by Daphne Clair
'I hadn't forgotten,' she said thinly. She didn't know why, but somehow his reaction had produced a slight chill in her heart.
The children didn't come home after all as planned. A telegram arrived from Australia saying that Michael had chickenpox, just the day before they were due to leave. By this time Catherine was in a whirlwind of preparation for the programme, consulting with Russel, learning camera techniques and helping to write the script for the first filming. The programme was to be a regular one," screened three times a week, and she had quickly discovered that Russel was a perfectionist. She came up against a new aspect of his personality altogether when she phoned and told him she was needed in Australia.
'What are you talking about?' he asked, sounding blankly amazed.
'It's Michael,' she explained. 'He's sick. And Jenny will probably get it, too.'
'Get what?'
'Chickenpox.'
There was an expressive silence. Then Russel said quietly, 'Cathy, you're not thinking straight. You can't fly to Australia just like that. We're taping your first show next week.'
'But the children ---' she faltered weakly.
'Chickenpox, you said. It isn't a matter of life and death, is it?'
'No, but—Russ, they're only little.'
'They won't be little for ever, and in the meantime you'll have passed up the chance of having a career that will mean something to you after they've grown up.'
'That's looking a long way ahead.'
'Maybe. I thought you really wanted to do this show.'
'I do. But ---'
'Listen to me, Cathy. You'll never get another chance, if you cancel out now.
We've got everything ready to go, and I don't know how we'd get anyone as good at short notice. Some of the material we're using is yours, you wrote it yourself. It's tailor-made. You throw that all up, and you're finished as far as TV goes. Is that what you want to do?'
He waited, while she twisted the cord of the telephone in her hand and thought of Michael and Jenny, miserable and missing her, and then of all the work and time and money that had already gone into the programme.
Almost sulkily, she said, if I was sick, you'd have to find a replacement, wouldn't you?'
'You're not sick.' He had never sounded so cold to her before.
But my child is, she thought. He's sick and he's needing me.
But did he? Althea would cosset him, and Jenny too, if she contracted the illness. They would be well looked after. No worries there. Her maternal instincts had been running haywire. Her world steadied as she took a breath and said, 'Russel, I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous. Of course I'll stay.'
'Not ridiculous,' he said gently. 'Just a mother. Got things in proportion now?'
'I think so. I still feel guilty, though.'
'Wouldn't you have felt guilty if you'd gone?'
'Yes,' she admitted, 'I suppose I would.'
'Grin and bear it,' he said. 'I'm sorry, Cathy.'
She put down the receiver with an odd sense of having crossed a bridge and burned it behind her. But there was another one yet to come.
Jason, when he read the telegram, simply asked, 'Have you booked a flight?'
'I'm not going,' she told him.
'What?' He looked up from the slip of paper and stared hard at her.
'I'm not going over there,' she said. 'I'm sure your mother can cope perfectly well. She hasn't asked me to come.'
'No, but——' It was the first time she could remember seeing him at a loss for words.
it's only chickenpox,' Catherine said defensively. 'Nothing serious. By the time I got there it could be virtually all over.'
'Rot! It's a couple of hours by air.'
She bit her lip, her voice rising in spite of the effort she made to keep it level and calm. 'Well, I'm not going. I have to start filming next week, and I can't go!'
'Can't?' His voice was hard.
'I can't!' she reiterated. 'I have a contract.'
Russel had not reminded her of that, she had only just remembered it herself. Fleetingly, she was grateful to him for not holding it over her head.
'I can't just walk out on it.'
Jason was frowning, his mouth thin. 'All right,' he said, 'I suppose you can't. Have you contacted my parents?'
'No. I suppose we could phone, couldn't we?'
She wanted to speak to the children, reassure them, tell them herself why she couldn't come over and be with them.
'Yes, we could,' Jason agreed. But he sounded abstracted, and his eyes on her were hard and assessing, as though he couldn't quite make her out, as though he had found something in her which he had never suspected, and didn't much like.
