by Daphne Clair
She gave a long, shuddering sigh, and Russel moved his hand to place his fingers under her chin and raise her face.
'Okay, now?' he asked softly.
'Yes, thank you. I must look awful!'
'You don't look awful. You look beautiful. Vulnerable and hurting, but beautiful.'
He bent his head and she felt the pressure of lips on her burning mouth. His kiss was comforting and sweet and without demand, his lips slightly parted over hers. She sighed again, and her breath went into his mouth. She felt him stiffen, and then the kiss became firmer, his hand sliding to her nape, his other arm folding her gently closer to him.
Catherine knew she should resist, do something about this, but the sensation of warmth and comfort was blissful, and she stayed passive in his arms, too weary to object.
Russel went on kissing her, until the weariness insidiously changed to something else, and the warmth spread through her body. Her mouth quivered under his, and his fingers were spread on her shoulders, and she knew that she had let the moment for resistance pass, that now there was no going back.
She was very late by the time she had collected her car from the studio car-park and driven home. Her heart was thumping as she let herself in the back door, hearing the TV going much too loud in the lounge. She guessed that the children were watching it. The kitchen looked untidy, which surprised her, for Althea's housekeeping was almost fanatical in its neatness. She was about to go through to the lounge when Jason appeared in the doorway. He also looked less immaculate than usual. Although he still wore his business suit, his tie was missing and three buttons on his blue shirt were undone. He was pale, too, and had an angry glitter in his eyes.
He stopped in the doorway and demanded explosively, 'Where the hell have you been? I've been phoning the studio since two o'clock!'
'Two o'clock?' Catherine repeated stupidly. 'Why, whatever's wrong?' Her voice sharpening with panic, she exclaimed, 'The children . . .?'
'The kids are fine,' he told her impatiently. 'It's my father. He's had a heart attack.'
Relief was followed by a sick shock. She placed her bag blindly on the sink counter and put a hand out to him instinctively. 'Oh, Jason! I'm so sorry!'
He ignored the hand, and misunderstood her exclamation of sympathy. 'You damned well ought to be sorry!' he snapped. 'My mother's at the hospital alone, waiting. We don't know yet if Dad's going to pull through. I phoned the studio and they said your car was there, but there was no filming today and they didn't know where you'd gone. One of the neighbours watched for the children coming home, but she had plans for tonight, and when you didn't show up, I had to come home and be with them.'
'Bridie would have ---'
'I tried Bridie. I thought you might be there, and if not she would have filled in. I couldn't get hold of her. I thought it wouldn't be long before you came.
Where were you?'
'At the beach—with a friend.'
'Beach'?' He cast an incredulous glance at the window behind her. All afternoon there had been intermittent heavy showers, and the wind had become fierce. Then, for the first time, he really looked at her. Her dress was still damp and crushed looking, and sand clung to the hem. Her hair was scarcely dry, and dishevelled again from the wind that had flung around them as Russel and she ran to his car, his arm about her waist. She had hastily put on some lipstick, but her other makeup was gone.
'Beach?' Jason repeated, his eyes suddenly dangerously narrowed. 'What beach? What friend?'
'Karekare,' she whispered. 'Well, near there. With Russel Thurston.'
There was an intense, electric silence. If anything, Jason's face was paler now, and he stared at her with his mouth grim and his eyes a deep, frightening, gunmetal grey.
Catherine felt the hot colour coming up from her throat to stain her face, and stood dumbly, unable to do anything about it. He watched mercilessly.
Then he said in a flat voice, 'I see.'
Her throat worked as she tried to say something, anything to take that look off his face, but the words stuck there, refused to come.
At last he moved, coming away from the door. He took two steps into the room, and stood looking down at her, as though he had never seen her before. Finally he said, 'I want to go to the hospital. Do you think that you could manage to look after your own children, now?'
She didn't remind him that they were his children, too. She nodded, and gazed fixedly at the floor as he went out without even stopping to fetch his tie.
