in fact the moment he had gone indoors she felt horribly wide awake and alone and insecure. She wandered around the garden. She admired the plants she hadn’t planted, and the grass she hadn’t mown and watered and fed. In the end she wandered into the house, ostensibly to find a book, but in reality just to be physically close to Guy.

  She could hear his voice, muffled, through the door of his study, gravelly and deep. She took a shower and came back downstairs. Still his voice could be heard, animated, authoritative, while she stood silent and barefoot, like an eavesdropper in the tiled hallway. She padded off and made a coffee very slowly before returning to the hall. Still Guy’s voice murmured through the empty space. She mustn’t mind that he had work to do. He’d given her a fortnight of his precious time, after all. Jane went back out to the garden.

  When she drifted back in, chilled by the lengthening shadows of the cypress trees, Guy had put potatoes in the fan-assisted oven to bake, and was making a salad.

  ‘How did it go this afternoon?’ she asked.

  Guy leant back against the sink, his hands gripping the shining chrome edge behind him. ‘OK. I’ve tied up a few loose ends in Kuala Lumpur.’

  ‘Oh. How clever,’ she found herself saying sharply. ‘I didn’t realise they had telephones in Kuala Lumpur.’

  He frowned at her and pulled a face.

  ‘Um…sorry. I wasn’t concentrating…’ she added apologetically, biting her tongue. This was no way to earn his respect. ‘Of course they’ve got telephones in Kuala Lumpur…’

  He looked away, then continued evenly. ‘I can’t finalise everything over the phone, though. I’ll have to go back out there before long and check things over.’

  Jane reached up and twisted one of her earrings rather more vigorously than usual. ‘Uh-huh. Fine. Terrific.’

  ‘And I’ve arranged a house party.’

  ‘A house party? Here?’

  ‘Mmmm. Next week. I’ve invited five couples to stay in the house with us. They’re all top-brass from Rexford Holdings, so you’ll need to get to know them sooner or later. I thought it would be a good opportunity.’

  ‘Great…’

  ‘They’ll drift up to the house in dribs and drabs on Saturday—we can sort out a buffet of some sort to cope with that. And then I thought we’d do a barbecue on the Saturday night—I’ll see to that, so no problem… though perhaps you could organise a few puddings? And then a sort of communal breakfast before they drift away again on the Sunday? What do you think?’

  Jane, actually, thought it sounded bloody awful. For a start, she didn’t know any of these people…though, ironically, she was to be allowed to cook for them. More importantly, she wanted to keep Guy all to herself on her honeymoon…so did this mean the honeymoon was over? It must do…real married life was about to begin.

  What she said was, ‘Fantastic, Guy! Absolutely brilliant…it sounds like a wonderful idea,’ with such enthusiasm that she almost made herself laugh. Well, almost…

  He wanted a wife who could handle the social side with panache? Jolly good. Then with panache she would handle it He would never fall in love with her if she didn’t keep to her side of the bargain.

  The next day she followed Guy down to the diving pool with pen and paper in her hand and dangled her feet in the water, shouting questions at Guy who was flexing his muscles on the very high top board.

  ‘What size are the women?’

  ‘Jane?’

  ‘I said what size are the women?’

  He executed a perfect double somersault which made her stomach churn. When he broke the surface she explained, ‘I want to make sure that there’s a selection of swimsuits in case anyone forgets, or needs to borrow one for some reason. So what size are the women?’

  Guy laughed, sluicing the water off his face with his hands. ‘One extremely large. Two sort of a bit mumsy around the chest these days. And two skinny.’

  ‘Hayfever?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Flowers for their rooms. Does anyone suffer from hayfever that you know of?’

  ‘Maxine’s always snivelling,’ he said amiably as he remounted the steps. ‘But I think that’s got more to do with the fact that Liam’s incorrigibly unfaithful than the state of her sinuses.’

  ‘Good. And are there any alcoholics among them, or can I be as heavy-handed with the punch as I’d like to be?’

  Hmm. She was doing well. She hadn’t known she could be so good at this sort of thing. Guy had been right, once again.

  ‘No. No alcoholics. Helen’s a teetotaller, though.’

