by Penny Jordan
Poor Liz. He wouldn't have blamed her if she had taken a lover.
Liz was out on business to do with the mill, Chivers told him when he admitted him. For once Chivers seemed to have lost something of his normal calm. He looked disturbed and unhappy, and just before he showed Ian into the library, he asked hesitantly, 'If I could have a word with you, sir…?'
His formality, as much as his request, made Ian frown. 'Yes, of course you can, Chivers,' he responded immediately. 'What's the problem?'
In reality he ought perhaps to have told Chivers to make an appointment and come down to the surgery, but Ian knew quite well that many of his patients found the surgery atmosphere intimidating and preferred to confide their problems somewhere where they felt more relaxed and secure.
'Well, it's the Major, sir,' Chivers told him unhappily, surprising him. He had assumed that Chivers wanted to discuss a more personal problem with him.
'Yes?' he encouraged calmly.
'Well, you know how he has these moods, sir? Can't blame him for that. The pain he suffers is something chronic. No one can blame him for that, but recently… Well…' Chivers paused. 'I don't rightly know as I should be the one to tell you this, sir, but someone has to, and madam, well, she'll never say a word, and like I've tried to say to the Major myself, it isn't right…'
Ian tensed, and questioned, 'What isn't right, Chivers?' But his heart was sinking and he suspected that he already knew the answer.
'Well, it's the Major, sir… Gets in a proper paddy sometimes, as you know. Says things we all know he doesn't really mean… After all, it's hard on a man in his position… And madam… well, she's like a saint with him. Always gives him a sunny smile and coaxes him out of it, cosseting him, telling him there's nothing for him to worry about. But recently…' He hesitated and said anxiously, 'I hope you don't think I'm speaking out of turn, sir. Gossip never has been and never will be something I've ever lowered myself to, but when it comes to standing by and watching…' His mouth compressed for a moment as he struggled to find the words to express himself.
Patiently Ian waited, not wanting to put words into his mouth.
'The thing is, sir, that recently the Major's temper, well, it's got a lot worse… Some of the things he says to madam, they're things no lady should hear, but she says it's all on account of his pain and not to pay any mind to it… But the other week she was late getting back from some meeting or other. She took the Major's supper up to him. I could hear him raging at her, and so too could Master David…' His mouth compressed again.
'I thought I'd better go and see if she needed any help… Sometimes when he's really bad he tries to get out of his chair… and she's always afraid that he might fall and hurt himself even more. Anyway, as I opened the door I could see what I thought was madam leaning over his chair. He was holding on to her… Or at least that's what I thought, and then I realised…' He swallowed hard and then looked directly at the doctor.
'Then I realised that he was hurting her, sir… That he had his hands round her throat, and I'll be honest with you, for a moment I thought… But then he saw me and he let go of her…
'Madam, she made me promise not to say anything about it… Said that he had forgotten himself for a moment. But the next morning her throat was all bruised and she had to wear a scarf for almost a week. And there have been other things… It's not that he's a violent man by nature, sir, and madam would be the first person to say as much, but he gets so cruelly jealous of her… And I was wondering, well, if there wasn't something you could do, sir, something you could say to him perhaps.' He stopped and then said uncomfortably, 'I hope you don't think I've spoken out of turn, sir, but like I said, Mrs Danvers said it was nothing and made light of it, but…'
'You did the right thing in telling me, Chivers,' Ian reassured him. 'As you so rightly said, poor Edward suffers a great deal from the pain of his amputations. I'll talk to him… There are several new drugs coming on to the market soon, and perhaps a brief spell away from here…'
'It would kill him if he were to lose madam,' Chivers told Ian sadly. 'She's a wonderful wife to him. Like I said, she's a saint with him…'
But Liz was also a normal, healthy young woman not yet thirty, Ian added mentally to himself as he opened the library door, and if Edward wasn't careful his own black moods, his own violence towards her, could precipitate the very thing that terrified him so much. Of course he was afraid of losing her, of course he was jealous.
As Ian had expected, Edward was very antagonistic towards his suggestion that perhaps it was time to review his situation and that maybe a short spell away from home might be a good idea.
He moved violently in his chair, his fists clenching and unclenching in his aggression, and watching him Ian could well believe that he was, as Chivers had suggested, being violent towards Liz.
In the circumstances it was perhaps a foreseeable outcome of their relationship, but in Ian's view that did not excuse it. He had no wish to expose Liz to further violence by directly confronting Edward, but everything about Edward's attitude only confirmed what Chivers had already told him.
Perhaps the best thing, he decided when he was forced to acknowledge that he wasn't making any progress at all with Edward—who flatly denied that either his pain or his jealousy were beginning to get out of hand—was for him to talk with Liz.
'Why are you asking all these questions anyway?' Edward attacked. 'Liz been talking to you, has she, complaining? That damned mill, that's all she cares about these days…'
As the aggression left him he was rapidly descending into a mood of maudlin self-pity, Ian recognised.