It wasn't easy to explain to the children, of course, and their voices sounded forlorn over the wire, though the prospect of seeing their mother on TV when they were home generated some mild excitement. All the same, when the phone call was over, Catherine found her eyelashes were wet.
Jason looked grim as he watched her brush the tears with a fingertip. For a moment she thought he was going to move towards her, perhaps hold her in comforting arms. But he swung away from her instead, and went to switch on the television set for the news.
While she was working, she was concentrating too much for the children's welfare to bother her more than peripherally, the challenge of learning new skills and taking part in a totally new activity enough to keep her from fretting about the progress of their illness. In due course Althea reported that, as expected, Jenny had developed spots, too. She also said that both invalids were as happy as could be expected, but reading between the lines of the blue airletter, Catherine morbidly detected a hint of disapproval of her own inaction.
She sensed disapproval from Jason, too, and her own mood became increasingly brittle. She felt continually on the defensive, and was shocked and bothered by the edginess that seemed to have crept into her relationship with Jason.
She knew that the sharp little exchanges were consequent on strain, and that she was as much to blame as Jason, but it did seem that he was showing uncharacteristic bursts of temper. One evening when she came back at him with a snap over some charged remark, he returned rather savagely, if this is what going to work does for you, you'd better give it up!'
Catherine's heart actually lurched at the thought. 'You don't like it, do you?'
she challenged him. 'Why didn't you say so when I asked you, instead of pretending to approve?'
'You're talking nonsense,' he said impatiently. 'You didn't exactly ask for my permission!'
'Should I have? Is that what rankles, Jason? That I didn't request your permission, like a good, obedient little wife?'
'Stop trying to pick a fight,' he said wearily. 'You'd better go to bed.'
'I'm not tired! And you can't send me to bed like one of the children.'
His mouth thinned, and something in his eyes made her suddenly remember vividly that last night, when he had reached for her in their bed, she had said she was tired—last night and a good many nights recently.
She felt the flush on her cheeks, and started back as he came towards her, his step deliberate. 'Can't I?' he said softly.
'Jason, don't ---'
He swung her up into his arms, his grip strong and unbreakable, and she was too surprised and also too dismayed by his unexpected behaviour, to struggle much.
He strode into the bedroom and flung her down on the bed, and even as she made to struggle up, he sat on the side of it and hauled her into his arms, bending her head back with his kiss. She fought for breath, because his mouth was suffocating, pressing her lips against her closed teeth until she was forced, moaning, to open them to his implacable invasion. His mouth lifted abruptly and his arms slackened, and he said gratingly, with a hard mockery, 'I'm glad you're not tired tonight.'
Furious and frightened, Catherine jerked one arm free and swung her palm with all her strength against his cheek.
The sharp, vicious sound seemed to echo in the quiet room. She hear
d his breath pulled in harshly, and her own light, quick breathing.
For a moment she felt his hands tight on her shoulders, as though he wanted to shake her—or break her. Then he stood up, thrusting her roughly back against the pillows, and stalked out of the room.
While she lay there she heard the back door slam, and then silence. It was hours before Jason came back, and then he undressed and lay unmoving beside her in the darkness, while she pretended to be sleeping.
Increasingly, Catherine was grateful for having her work, and longed for the children to return home. Then she felt guilty and bewildered, because both were a buffer between her and Jason. That was appalling, signifying something badly wrong in their marriage. There must be something she should do about that, but Jason was uncompromisingly aloof and sarcastic, and she found herself either tongue-tied or reacting with barbed, defensive remarks when they were together.
At night she lay tensely beside him in the double bed until exhaustion overcame her at last and she slept. She didn't think that Jason was sleeping much, either.