When she went into the lounge, the children hardly noticed her. The programme was a crime series that she normally didn't allow them to watch, but tonight she let them see it through to the bloody finale before she sent them to bed.
It was after ten before Jason and Althea returned from the hospital. Althea looked gaunt and old, her pale lips taut and her eyes dull. Jason's face was set in harsh lines as he shepherded his mother into a chair, and Catherine asked, anxiously, 'How is he?'
'Sleeping peacefully,' Jason said curtly, not looking at her. 'They say he'll probably pull through this time, but of course he'll be in hospital for a while.'
'Oh, thank God!' Catherine breathed, and Althea looked up at her, then turned her head against the back of the chair and closed hef eyes.
Catherine asked, 'Would you like some tea, Althea—or cocoa, something hot?'
'Or a sherry,' said Jason. 'What'll it be, Mother?'
Althea just shook her head fretfully, and for the first time in her life Catherine was wrung with pity for the older woman.
She went over to the chair, noticing with one corner of her mind that Jason moved abruptly away as she approached, and knelt in front of Althea, touching her arm. 'You should have something, you know,' she said gently.
'Will you let Jason pour you a small sherry, or shall I make you a hot drink?
Have you had anything to eat?'
Jason said, 'We had some sandwiches and coffee hours ago.'
Althea said faintly, 'I don't want anything.'
'I'll make you some soup,' Catherine decided, and got up. 'And then I'll help you to bed.'
'I don't need help!' Althea said quite sharply. 'I'm not the one who's sick.'
She suddenly put her head down on her hand and began to weep noisily, while Catherine and Jason stood in astonished silence. Then Jason moved swiftly to kneel by his mother and put his arm about her, while she turned blindly to rest her head against his shoulder.
Catherine stood transfixed, watching the tenderness of Jason's handling of his mother, and thinking confusedly of how she herself had turned for comfort to another man. Then Jason half- turned and, without looking at her face, said brusquely, 'Get that soup, will you?'
By the time she had opened a packet of dried soup and heated it, and brought it in on a tray with fingers of toast, Althea was sitting calmly in the chair, only slightly red-eyed, and Jason was prowling about the room with his hands in his pockets.
Catherine had been afraid that Althea would turn down the snack after all, but she merely said, 'Thank you, dear,' and almost finished the bowl, although she didn't touch the toast.
'Do you want some, Jason?' Catherine asked. 'There's more in the pot. I'll get it ---'
'No!' The negative stopped her as she made a tentative move to return to the kitchen.
For a moment their eyes met, and she read a cold contempt in his, and flinched from it. She went to stand by Althea's chair, taking the bowl from her as she put the spoon down.
'Don't you want the toast?' she asked evenly.
Althea shook her head.
'More soup?'
'No, thank you, Catherine. That was very nice. I think I'll go to bed now.
Please—I don't need any help.'
She got up slowly, and Catherine thought of her mother-in-law's usual brisk, decisive movements, and felt her heart contract with pity. 'I'm sorry I wasn't here when it happened,' she said. 'It must have been awful.'
Althea's mouth quivered, then straightened thinly.
'Yes,' she said. 'After I'd phoned the ambulance, I rang Jason, of course. He was trying to contact you all afternoon, but they said you were not at the studio.'
'I'm sorry,' Catherine repeated. 'There's a technicians' strike on, and we couldn't do any taping, so I—went out for the afternoon. It was terribly bad luck that this had to happen today.'
Althea nodded tiredly and said, 'Yes—well, never mind. Let's hope that they're right,-and he will recover.'
Jason went over and held the door for her, even though it was already open.
He watched her go down the passage to the spare room, while Catherine stood with the tray in her hands, unwilling to pass him while he remained there.
But after a few moments he closed the door and stood in front of it, leaning his shoulder against the wood, his arms folded.
'Terribly bad luck, wasn't it?' he said with soft sarcasm. 'It was very inconsiderate of my father to have a heart attack just when you were having a session with your lover.'
