by Daphne Clair
It was ridiculous to be shy with Jason after all these years. But the look in his eyes made her terribly, deliciously aware of her nudity under the sheet, and he did have to go to work ...
He leaned over and trailed his lips across her shoulder, then kissed her mouth lingeringly before he got up off the bed. 'I'll make some toast,' he offered, as she waited for him to go before reaching hastily for a robe to cover herself.
She had a busy day, filming a sequence on Mount Eden, in the central city, with a geologist. He walked about the grassy crater with her, and explained for the benefit of the cameras how the volcano might have erupted thousands of years before, and why it was regarded as dormant rather than completely extinct.
'Does that mean it could erupt again at any time?' she asked him.'Theoretically, yes,' he beamed happily. 'But one naturally hopes there would be some warning Scientists are becoming more aware of the danger signs, and we must hope there would be adequate time to evacuate the area if there was danger of an imminent eruption.'
Inwardly Catherine sighed with relief. That sounded fairly reassuring for nervous young viewers!
They climbed up the side of the crater with some difficulty, followed by the perspiring cameramen with their equipment, and the geologist pointed out some of the other volcanic cones visible from their vantage point.
'Rangitoto, of course,' he said, 'is a very young volcano, which last erupted only a matter of three or four hundred years ago.'
'Really?' Catherine stared at the island out in the harbour. 'I didn't know that!'
'Oh, yes. When the first white men came here, there were Maoris who remembered Rangitoto's last eruption. It certainly wouldn't be safe to say that it's dead. It's only sleeping.'
The geologist had just come back fronva week studying Ruapehu, a much more active volcano in the middle of the North Island, and back at the studio Catherine sat before the cameras for another fifteen minutes and asked about his experiences there. The studio library would provide film of the mountain spitting lava and rocks during one of its periodic outbursts, and the graphics department had already produced a series of diagrams showing how a volcano built up pressure and finally 'blew its top.'
'How's it coming?' Catherine asked Russel when her part was finished. 'The geologist was good, wasn't he? Very enthusiastic, and he didn't talk down, either, the way some people do when they know we're doing a children's show.'
'I think it's shaping well,' Russel agreed. 'I've learned a thing or two myself about volcanoes. Only I'm a bit worried that the kids might get bored, if it's too heavily educational. What do you think?'
'As long as we keep it fairly short, and follow with something lighthearted, I think they'll enjoy it. The graphics are very lively and colourful, and if the library comes up with some good film, it should be exciting enough for any child. We'll need some people in the mountain shots, not just fire and brimstone on its own.'
'Yes, you're right. Much more interesting for the kids if they think someone's about to be swallowed up in hot lava!'
Catherine laughed, and he looked at her sharply. 'You're different, today,'
he told her.
'How?'
'I'm not really sure. Not so restrained, more free. Happier.'
She looked away from him. He was much too sensitive to her moods. It was dangerous.
'Not going to tell me?' he asked her softly.
She shook her head.
Someone brushed by them with a plastic clipboard, shouting for one of the sound men to come to the set. Russel put a hand on Catherine's arm and drew her aside, into a corner hemmed in by one of the cameras on its steel trolley.
'You know that if things had been different, we might have had a lot going for us, you and me,' he said.
'Yes. But they're not different.'
'And you're not sorry?'
'That's a loaded question.'
'I'm trying to find out what's happened to you.'
'Why?'
'Cathy,' he reproached her, 'you know why it's not idle curiosity. I care about you—you've got to know that. Don't fence with me.'
'I'm sorry.' She was contrite. 'But I can't discuss my marriage with you, Russel.'
'Okay,' he shrugged. 'Fair enough.' He paused. 'I'm right, aren't I? You are happier?'
'You're right.'
'Good. I mean that. And I hope it lasts.'
'I intend to do everything I can to see that it does.'
It wasn't quite that simple.
