Brittle Bondage

by Anne Mather

  ‘Really, you should be bringing my tea,’ Mrs Collins remarked, coming into the bedroom in her dressing-gown, carrying the tray of teapot and cups that had woken her daughter. ‘Do you realise it’s after eight? Or isn’t that child going to school again this morning?’ Rachel groaned, and hauled herself up on the pillows. ‘Oh, God!’ she said, staring at the bedside clock with some disbelief. ‘Is that the time? Daisy’s bus will be along in twenty minutes. And she takes an age in the bathroom, not to mention getting her breakfast——’

  ‘Relax.’ Her mother settled herself comfortably on the end of the bed and deposited the tray beside her. ‘Daisy’s up and dressed, and having her breakfast right at this minute.’ She grimaced wryly. ‘The advantages of jet-lag. I’ve been awake since five o’clock.’

  Lucky you! thought Rachel ruefully, but she didn’t say it. She guessed it had been around that time that she’d fallen asleep. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she offered, accepting the cup of tea Mrs Collins had poured her with gratitude. The knowledge that she didn’t have to go tearing out of bed was a positive blessing. The way she felt this morning, she could have happily pulled the covers over her head and stayed where she was.

  ‘So,’ said her mother, after they had sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes, ‘what are you going to do?’

  Rachel shrugged. ‘Drink this, get up, and go to work, I suppose,’ she replied, deliberately misunderstanding her. ‘What are you going to do? I don’t want you to spend your time as an unpaid housekeeper. This place may not be the showplace you’d like to see it, but it is clean, and I do everything that’s necessary in the evening and at weekends.’

  Mrs Collins let her finish, and then she repeated her question. ‘I meant, what are you going to do about Ben,’ she essayed, lifting her eyes from the teacup. ‘As far as I can see, you’ve got quite a problem on your hands, and you’re not going to resolve it by burying your head in the sand.’

  Rachel was indignant. ‘I’m not burying my head in the sand?’

  ‘Well, I think you are. If you’d really wanted to get the situation settled, you’d have invited your pig-farmer in last night, instead of scuttling off to meet him at the gate.’

  Rachel took a deep breath. ‘How many more times——?’

  ‘I know, I know.’ But her mother didn’t sound repentant. ‘He’s not a pig-farmer. But he is a farmer, isn’t he? And if you want everybody to take you seriously, then you should put your cards on the table.’

  ‘I wish you’d stop talking in clichés, Mother. And why should you think I don’t want to be taken seriously, just because I choose to avoid unnecessary rows? I have Daisy to consider. I can’t invite Simon in here while Ben’s at home. You know what would happen, and I won’t take the risk.’

  ‘At home,’ echoed her mother drily. ‘You said—while Ben’s at home. Does that mean you still regard this as Ben’s home?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Rachel was angry that she had made such an obvious faux pas. ‘But it’s still his house, isn’t it?’ She gathered a little confidence from her mother’s doubtful expression, and hurried on, ‘He’s made no secret of the fact that he doesn’t want Simon here.’ That, at least, was true. ‘And I don’t see why I should subject Simon to his particular kind of baiting. Not when there’s no need for it. Not when I intend to deal with Ben through our respective solicitors from now on.’

  Mrs Collins frowned. ‘Is that wise?’

  ‘Is what wise?’ Rachel was getting more disgruntled by the minute. The welcome cup of tea was having its price, after all, and she was beginning to wish she had set the alarm as she usually did. But last night she had been too tense, too fraught, to think coherently. She’d been sure she wouldn’t sleep in any case, and she hadn’t been far wrong.

  ‘Dealing with Ben through a solicitor,’ replied her mother now, evidently determined to have her say. ‘I don’t want to interfere——’

  ‘Then don’t!’

  ‘—but I have to say, I don’t think Ben will like it. And as there’s Daisy to consider, it might pay to keep him sweet.’

  ‘To keep him sweet!’ Rachel stared at her mother as if she’d taken leave of her senses. ‘Mum, I don’t have to “keep him sweet”. As a matter of fact, I don’t care how he feels. And if he’s been regaling you with his idea of taking me to court then I’m sorry, but I won’t be threatened.’