She winced. 'Jason,' she said huskily, 'I don't think either of us is in a fit state to discuss this just now. You must have had a dreadful day ---'
'I'm glad you realise that!' he cut in savagely, it's been, to put it mildly, a hell of a day. I thought my father was going to die, and my mother was going out of her mind with fear and with worrying about not being here when Jenny and Michael came home, and I couldn't find you! I must admit the one thing that didn't occur to me was that you were busy being unfaithful to me. How long have you been sleeping with him? Or isn't that the right word? You actually do sleep with me, don't you? And that is literally all! I should have guessed at the reason. It was pretty stupid of me not to. Is he the first? Or the only one? How many others have there been—
are there?'
'Jason!'
'It's a logical question, my darling wife. You see, it never even crossed my mind before to doubt your fidelity. Now I can't help wondering just how much of a fool I've been.'
'You haven't been a fool at all. I'm not—like that!'
'Aren't you? I saw your face when you came in today—guilt personified. You even smelled of him!'
Horrified, Catherine knew she was blushing again, the telltale heat flooding her cheeks. 'Jason, please!' she pleaded weakly, her voice trembling. 'Don't talk like this. I haven't been—we're not ---'
'Are you telling me you haven't slept with Russel Thurston?' he demanded harshly.
'I'm telling you—' she managed, ' that it's never happened before.'
His mouth curled with contempt. 'You mean you've never been found out before!'
'No, Jason! I swear ---'
'Where?' he interrupted in a hard voice. 'I'm curious to know where you were all the time I was trying to find you this afternoon. In some sleazy little motel room? Or does he take you home? He isn't married, is he?'
'Does it matter?' She heard the bowl rattle against the tray in her hands, and carefully put the tray down on a side table. When she straightened, she found that he had moved away from the door and was standing close to her, his eyes blazing. She started in surprised fear, and Jason wrapped his fingers about her arm in a painful grip, and demanded, 'Where were you?'
'At the beach,' she said. 'I told you. He—he has a bach there.'
His fingers tightened until she gasped. His voice low and steely, he said,
'You've been there before. Haven't you?'
'Yes,' she admitted. 'But ---'
He released her arm and turned away from her, his whole attitude one of disgust. 'At-'every opportunity, no doubt. Is it a nice little love-nest?'
'It isn't a love-nest. As a matter of fact, it's rather primitive'
'But very private!'
'Jason, this has nothing to do with ---'
'I think it has a great deal to do with the subject under discussion. I'm curious.'
Catherine looked at his face, shocked, and saw that he was wearing an expression of extreme cynicism. His eyes glittered coldly, and his mouth had a sardonic twist.
With a sudden spurt of temper, she said, 'What's the next question, then?
Do you want to know what sort of lover he is?'
For a moment she thought Jason was going to hit her. But he controlled his evident rage immediately, and said smoothly, 'Yes, enlighten me. I take it he's better than I am.'
She turned away, sickened, but he caught her arm and twisted her to face him. 'Go on,' he gritted. 'Tell me!'
She tried to pull away from him, but he stilled her struggles with both hands, hurting her, and she felt a renewal of her own hot anger, and flung back her head to look at him defiantly, saying, 'All right! He's better! He's very gentle and understanding, and that's more than can be said for you!'
Jason's mouth compressed in an ugly line, and his voice was clipped. 'Thank you,' he said.
He had asked for it, goaded her into saying it, but her fury died in sick despair and disgust, and she whispered, 'I'm sorry, Jason, I didn't mean to say it. I'm sorry about—everything.'
'Sorry is scarcely adequate,' he said coldly. He let her go suddenly, as though he couldn't bear to go on touching her, and with a strangely clumsy movement he scooped up the tray from the table, walking towards the door.
'You'd better go to bed,' he said. 'I won't be joining you tonight.'
'What will you do?' she asked foolishly.
In the doorway he paused, and looked at her. 'I'll sleep here.' As he saw her face change, he added, 'I'll be up before my mother wakes. I don't suppose I'll sleep much anyway.'