  ‘I’ll do a fruit-cup as well, then.’

  Plop. A jack-knife of such exceptional tautness that she wanted to jump in the pool with him, tear those black trunks off him and kiss all the wetness from his face and say, ‘Let’s cancel the party and make love all weekend instead.’ As it happened she had no need. Guy surfaced, grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her in, peeling off her T-shirt and tugging at her shorts while she flailed in the water, shrieking and laughing. She was becoming the sort of wife he wanted and he loved it! Hip hip hooray! A few more foundation stones were in place. Now all she had to do was to resist the temptation to throw them at his head.

  She spent every morning of the following week making lists and shopping and stuffing olives by hand. She arranged for Palma and Fernanda to come in all day on the Friday. She bought herself a simple little gold evening dress with next-to-no back, which, before her marriage, would have left her with next-to-no bank balance, and a super, baggy, grass-green pyjama suit for the breakfast party. She saw to everything. Exotic fruits tumbled from exotic bowls, naptha flares sprang up among the flowers like a blight, and stacks of monogrammed white towels lurked in cupboards like spies, waiting to replace the monogrammed white towels on duty, just as soon as the first boring guest had powdered her shiny, intrusive nose.

  The weekend went off perfectly. Guy was as perfect a host as Jane was a hostess. Everybody laughed a lot and swam a lot and ate a lot and danced a lot. Nobody drank too much and Maxine didn’t snivel. One of the substitute bathing costumes was indeed needed, highlighting most effectively Jane’s superlative qualities as a hostess, and fresh towels kept appearing as if by magic. Jane did not once stop the men from talking shop. And everybody, but everybody, said time and again how beautiful Jane was and how clever Jane was and didn’t Jane make just the perfect wife for Guy. Didn’t she just…?

  When they had gone Guy kissed her very deeply and murmured, ‘You were wonderful.’

  ‘So were you.’

  ‘You’re still wonderful.’

  She squirmed against him, laying her face against his chest. ‘So are you.’.

  ‘Shall we go upstairs and see if we can be even more wonderful for each other?’

  ‘Mmmm…’

  Afterwards, he said, ‘You thrive in company, don’t you? Isn’t it too quiet for you here?’

  Her heart lurched. ‘No,’ she said insistently. ‘I love it.’

  ‘It’s a magical place, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ So he had noticed it too? Good…

  ‘I’m going to have to start commuting. I can’t leave Rexford Holdings to its own devices for much longer.’

  Not so good. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You’ll be lonely.’

  Jane shook her head vigorously. Please don’t let him suggest that they leave! She wanted to spend as much time here with Guy as was possible. Everything was going so well. All they needed was time…more time…she would be the wife he thought he wanted, until one day he would realise that he loved her—and then she would be the wife he really wanted, and there would be no more illusions. Ever. ‘There’s an English club near Siena. I’ll soon make friends.’

  ‘Won’t you be bored?’

  ‘Oh, not for a while. Not in summer. I’m dying to go back to Florence, for a start. And there’s that golf-course we pass
on the way to the beach…I’d thought of learning golf. Anyway, now the season’s getting under way the beaches will be packed. I thought I’d enrol for waterskiing lessons—so I’m bound to get to know lots of people, aren’t I?’

  He sighed. ‘If you’re sure…’

  ‘I am.’

  Life began to mould itself into shape. Guy spent three days a week at the villa—and four in London. Well, usually. Sometimes he was in Malaysia or Stuttgart or Glasgow. It didn’t make much difference to Jane. When he was away he didn’t call. But she was learning well. She didn’t make any more snide comments about the telephones—or lack of them—in such places.

  While he was away she tried rearranging the furniture, but discovered, to her disappointment, that it had been just perfect the way it was. The summer drifted by. This was marriage—real and earnest. Guy was good at it. Jane was good at it. Two whole months of it slid away. One day Guy said, ‘Have you thought any more about having a baby?’

  Jane twisted the diamond stud in her ear and smiled. ‘Mmmm. I like the idea, Guy. I really do. But… er…well…I don’t want to go ahead yet for a while.’

  ‘It’s your choice, Jane. Whenever you’re ready. I’m sorry if I seem impatient.’