Winston was discharged from the hospital, and Althea made bookings for them to fly home in another three weeks, when he was expected to be lit to stand the journey. Catherine made arrangements for the children to go to Bridie's on the days she was working, so that Althea should be spared (he trouble of looking after them and her husband as well, and also to keep the house quieten for the invalid.
Jason had looked rather oddly at her when she explained the plan, but when she asked him with a faint air of challenge if he didn't approve, In- merely shrugged and said, 'If you're quite satisfied ...'
'They'll be perfectly all right with Bridie,' she said. 'They love her, and she's quite happy to do It.'
'Well and good,' he said, leaving her baffled and dissatisfied, sure that he disapproved in some way, hut unable to make him admit to it.
In the night she was far from dissatisfied. Jason seemed to have unlocked a floodgate of feelings she had not known herself capable of experiencing, and he revelled in her new ability to respond with uninhibited abandon to his equally uninhibited lovemaking.
But she suffered an unpleasant shock when one night, after they had spent themselves in physical pleasure, and she lay comfortably wedged against his shoulder, he said almost casually, 'I want you to give up that job, Catherine.'
She felt herself go cold, the warmth that filled her after an invigorating session of lovemaking seeping away like melting ice.
'Why?' she asked blankly.
'
'Why? Do I have spell it out for you? You're still seeing him every other day.
Do you expect me to accept that situation for ever?'
'But, Jason ---'
'I was hoping you'd make the decision yourself,' he said. 'I've been waiting for you to do it, to save me having to ask. Well, you haven't. So now I'm telling you. I want you to leave.'
She sat up, steadying herself on one hand to look down at him. 'But I can't do that!' she said, appalled.
'Can't? Or won't?'
'I have a contract,' she said wildly.
it runs out soon, doesn't it?'
'Well—technically, yes. But the programme is going well, it's popular, and we've practically been told that the option of a renewal will be taken up by the corporation.'
'But you could refuse to renew.'
if I did that, I don't suppose I'd get another chance in a TV show. It isn't as though I'm well known enough or experienced enough to be able to pick and choose.'
'You'll still be working with Russel Thurston.'
'He's my boss and my friend,' she said slowly. 'That's all. Please, Jason, can't you accept that?'
'No, I can't. Do you know that your little affair is common knowledge?'
She went white. 'What do you mean?'
'I mean that the two of you are known to be "good friends", as they say in the trade. Someone took it on themselves to let me know, in an oblique sort of way.'
'Oh, God! I'm sorry ---'
'I wasn't exactly thrilled, myself. Now do you understand why I want you to leave?'
'Yes.' Catherine chewed anxiously on her underlip. 'I—I do understand. I will think about it, I promise.'
He made an impatient sound, and reached up, his hands on her shoulders propelling her back against the pillow while he loomed over her.
'You'll think about it?' he repeated savagely. 'Five minutes ago you lay in my arms swearing you loved me.'
'I do!'
'As much as you love your "boss and friend"? I'm asking you to choose, Cath
erine.'
'Don't you trust me?'
'You make it rather difficult.'
Her breath sucked into her throat. 'It won't happen again, Jason, I swear it.'
'Can you swear he means nothing to you?'
About to say yes, she was halted by a sense of dishonesty.
Her hesitation was fatal. Jason's eyes went cold, and he let her go as though he could no longer hear to touch her. 'You can't have us both,' he said. 'Oh, I believe you when you tell me you're not sleeping with him, but I won't play King Mark to your Tristan and Isolde, thanks. The thought of the two of you exchanging yearning looks and suffering nobly sickens me.'
'We are not exchanging yearning looks!' she protested furiously. 'We're too busy working to do that, even if we wanted to! Which we don't!'
'No?'
'No! I could lie and say he means nothing to me. I'm trying to be completely honest with you, instead. He's a friend, a special friend.'
'A dear friend!'
Ignoring the sneer in his voice, she said, 'Yes, a dear friend. Do you really think I could go to bed with someone who means nothing at all to me?'