  ‘Taking you to court?’ Her mother’s frown deepened. ‘Well, of course you’ll have to go to court, if you want the divorce to be legal.’

  ‘I know that.’ Rachel felt as if she was wading through deeper and deeper water, when all she really wanted to do was get into the shallows. ‘I meant take me to court about Daisy. Ben’s threatened to sue for custody, if I go to live with Simon.’

  ‘Go to live with Simon?’ Mrs Collins looked even more confused, and Rachel wished she’d never started this. ‘You mean—after you and this man are married? Why should he do that? Unless he thinks there’s some reason why she shouldn’t live in the same house as——’

  ‘It’s not that!’ Rachel heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, you might as well know; Simon has suggested we go to live at Kingsmead while we’re waiting for the divorce to be made final.’

  Her mother’s lips parted. ‘And you’re prepared to do this?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not?’ Mrs Collins gasped. ‘Oh, Rachel, you can’t expect me to believe you don’t know how unsuitable that would be for Daisy! The child needs security. She needs a stable home. And I don’t mean one in a farmyard, before you try to make a joke of it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘But you are prepared to jeopardise your daughter’s future, aren’t you?’ exclaimed her mother impatiently. ‘How can you expect her to know right from wrong when her own mother is so desperate for a man that she’s willing to take him on any terms, with or without the sanctity of marriage.’

  Rachel groaned. ‘It’s not like that.’

  ‘Then what is it like?’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘You know, heaps of people do it. Live together before they’re married, I mean.’

  ‘Well, I don’t approve; not when there are children involved,’ declared Mrs Collins firmly. ‘And nor did you, before this—this—farmer came along.’

  Rachel’s lips twitched at her mother’s obvious difficulty in removing the word ‘pig’ from Simon’s description, but it was important that she understand exactly what was involved. Perhaps her mother could persuade Ben that Daisy’s morals were not in danger. ‘There are cottages on the farm,’ she explained. ‘Simon wants us to go and live in one of them—only until we’re married, of course. It’s a few miles from Kingsmead to Upper Morton. It would be so much easier when he visited us if he didn’t have a long drive home.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Mrs Collins didn’t sound impressed. ‘And what about you? What about the fact that you’ll be that much further from the shop? And Daisy? What about Daisy? You’re going to have to get up early, to get her here in time for the bus.’

  Rachel lifted one hand and pushed her fingers through the tumbled mass of her hair. Now for the crunch, she thought wearily. ‘Simon thinks Daisy should go to the local school, now that she’s older. There’s no real reason why she should travel into Cheltenham every day. She hardly knows any of the children in the village.’

  Mrs Collins didn’t say anything. Just when Rachel was sure she was in danger of bringing her mother’s wrath down upon her head, the older woman got up from the bed, and lifting the tray, walked briskly towards the door.

  ‘I’m sure Daisy must have finished her breakfast by now,’ she said pleasantly, confounding Rachel’s notions of how she’d react. ‘You take your time. I can see her off. I’ll send her up to say goodbye in a few minutes.’

  Rachel plunked her cup down on the bedside table, and stared at her mother frustratedly. ‘Is that it?’ she exclaimed, unable to prevent the thwarted question, and Mrs Collins raised her brows.

  ‘Is that what, dear?
The bus? Oh, no, I don’t think so. Not yet——’

  ‘No.’ Rachel knew her mother knew exactly what she was talking about, and her bland obtuseness made her want to scream. ‘Don’t you have anything to say about what I’ve just told you? Can’t you see the advantages for all of us?’

  ‘All I can see is a very selfish woman, and a man who obviously considers his own comforts before those of anyone else,’ retorted Mrs Collins, calmly shifting the tray to one hand to enable her to close the door. ‘Oh—and Daisy asked me to remind you that you have to write her a note. Not only about her being absent yesterday, but whether you’re going to help—Miss Gregory, is it?—with the jumble sale next week.’

  By the time Rachel came downstairs, Daisy had left for school, and the kitchen was spotless. A bowl had been left for her own cereal, courtesy of her daughter’s instructions, she was sure. But evidently Mrs Collins had gone to take her shower, and the only sound was that of running water.