  ‘When I’m ready I’ll let you know.’

  ‘You’re not frightened of childbirth or anything, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or of losing your figure?’

  ‘No! Of course not.’

  ‘Or of pregnancy itself? Some women don’t like the idea of—’

  ‘I’m not frightened of pregnancy, Guy.’

  ‘Oh. Then what is it, Jane? Can’t you explain?’

  She felt guilty. He wanted her to provide him with a child so badly, and she loved him and wanted so much to give him his heart’s desire. She looked into his eyes. ‘It’s difficult to explain, Guy,’ she sighed, and suddenly, to her horror, her eyes filled up with tears. She blinked fast. ‘It’s just very difficult. It’s something that goes deep. But I promise you, Guy…I promise you that just as soon as I feel ready then we’ll go ahead.’

  Guy looked at her so longingly then that her heart leapt and she almost shouted, ‘Now! I’m ready now!’

  But then his eyes turned grey and he stroked her hand and said with his usual control, ‘Take your time. There’s no rush.’

  But there was. Because if he didn’t start to love her soon she had a horrible feeling she wouldn’t be able to go on with this marriage. She had convinced herself that because she loved him it was all somehow meant to be. But she wasn’t sure that she could handle it, after all. At any rate, she couldn’t bring herself to have this baby, which was clearly in the rules, and which she couldn’t put off for ever.

  If only she had another culture to refer to, to give her strength. Once, long ago, there had been a whole class of Englishwomen who had known the rules, in the days of empire, and country-house parties and—the mistresses hidden discreetly from view. But that was another culture too. Those women had passed away. There was no one to tell Jane what she could expect. And the isolation was profound.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AND then one day Guy came back to the villa from New York, with a New Yorker in the car. A female New Yorker, tall and blonde and ravishing.

  ‘Hi there!’ She strode towards Jane on long, lean legs, smiling a smile of toothpastey perfection, and not waiting to be introduced. ‘You must be Jane. Guy’s told me all about you. I’m just thrilled to meet you, Jane.’

  ‘This is Ella Franklin, Jane,’ said Guy with an urbane smile. ‘She’s a lawyer. We hadn’t completed our work, so I invited her out here for a few days so we could finish off.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Ella,’ said Jane, creating a neat little smile of her own, while praying that jealousy wasn’t shooting out of her eyeballs like green lasers. ‘You must be very tired. Do come on in and you can freshen up.’

  ‘Oh, but I’m feeling just great,’ said Ella, beaming. ‘Guy’s kept me wide awake all the way over. This man is just so amusing. We’ve been laughing all the way from Kennedy through to your front door—haven’t we, Guy?’

  Guy smiled and said nothing, but he came and put his arm around Jane in a very husbandly fashion. It didn’t help.

  Jane widened her smile. By now the three of them could have been advertising competing brands of toothpaste, judging by the number of teeth on view. She nipped on her lower lip to make sure her own particular version didn’t turn into a pathetic smirk. ‘Then you must let me get you a cool drink,’ she murmured hospitably. ‘It’s so hot out here at this time of the year.’

  Inside the house Ella stopped in front of the Pissarro and let out a low whistle. ‘That’s some painting.’

  ‘It’s a Pissarro,’ said Jane.

  ‘Wow…I’ve even heard of him! Hey, but I thought he only did landscape?’

  Drat. Ella Franklin wasn’t just a hot-shot lawyer; she wasn’t even just an intelligent lady mature enough to share a joke with Guy; the wretched creature was cultured as well!

  ‘He was very prolific,’ Jane explained, suddenly frantic to display her superior knowledge. ‘He certainly concentrated on landscapes for many years, but what is less well-known is that he turned to peasant subjects later when he—’

  ‘Let’s get that drink. I’m parched,’ interrupted Guy, gripping Jane’s shoulder and steering her towards the sitting-room. He led her to a small armchair near the hearth and then went and arranged for Palma to bring some drinks through.

  Jane bit her lip, mortified. She had embarrassed Guy, and that wasn’t in the rules. The perfect hostess didn’t ever try to make her guests feel small.