'You know that's not true, Edward… and, no, Liz hasn't said anything to me. The reason I asked if you were finding it difficult coping with the pain is that it's a well-known medical fact that, no matter how good a drug might be, after a while the human body becomes used to it, that its efficiency is decreased. There are new drugs coming on to the market, and, as I've said before, a spell away from here—'
'No. No. I'm not leaving here until they carry me out in my coffin,' Edward told him fiercely. 'This is my home and this is where I intend to stay.'
'But remember, Edward,' Ian cautioned him quietly, 'the only reason you can stay here is because Liz is so devoted to you…'
He saw with pity the way the other man flushed and tensed. It was perhaps unkind of him to remind him of his dependence, but the words still had to be said.
'Look, why don't I leave you to think over our discussion?' Ian suggested, getting up.
'Nothing to think about,' Edward told him angrily.
Ian was halfway across the hall when Liz came in through the front door. She looked tired and drawn, but the moment she saw him her face was illuminated by a warm smile.
'Ian, how nice… I thought I might have missed you. How is Edward?' she queried anxiously. 'He's been in such a lot of pain recently. I'm worried about him…'
It gave him the opening he needed, and, walking up to her, he said quietly, 'Yes. I know… Look, I'd like to have a little talk with you. Do you have the time now?'
Given the opportunity to prepare herself Liz suspected later that she would have been more on her guard—as it was, she had no suspicion of what was to come until they were both seated in her sitting-room. . 'I'm very concerned about Edward,' he began without preamble, and then, seeing the question darkening her eyes, quickly reassured her, 'No…not physically—in many ways he's in much better shape than anyone could have originally predicted, and that's down to you, Liz… No, it's his emotional state that concerns me. There's no doubt that the pain he suffers from his amputations is having a detrimental effect on him. I've suggested to him that we try a different drug, but what concerns me now is his attitude towards you, Liz.'
He saw the way she tensed and said gently, 'You're a very special young woman, Liz. What you've achieved here, what you've done for Edward, these are magnificent, wonderful achievements, but you are after all a normal young woman, with
a normal young woman's natural appetites, and Edward—'
'If you're asking me if I've been unfaithful to Edward, then the answer is no,' Liz told him jerkily, her face flushing but her eyes determined as she looked directly at him and told him frankly, 'I'm not a very sexual woman, Ian. I discovered that years ago with Kit…David's father. He was my first…my only lover…' She bit her lip. 'I knew what I was taking on when I married Edward, and I did so willingly. I've never been unfaithful to Edward and I don't intend to be. I don't need or want a lover…' She saw his face—the compassion and the pity in it—and pressed on desperately. 'It's very difficult for me to talk to you like this. No one likes admitting their failings, their inadequacies, do they? But, believe me, I know… as far as sex is concerned… Well, I just don't seem to have the… ability to respond—'
All the things he had heard about Kit Danvers, and his knowledge of Liz herself, made Ian frown. He was a doctor very much ahead of his time; a man who genuinely liked and admired the female sex, and who in addition had a great deal of respect and affection for Liz herself, and he interrupted her and said gently, 'When you talk about failings and inadequacies, it seems to me that you are shouldering the blame which rightly belongs to another.'
When she looked blankly at him, he added, 'I know from what you've told me about your life with your aunt that she was an extremely repressive and cold woman; something like that is bound to have had an effect on you, especially during your teenage years. You were how old when David was conceived, eighteen?'
'Seventeen,' she told him hesitantly, a small frown puckering her forehead.
Seventeen… He sighed to himself. Still a child, and Kit Danvers had been what? Late twenties, at least. Old enough and surely experienced enough to have led her gently and caringly towards the discovery of her own sexuality. But then if all that he had heard about the man was true, he had been undoubtedly one of those men who took their pleasure greedily and uncaringly, and certainly without any consideration for the emotions and feelings of his partner.
'Those inadequacies of which you speak belong more properly on Kit's shoulders,' Ian told her firmly. 'He was a good deal older than you, and certainly a good deal more experienced…'
Liz moved uncertainly in her chair, and then said honestly, 'I don't think it would be fair to blame Kit… After all, in the years since… Well, I've never…' She broke off, flushing a little. It was hard for her to discuss something so personal even with a doctor she knew as well as she knew Ian.
'You've never what?' he probed. 'Never experienced desire? Never…?'
She flushed again, wondering if he could possibly know of those nights she had woken up aching, tense, aware of a need buried deep inside her.
'I've never wanted to have a sexual relationship with anyone,' she insisted huskily.
'You mean you've never allowed yourself to want to have a sexual relationship with anyone,' Ian corrected her shrewdly. 'Which is a very different thing indeed. I don't want to embarrass or upset you, Liz… it's just that I'm concerned about the way Edward seems to be directing his frustration and bitterness towards you. Oh, I know it's a natural enough reaction, but when it comes to actual physical violence…'
He saw from her tension that Chivers had not exaggerated. 'That sort of thing can't be allowed to happen, Liz…'
'He gets so jealous… I don't really understand—I've never…'
She swallowed and Ian told her compassionately, 'He loves you, my dear; he has all the normal sexual feelings of any man deeply in love, but he cannot physically express them and of course he's afraid that some other man more able than he will take his place as your lover…'
Her face had drained of colour. 'But that's… that's—'
'That's how men are,' Ian told her drily. 'It's a gut-deep atavistic thing, something beyond logic and reason—we're all of us capable of jealousy where our chosen mates are concerned, but I'm afraid that in Edward's case his natural jealousy is getting out of hand. I think a short spell away from here would give you both a much-needed break—'
'He'd never agree to that,' Liz interrupted him.