  Rachel ground some beans and brewed a pot of coffee while she waited, deciding that if she was late this morning then Cyril would have to dock her pay. She refused to leave for work without speaking to her mother again. And with Daisy around most of the time it wasn’t always easy to have a private conversation.

  She put the dish that had been left for her away, and poured herself a mug of coffee when it was ready. She had no appetite again, but that was hardly surprising in the circumstances. With her whole family ganging up on her, how was she supposed to live a normal life?

  Mrs Collins appeared as she was draining her second cup, and in spite of her misgivings about the older woman’s interpretation of current events she couldn’t help the rueful thought that this morning her mother looked—and probably felt—younger than she did.

  Like her daughter, Mrs Collins’ hair was the deep lustrous shade of a chestnut, and the liberal streaks of grey that had appeared had only added to its appeal. Unlike her daughter, she wore her hair short and had it permed occasionally. In consequence, it was soft and wavy, and framed her fine-boned features.

  Rachel had sometimes wondered if her mother had ever thought of getting married again herself. Rachel’s father had died in a car crash when she and her brother were very young, and it hadn’t always been easy for her mother, supporting herself and her children. A windfall legacy from an elderly aunt when Rachel and David were teenagers had changed all that, however. The capital, carefully invested, had provided a generous income, and both children had gone on to university, without any of the financial restrictions that living only on a grant would have entailed. It had made her mother’s need to work superfluous, too. Mrs Collins had taken a part-time job subsequently, but that had been for personal reasons, because she enjoyed the company.

  ‘I thought you’d have gone by now,’ Mrs Collins remarked, as she came into the kitchen, and Rachel wondered if she really meant that, or if it was simply a means of covering her own embarrassment. Her parting statement, after delivering the tea, had been more than a little biased, and Rachel wanted to know what grounds she had for disparaging a man she hardly knew.

  ‘Well, as you can see …’ Rachel let the words speak for themselves. ‘Do you want some coffee?’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  The studied politeness was so unlike her mother’s usual conviviality that Rachel half wished she had left this until later after all. She didn’t want to row with her mother, and the suspicion that Ben had had at least some part in Mrs Collins’ present attitude was worrying. He had been here when she’d scurried out to meet Simon the night before, and she had no way of knowing how long he’d stayed. Or what had been said, she admitted tensely. But surely her mother would take her word before that of a man who had done nothing to gain her confidence.

  ‘What time did Ben leave last night?’ she asked now, deciding she might as well know her enemy before she started. She set a second mug of coffee on the table. ‘Oh—have you eaten? I never thought.’

  Mrs Collins’ expression implied there was a wealth of meaning behind those few words, but Rachel refused to be daunted. So far as she was concerned she’d done nothing wrong, and the sooner her mother realised that, the better.

  ‘I had some cereal with Daisy,’ the older woman replied, picking up her cup without taking the chair her daughter had pulled out for her. She essayed surprise when Rachel followed her into the living-room however. ‘Oh—aren’t you leaving? I thought you started at nine o’clock.’

  ‘I do—usually,’ appended Rachel drily. ‘I just think we have some things to say to one another, and I thought it might be easier on both of us if Daisy wasn’t listening in.’

  Mrs Collins sniffed. ‘Well—I did have something to tell you last evening, but what with your attitude towards Ben …’ She paused. ‘And then you went running off to see your farmer friend. It just didn’t seem the right time.’

  ‘I assume Ben’s been enlisting your sympathies in my absence,’ Rachel remarked caustically. ‘Well, I shouldn’t believe everything he says, if I were——’

  ‘Did I say it was about Ben?’ her mother interrupted her coolly. ‘Did I give any intimation that anything your husband said had influenced me, one way or the other?’

  ‘Well—no——’

  ‘Then kindly stop jumping to conclusions. My interpretation of your affair with Mr Barrass owes nothing to anything Ben might have told me. The situation alone is explanation enough. Has it occurred to you, Rachel, that he may have no intention of marrying you?’

  ‘Simon?’

  ‘Who else?’