Catherine heard him washing up, and went slowly to the bathroom and then to bed. She hadn't expected to sleep much, either, but after waiting for an hour, she realised that Jason wasn't even going to fetch his pyjamas from their room, and soon afterwards she fell into a deep, totally exhausted sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Jason telephoned the hospital the following morning, he was told his father was comfortable after a good night. The news lessened slightly the strain on Althea's face, and Catherine breathed a quiet prayer of thanks.
Jason drove his mother to the hospital straight after breakfast, and Catherine took the children to school. They were subdued, and Jenny looked apprehensive, her green eyes anxious.
'Grandpa is feeling much better this morning,' Catherine assured them.
'Pretty soon I expect they'll let him come home.'
Jenny looked relieved, and Michael wanted to know why they couldn't go and visit him in the hospital.
'He needs to rest very quietly for a while,' Catherine explained. 'But if he's going to be there a few more days, you may be allowed to see him.'
'In school time?' Michael enquired hopefully, and Catherine gave a shaky laugh and said, 'Probably not. Hospitals have evening visiting hours, too, you know.'
After she returned to the house, she washed up the breakfast dishes and then wandered aimlessly through the rooms, picking up toys and books and putting them down in a different place, straightening cushions, then standing staring into space for minutes at a time.
Eventually she mentally shook herself, and forced her hands to carry out routine tasks, bedmaking, sorting clothes into the washing machine, vacuuming the carpet.
It was nearly lunchtime when she thought with a sudden jolt that she ought to phone the studio and find out what was happening. She stood looking at the telephone, reluctant to lift the handset, wondering what she would say if they put her on to Russel.
She jumped when the bell suddenly shrilled at her, and she let it ring three times before nerving herself to pick up the receiver.
It was Russel. 'We're back in business,' he told her, so casually that she was sure he was not alone. 'The usual time tomorrow.'
'Russel?' she said urgently.
'Yes?' His voice was guarded, he was afraid she was going to say something intimate, and he didn't want other people to hear.
'My father-in-law had a heart attack,' she told him. 'Yesterday.'
There was a brief, telling silence. 'My
God!' he muttered softly. Again there was silence, and she could almost hear him marshalling his thoughts, assessing the implications. Then he said, 'I'm sorry, Cathy, really sorry.
How is he?'
'Better this morning, apparently,' she said, her voice slightly hoarse with effort. 'He'll be in hospital for a while, of course.'
'Of course. Can you make it, tomorrow?'
'I think so. I'll let you know if I'm not able to get there.'
'Okay.' Again he paused. 'Is there anything I can do?'
'Nothing, thank you.'
'Well, you know you only have to say . . .'
'Yes. Thank you. Goodbye.' Catherine put the receiver down clumsily, and stood holding it with her fingers tight and slippery on the cream plastic. She took a deep, shuddering breath and, releasing her grip slowly, went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and stared blankly at its contents for several minutes. She shut the door again and leaned her forehead against the cool enamelled surface, closing her eyes.
She jumped when the door opened, and Jason's voice said sharply, 'What's the matter? Are you all right?'
He had come in with his mother, they were both standing just inside the door, staring at her.
Hastily she straightened away from the refrigerator. 'I didn't hear the car,'
she said. 'I'm all right, thank you. Just a bit tired. How is Winston?'
'They say they expect he'll be fine in a couple of weeks. He'll have to be a bit careful, though, from now on. Just as well he's retired.'
Catherine looked at Althea and saw that she was looking more herself, cool and in command, though the hollow shadows under her eyes hadn't shifted, and there were deep lines showing by her mouth. 'That's good,' she said.
'I'll make some lunch. Why don't you go and put your feet up in the lounge for a while, Althea?'
'No, I'd rather help,' said Althea. 'I need to do something ...'
Catherine didn't want her help, but she saw that Althea was still unable to quite believe in the hopeful verdict. 'Perhaps you might set the table for us, then,' she said. 'Is cold meat and salad all right?'