Jason was silent, his mouth tight, if I mean anything to you,' he said, 'you'll give him up.'
'I have given him up, in the sense that you mean,' she said. 'I haven't even seen him alone since—since then.'
'And what about him? How long do you think he'll settle for your platonic idyll?'
'You don't know him,' she said. 'You don't understand.'
'You're damned right I don't! Make your choice, Catherine. It's him or me.'
'You're being unfair,' she said quietly. 'I've already made that choice, and you know I chose you, there was no contest. Now you're asking me to choose between you and work that I love, work that means a great deal to me.'
if it's a job you want, you can get another one.'
'There isn't another job like this one! You know that!'
He shrugged, and she said, 'You never have liked my having a job, have you? I think it's my work that you're jealous of, really. All this about my seeing Russel is just an excuse.'
'That's rubbish! If we're talking of excuses, isn't the job just an excuse to see him, if you're honest, as you claim to be? You're not an actress, you've practically no experience, and he comes along and gets you a place hostessing your own TV show, just like that!'
'Oh, what's the use!' she cried, flinging herself away from him, turning on her side. 'You won't listen, you don't want to be reasonable, you're so eaten up with jealousy you're not even capable of thinking straight!'
'Well, you know what to do about it.' he said. 'I could do with proof that you really care about me, and about our marriage.'
Catherine refused to answer, lying dry-eyed in the darkness long after he had gone to sleep beside her.
Surprisingly, Catherine found an ally in her mother-in-law. Althea had been in the kitchen, preparing a tray for Winston, while Catherine made breakfast for the children and Jason read his paper.
Afterwards, when Catherine was clearing up, Althea brought back the empty tray and said, 'Winston's going to lie in for a little while before he gets up.
Is there any coffee left?'
'Sit down,' Catherine said automatically. 'I'll get you some.'
'Thank you, dear.'
Catherine, feeling the need of a mild stimulant, poured a cup for herself as well and joined the other woman at the table.
'Have you and Jason been arguing?' Althea enquired.
'What makes you think so?' Catherine asked cautiously, her defense mechanisms rushing into play.
'I know my son, dear. When he glowers like that there's trouble brewing for someone. He always used to look exactly that way when he didn't get his own way as a child.'
'I've never been able to imagine Jason as a child,' Catherine confessed.
Unexpectedly, Althea laughed. 'Oh, he was one—for a very short time, I'm afraid. Winston always insisted on him being a little man, and he was mature by the time he was sixteen, I think. You don't have them for very long.' She paused. 'You seemed very young for him, when I met you. I thought that—'
'That it might not work out for us?'
Althea nodded. 'I was afraid that he was seeking his own youth in you—the youth that he never really had. Winston was always so keen for him to assume his responsibilities—and when Jason went into the business it didn't work out. They clashed terribly. It was much better when Jason followed his own bent and struck out independently. Of course there were rows. I had tried to warn Winston, but he's a very stubborn man—Jason has inherited that, too, you'll know. And I didn't ever have a great deal of say in his upbringing. Winston always said he'd take care of the boys, and leave the girls to me. Only there never were any girls, of course, and by the time we realised there weren't going to be any, Jason was very much his daddy's boy.'
'I'm sorry,' Catherine murmured.
'Oh, well.' Althea sipped at her coffee, holding the cup in both her long, veined hands, it's all water under the bridge now. I try to compensate with Jason's—your—children, Catherine. Do you mind very much?'
'No.' She had minded terribly, especially when she had been younger and very unsure of herself. Now, with a glimmering of understanding, she felt able to view Althea's interference a little more tolerantly.
Althea smiled, a little sadly. 'I expect you do. really. Anyway, we'll be gone in a couple of weeks, now, and you'll have them all to yourself again 'They'll miss you,' Catherine told her.
'I daresay they will, for a little while. Will you let us have them again, some time?'
'Yes, of course, they loved staying with you.'
'Will they keep going to your friend while you're working?'