Once, he turned and touched her arm, and she stiffened involuntarily, her breath catching in her throat in some kind of anticipation. After a moment he removed his hand and lay on his back. She knew that he was staring into the darkness, thinking. Her throat worked, she tried to force herself to make some move towards him, something to help heal the frightening gulf between them. But a hard knot of anger and resentment, its causes obscure and multiple, seemed to have built up inside her. She didn't move.
Althea wrote that the children were well enough to travel, and that she and Winston had decided to accompany them back to New Zealand. '... hoping it's not presuming too much to expect a welcome from you both,' she had written. 'We shan't stay long, but Jenny, in particular, is still pulled down by the illness, and as you, Catherine dear, are working now, I feel it would be a good idea for us to spend a few weeks with you.'
Althea organising again. Catherine's heart sank, even as she wrote a carefully grateful reply in appreciation of her mother-in-law's thoughtfulness, containing an invitation to stay as long as they liked.
It was odd seeing the children again after so long. They both looked taller and older, and she felt the threat of foolish tears as she hugged them under Althea's and Winston's indulgent eyes.
They were both a little pale, and still sported a couple of tiny scars each from the chickenpox. Jenny was sensitive about one on her forehead, and Althea had cut her hair into a fringe to hide it.
'I knew you wouldn't mind,' Althea told Catherine as she explained it in an undertone, while the children were helping Winston and Jason collect the luggage.
'Of course not,' Catherine said automatically. 'It was very wise of you.
Thank you.' But Jenny looked different, and the difference produced a peculiar little ache in her throat. She was assailed by a sudden wave of the guilt that she thought she had conquered weeks ago, a conviction that, no matter what, she should have moved heaven and earth to be with Jenny and Michael when they were ill.
Back at the house, the children's excitement covered any strain among the adults, and Catherine let them have their heads and stay up late, until a difference of opinion became a quarrel, and Jenny burst into tears.
Catherine made to take the child in her arms, but she had run to her grandmother, and Althea was gathering her up, saying, 'There, my lamb, you're just tired, that's all. You should have been in bed ages ago.'
She hadn't looked at Catherine, but Catherine felt the sting of implied criticism, and said quickly, standing up, 'Come on, you two, into bed. You can sleep in tomorrow, and the next day you'll be back at school.'
When she had seen them into bed, Althea came to kiss them goodnight, and as the two women returned to the lounge together, she said, 'Catherine dear, do you think it wise to send them to school so soon? Jenny still looks very peaky, and Michael had a bad dose, you know.'
'I know. But they've missed two weeks already of the term. I think they should go back very soon.'
'Well, if you and Jason both think so ...'
Catherine flushed slightly. She hadn't discussed it with Jason. They had discussed very few things lately. Anyway, he had always left most decisions regarding the children to her.
Althea was saying delicately, 'If it's a question of taking care of them in the daytime while you work, my dear, remember that Winston and I will be here to look after them.'
Catherine took a moment to swallow down a quick rush of anger, it isn't that,' she said evenly. 'I'm grateful for the offer, of course, but if I'm working while they are at home, I can always get a babysitter. I certainly wouldn't send them to school if I thought they were too unwell to go.'
'No, of course not. I didn't mean to suggest— forgive me, dear.'
Oh, didn't you? Catherine thought grimly. Aloud she said, 'Of course. Shall we make some more coffee? I'm sure the men would like some.'
'Yes, in some things Jason is like his father,' Althea said. 'Coffee at any time, day or night. Not that I would say no to a cup myself, just at the moment. Flying makes me thirsty.'
That first evening was easy, compared to the days and evenings that followed. Catherine felt the strain of presenting the picture of a happy and thriving marriage to Jason's parents, and of withstanding Althea's steely gentility when the older woman felt duty bound to advise her on her handling of the children. She needed extra reserves of patience, too, to cope with Jenny's new fractiousness. It was unfair, she told herself, to blame Althea for that. She was genuinely grateful for Althea's devoted nursing during the chickenpox, but she couldn't help wishing that she would not give in to every whim of Jenny's with quite such eagerness. With Michael, his grandparents were considerably more hard- headed, apparently believing that boys should be turned into little men early in life, but that only compounded the problem. Michael took out his jealousy on his sister, and Jenny was fast developing into a little minx, twisting the adults around her finger, and smirking at her brother behind their backs.