'No… it seems not, but unless we can find a way of getting him to confront his jealousy and admit that his behaviour is becoming irrational… Well, I'm afraid that his violence… and he is violent at times, we both know that…' Ian sighed, then continued, 'You can't be happy in this marriage, Liz. You…'
'I'm Edward's wife,' she retorted stiffly. 'I owe him so much, Ian, more than you can possibly know. If I left him…'
'If you left him his world would come to an end, but what about your world, Liz, what about you? I suspect that you've spent so much of your life putting the needs of others before your own that you're in danger of forgetting that you do have those needs.'
'What are you suggesting? That I leave him and take a lover?' She gave him a bitter look. 'How could I do that? Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I have David to consider, and Edward himself… He can't help it, you know… These black moods of his leave him so frightened and broken, poor man. He doesn't really mean the things he says and does…' She broke off, biting her lip. 'He needs me, Ian, and for as long as he does need me I intend to be here for him.'
'Very well. But remember I'm always here if you need me… and I still intend to try to persuade him to give you both a break by going into a convalescent home for a week or so.'
As Ian drove away he wondered if he had after all done more harm than good. Would it perhaps not have been kinder to have left her in ignorance, believing that her sexuality was warped and stunted, rather than that she was the victim of a man too selfish, too uncaring to have allowed her to discover it slowly, and to have helped her to nourish and develop it? After all, at seventeen her body had barely even finished growing, never mind her emotions and her mind.
For a long time after Ian had gone Liz stood staring out into the garden. Could what he had said about Kit possibly be true…?
But even if it was, what did it matter now? She was committed to Edward and she intended to remain committed to him. She loved him… not perhaps as a man, and certainly not as a lover, but she cared about him none the less and it distressed her that Ian had guessed how violent he had become and how he was abusing her, because she knew how much Edward himself in his rational, gentle moments shrank from the knowledge of what his black moods of depression and violence were doing to their relationship.
Sensitive, caring Edward, who would never willingly hurt anyone… but, like all human beings, there was a darker side to his nature, a darker side which pain and mental despair were beginning to bring to the fore. Sighing to herself, she walked to the door. Edward would be wondering where she was.
For a while after Ian's visit things improved. Edward's black moods eased a little, and Liz found it easier to talk to him about her plans for the mill without him losing his temper and accusing her of caring more about it than she did about him and David. She pushed to the back of her mind Ian's gentle comments about her sexuality. After all, what was the point in dwelling on them?
Work started on the renovation of the mill. Liz no longer read her trade journals in secret, but discussed their contents with Edward, brightly ignoring his sulkiness, trying to get him to take some interest in what she was doing, scrupulously including him in each and every small stage of progress.
A manager would have to be found for the mill, a man with the experience to take charge of and train a raw workforce, and a man who understood what it was she wanted to achieve.
The best place to find such a man was surely either in the mill towns of Lancashire or the Scottish borders, and so after consultation with Edward, who was reluctantly beginning to accept the presence of the mill as a reality in their lives, and after discussion with her backers—the merchant bank—advertisements were placed in suitable local papers.
The number of replies she received in response brought a fresh deluge of doubts from Edward. The textile industry was in the doldrums if not a decline, cloth
was being produced far more cheaply abroad, and, if that was the case, then how on earth could she ever expect to sell the high-priced wool she was so intent on weaving?
'We'll sell it abroad. America… places where they do have the money and the desire to buy the best…'
Edward stared at her in stunned silence. What had happened to the timid, terrified child he had married? The child who had been so dependent on him, who had needed him… Now he was the one who needed her and that chafed his sore skin, leaving weeping open sores that refused to heal.
The history of the factory and its success was so well known to her, not through her mother, but through those who worked for her and had been there at its inception, that Sage, who could recite its story almost as a litany, had found that she was skipping paragraphs and half-pages in her anxiety to reach the year of her own conception.
So far, she had discovered nothing at all to make her feel that her mother, a woman with one child at boarding-school, a husband in declining health and a shaky new business to run, could possibly have wanted a second child with the single-minded determination she must surely have felt to have allowed herself to be used virtually as a human guinea pig. Because in those days conception via artificial insemination had been a very advanced and extremely rare process, so much so that surely only a woman with a very deep-seated need to have a child would have gone to the lengths of undergoing it?
She had just finished reading a couple of paragraphs describing David's summer holiday and the progress he was making at school when the phone rang sharply.
Panic thrilled through her immediately. She knew even before she picked up the receiver that Daniel would be on the other end of the line, and yet even so when she heard his voice shock paralysed her vocal cords… Shock and resentment. How could he sound so calm, so…so unconcerned, when her whole nervous system, never mind her emotions, were still in chaos from their encounter at the Old Hall?