  Rachel caught her breath. ‘Mother, it was Simon who suggested I get a divorce from Ben!’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So he would hardly do that, if he didn’t expect us to get married.’

  ‘Are you engaged?’

  ‘As good as.’

  ‘Has he bought you a ring?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Rachel felt resentful. ‘Mother, what is all this about? Heavens, you’ve only met Simon a couple of times. Why should you even think he might have some ulterior motive? I’ve told you it’s not as if we’re going to live in the main house. Daisy and I are going to occupy one of the tied cottages on the estate.’

  ‘Huh.’ Her mother snorted. ‘And you don’t think there’s anything out of the ordinary about that? You don’t think that it would have been more in keeping with his claim that he wants to marry you to allow you to remain here until your marriage? Upper Morton is a small place, Rachel, as you’re so fond of telling me. What do you think people will think if you go and live at Kingsmead while you’re still married to Ben?’

  Rachel sighed. ‘Does it matter what people think?’

  ‘It will if you don’t get married.’ Her mother paused. ‘Didn’t you tell me he’s been a bachelor all these years, and that he still lives with his mother?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, I can’t imagine the old lady will take kindly to having her position usurped, can you? And once he’s got you where he wants you, why should he be in any hurry to make it all legal?’

  Rachel swallowed to lubricate her dry throat. ‘You don’t have much of an opinion of me, do you?’

  ‘On the contrary. It’s because I do care about you, whatever your faults, that I’m telling you what I think now. It’s no use my waiting until you and Daisy have taken up residence at Kingsmead, is it? Once this house is sold, you won’t be able to come back here. And I—well, I won’t be here either.’

  Rachel gulped. ‘You—you’re not—I mean——’

  ‘I’m not desperately ill, if that’s what you think I’m trying to say,’ replied Mrs Collins drily. ‘No. I’ve never felt better, as a matter of fact. But you must have wondered why I came home early, and why I wanted to see you before I went back to the flat.’ She bit her lip, and if Rachel hadn’t known better she’d have said her mother was looking rather coy now. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m going to get married. I’ve met a man in New Zealand—David’s boss, as a matter of fact. He
’s a widower. He has been for a number of years, just like me. I know you’ll think it’s sudden, but I did meet him briefly two years ago, when I visited David and Ruth.’ She gazed at her daughter anxiously now. ‘Don’t look so staggered. I’m only fifty-three, you know.’

  Rachel licked her lips. ‘I’m not—staggered,’ she protested.

  But she was. More on account of the fact that her mother would be moving out of England. It wasn’t that they had ever lived in one another’s pockets; they hadn’t. But Mrs Collins had always been there if she needed her. As when she’d found Ben and Elena together. Oh, God, she was going to miss her.

  ‘You looked stunned,’ remarked her mother now, seating herself on the sofa, and cradling her coffee cup between her palms. ‘And—and although you may not believe this, I have consoled myself with the thought that at least you and Daisy were going to be cared for. I can’t pretend to like Simon—but, as you’ve pointed out, I scarcely know him. Nevertheless, I am concerned at the idea of your burning your boats, so to speak, and moving to Kingsmead.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘Don’t do it, Rachel. Even if you won’t listen to Ben, listen to me——’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Rachel determinedly put her doubts aside and pounced on the one inconsistency in her mother’s story. ‘I thought you said Ben hadn’t influenced you.’

  ‘He hasn’t.’

  ‘But you did discuss this last night, didn’t you? You already knew Simon had asked me to move to Kingsmead, didn’t you? Oh, yes, no wonder you were so reticent on the subject of how long Ben had stayed. I bet you had a real heart-to-heart. Did he happen to tell you who he was sleeping with at the moment? Or is he allowed to do what he likes?’

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

  Cyril handed the icon to Rachel with reverential hands. The picture of St Nicholas, flanked by the twin figures of the Saviour and the Mother of God, was painted on a gold ground, and was probably worth several thousand pounds. But Rachel was in no mood to appreciate it.

  ‘It’s very nice,’ she offered, half-heartedly, smoothing the raised plaque with her thumb, and Cyril gave her a glowering look.