'I don't know. Bridie won't let me give her money. I may need to get a regular babysitter.'
Althea said nothing, and Catherine said rather defensively, 'Jason wants me to stop working. There would be no need to bother with someone to look after them, if I do.'
'Are you going to?'
'Probably.' Catherine stirred her coffee unnecessarily, brooding.
'I shouldn't, if I were you,' said Althea.
Catherine stared in astonishment. She had been quite certain that Althea disapproved of her working. 'You wouldn't?' she echoed blankly. 'But I thought—I was sure you would agree with Jason.'
'I admit I didn't like the idea at first,' said Althea. 'But I've been thinking, since Winston had this heart attack. I suppose I'm a very selfish woman, but once I got over the initial shock, and when we were told that he wasn't going to die, all sorts of strange thoughts occurred to me. At least, l hey were strange to me.'
She paused abruptly, as though embarrassed, and Catherine queried, 'What kind of thoughts?'
'Well,' Althea said slowly, 'I thought—I've devoted my life to this man, to looking after his home, his health, his interests, his son, even. That's how I always think of Jason, you know, as Winston's son. Odd, I suppose, but then Winston is such a very forceful man, he—stamps ownership on everything.
Including me. I was quite a nice-looking girl, you know, when we got married, and for a long time afterwards, because Winston liked me to look good, he never stinted me for clothes, make-up, anything like that—but I would never have dared to stray. There were chances, but—well, I never took them. Anyway, I thought, here I am, and I've submerged myself in this man, what do I have of my own, what would I do if he wasn't here for me to care for, listen to, pick up after? What will I do if I'm left on my own? I would exist on Winston's money, make myself a sort of walking, talking monument to his memory.'
Catherine stared at her, fascinated, appalled. Althea put down her cup and said, 'Don't get me wrong, my dear. I love Winston—I'm very fond of him.
And I know that he thinks the world of me. But, you see, I've allowed myself to become an extension of him. I have no real existence of my own.
Even our friends—I think they've all been business acquaintances of Winston's, to begin with. T
hey're his friends, really; he chose the men, and I had to get along with the women. I had one really close girl friend before we were married, but she and Winston didn't click, somehow. I never see her now, not for years and years. Sometimes I wonder where she is, what she's doing. We'd known each other since we were five years old.'
'That's very sad.'
'Yes, I suppose it is. One stops minding as one gets older. I see that shocks you, too. I've talked too much.'
'No, you haven't. I'm glad you felt able to talk to me.'
'Well, I hope it made some sense. You've changed, you know,' Althea told her, 'I've ilevet felt able to really talk to you before. The generation gap, I suppose. You've always seemed so very young and—brittle, somehow, as though a wrong word could shatter you. You're much more resilient, now, more self-assured. Perhaps it's that job.'
'It's given me a lot of confidence in myself that I didn't have before,' said Catherine. 'I don't want to give it up.'
'Then don't. A few hours a week without you won't harm the children; in fact, it might be good for them. They're not babies. And Jason is growing too much like his father. They have admirable qualities, both of them, but they're much too fond of laying down the law and expecting others to toe the line. Stand up to him.'
'Perhaps I will.' But of course the situation was much more complex than Althea was aware of. Exchanging confidences with her was too novel an experience for Catherine to go any further. But Althea's support did somehow bring a new dimension to bear. She had been racked with guilt and indecision ever since Jason had given his ultimatum. Shouldn't she be ready and willing to give up her job to save their marriage, to prove to him that she did really love him? She had accused him of putting his work before her—wasn't she now guilty of doing the same?
And yet it seemed unfair. She loved her job, it was doing no one any harm, she was still doing her duty as his wife, and the mother of his children.
Should she bow to an unreasonable demand, just because he made it, as her husband?A Victorian wife, of course, would have had no hesitation, and indeed no choice. But times had moved on since then. Didn't a woman have an equal right to self-fulfilment outside the home as well as within it?