  In the sitting-room Ella, unperturbed, walked directly to the centre of the big, white couch, sat down and crossed one unnaturally long leg over the other, hitching her slim, elegant skirt a little in the process. Then she turned her attention to the mountain scene over the hearth. ‘What is it with all these paintings? I thought you collected engineering plants—not fine art, Guy?’

  Guy straddled the fat arm of the couch, his grey drill trousers tautening across his muscular thighs. Jane stole a longing glance across the room at him. Why had he had to bring that woman here? This was their special place…this was where they made love, and played man and wife together. This was where he was learning to respect her and would one day fall in love with her. Jane resented intruders. Especially intruders like Ella.

  ‘Oh, that hardly counts as fine art. It was painted by a friend of mine, as it happens.’

  ‘Really? Then I’m very impressed by the company you keep, Guy. I wish I had friends who could paint that well. It’s a great picture.’ She narrowed her clear blue eyes and scrutinised it carefully…‘Kind of mean and moody. Yeah…I can see why you liked it.’

  ‘Oh, I like it well enough. But not because it’s mean and moody. It’s a view of the Pennines—and very similar to the one I could see from my bedroom window as a child, which is why I have a special affection for it.’

  ‘So you’re a mountain boy, huh? Were your folks farmers or what?’

  Guy laughed benignly. ‘Hardly. I was raised in a village a few miles outside the city of Sunderland. But it wasn’t a thatched cottage sort of place, you know. Relatively few of the inhabitants of that county make their living from the land these days. My bit of England is part of the old industrial heartland. That’s my background.’

  ‘But you did live in the country?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Or at least, I spent the first eight years of my life in a small village. Then I went to boarding-school in Yorkshire for a few years.’

  Jane sipped at her iced drink with apparent composure. However, what she really felt like doing was throwing herself off her chair and drumming her heels on the floor. The countryside? Boarding-school? Yorkshire? She hadn’t known any of that.

  ‘Eight years old? Wasn’t that kind of young to go away to school?’

  Guy shrugged. ‘I wanted to go. I was invited to become a
pupil at a cricket-mad prep. school by the cricket mad headmaster. He spotted me knocking a ball about with a few of my pals when he was on a walking holiday, and decided he had to have me for the school team.’

  A cricketer? She’d thought he’d had a paper-round or something…

  ‘Guy! You mean to tell me you were one of those cute little English schoolboys? Oh, but that’s just dreamy!’ Ella gave Guy an appraising look. ‘And very hard to believe when I look at you now. Cute you may be. But little you are not.’

  Jane made herself look at Ella looking admiringly at Guy, and then she turned her eyes away and swallowed very, very hard. She had never felt more humiliated in all her life. It wasn’t that Ella was flirting with Guy right under her nose—though that was bad enough. It was the fact that Ella was asking all these questions and Guy was answering them as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  She’d been married to him for two months and she didn’t know any of this stuff. All he’d told her about his childhood was the story of the damned underground railway. She suppressed a bitter little sigh. Oh, it was all her own stupid fault, because he’d actually wanted her to ask and she wouldn’t. But that was only because she’d thought it had been a painful, loveless and impoverished time for him. She had thought it would hurt him to talk about it. And she had thought that once he knew what true love really meant he would want to confide in her and she would have consoled him and promised to make it all right for him for always. This horrible woman was spoiling it all.

  Guy was smiling very broadly now. ‘Oh, I loved cricket so I was delighted. We even went on tour—Australia one year, and Pakistan another—to play schools over there, and then we invited West Indian and New Zealand teams to Yorkshire and arranged mini test matches over here. Admittedly it was very hard work—the team members had to practise for three hours a day on top of all the other school activities, so we learned selfdiscipline and the value of hard work when we were very young. But the school was great fun and I loved it. To be honest, the person I think was hit hardest by it all was my father. He was a very loving man, and we were particularly close as my mother had died early on. He got stuck into his hobbies during term-time, but he was as excited as a puppy whenever I came home. The worst of it was, these cricket tours were at Christmas and Easter so I didn’t get home for the traditional family holidays. It didn’t bother me one bit, but it was quite a sacrifice for Dad. In fact, after a couple of years, he decided that we’d have our own Christmas at a time when I could be home with him.’