Perhaps, Catherine reminded herself, Jenny represented the daughter that Althea had never had. She had gathered that Winston had had a large hand in the upbringing of Jason, and Althea was compensating herself with the second generation. It was understandable, but it didn't make the situation much easier to live with.
Catherine's nerves became frayed, and early one evening after an exchange of carefully worded opinion with Althea, she went into the bedroom, closing the door with a snap to lean back against it, eyes closed, while she drew a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh of frustration.
'Something wrong?' Jason's voice brought her eyes open, and she saw him standing by the long wardrobe, his lean, muscled torso bare as he held a shirt he had just pulled from a hanger.
'What are you doing in here?' she asked. She had thought he was in the garden outside, talking to his father.
His eyes glittered, it happens to be my room as well,' he reminded her sarcastically, if it pleases you, I can move into the guest room when my parents have gone. Meantime, I'm afraid you'll have to put up with my presence.'
He hauled on the shirt, pushing it into his pants with angry movements, and beginning to fasten the buttons.
She hadn't meant that at all, but the sarcasm stung, and she flashed back,
'When are they going? I'd like to know.'
'Can't wait?' he asked nastily. 'Okay, darling, you can ask them to leave whenever you like.'
'You know I can't do that.'
'Do you want me to?'
'No. I'm—grateful for all they've done. It's just that I find it—difficult to deal with your mother's advice.'
'Yes, you always resented anyone else having a say in what happens with the children, didn't you? Even me.'
'That isn't true!' she objected.
isn't it?' He slanted her an indifferent glance, pulling a tie from the rack on the wardrobe door and quickly knotting it about his neck. He shrugged, is this straight?'
Once Ca
therine would have walked over and tugged it straight for him, whether it needed it or not. Now she said woodenly, 'Yes. Where are you going?'
'I've got a meeting tonight—I told you.'
'Oh. I'd forgotten. Will you be late?'
It was an automatic query. She was unprepared for the cynicism of his glance at her as he said, 'What difference does it make to you? If you're not asleep when I come in, you'll be giving a good imitation.'
He picked up his jacket from the bed, and she moved aside as he came towards the door. For a moment Jason hesitated with his fingers about the handle, and looked down at her.
She thought he was going to kiss her, and stayed still, looking back at him with faint trepidation, her heart beating heavily.
The moment stretched between them, the tension building, then something flickered in his eyes, and she saw his face change, his mouth curve into bitterness. He made an almost inaudible, impatient sound and wrenched at the door, leaving it swinging open as he left.
CHAPTER SEVEN
In spite of Althea's disapproval of their return to school, the children had shown no ill effects and were quite happy. The first few programmes had been shown on television, and they were intrigued at watching their mother speaking to them from the screen. At school it had given them the status of minor celebrities.
The programme went out live three times a week, but segments of it were videotaped beforehand, so that Catherine was actually working about twenty-four hours each week. At first most of the film excerpts were of interviews with people that might reasonably interest the young viewers—a writer of children's adventure stories, a zoo-keeper, a famous racing driver
—and with children who had unusual stories of their own to tell. Catherine wondered where the research team found all the material that they did. One day she talked to a little girl who had survived, with a group of adults, the wreck of her father's yacht off the Fiji islands, and however frightening the incident might have been at the time, the child in retrospect seemed to find it both thrilling and almost enjoyable. Another child who impressed her was suffering from several physical disabilities, yet still managed to take part in a number of activities such as horseriding, swimming and archery. Her experience in hospital visiting enabled Catherine to conduct the interview naturally and without embarrassment to either of them.