‘So he got his own way over that, like he got his own way over everything else in his life?’
‘He couldn’t have done anything if it hadn’t been a boy,’ she protested.
‘He might have taken his displeasure out on you.’
‘He’s not like that. He’s a very considerate husband.’
He laughed at this. ‘I’m relieved to hear it. I’m glad I’ve got the chance to talk to you in private, Cissie. I want to tell you something I don’t want Phoebe to hear. I made a new will last week, leaving Phoebe the house and the mill as before, and half the money – still a very substantial amount. The other half will go to Ricky. Bertram has always known how I felt about him, and he must have suspected that I would cut him out. I think that’s why he was so determined to have a son – to provide me with another heir.’
‘He wouldn’t care if you left everything to Phoebe.’
Richard smiled benevolently. ‘She’ll still have more than enough to last her for the rest of her life. I must say at this point, that however disappointed I was in my son, his choice of wife had my full approval. Now, on to the other thing I wanted to discuss with you. I’ve been thinking of taking Phoebe to America for a holiday, for a year or perhaps two. Do you think she would like that?’
‘Oh, I’m sure she would.’
‘I thought it best to go before—’ he paused. ‘My doctor tells me I have only a few years to live – some obscure form of cancer. No, Cissie, don’t say anything. I do not mean to tell Phoebe. I’d like us to see as much of America as possible. I shall make the arrangements tomorrow, then. Now, we’d better go. You’ll want to be home before Phoebe gets there with Ricky.’
They drove home in silence, Cissie barely able to take in the dreadful news that soon she – and Phoebe – would lose this wonderful man.
Bertram did not pay much attention that evening to Cissie’s account of her visit. ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘It was a wee bit too far for me, but Phoebe pushed Ricky home in the pram and Richard took me in his car. He’s going to take her to America for a long holiday.’
‘Mm.’
‘And he was speaking about his will. He said – oh . . .’ How could she keep Richard’s illness from her husband? She stopped in confusion. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be saying anything, though he didn’t tell me not to tell you.’
Bertram’s head had jerked up. This was something he did want to know. ‘You’d better go on now you’ve started.’
‘He’s been told he only has a few years to live, isn’t that awful?’
This shook him for a moment, then his mind turned to what it meant to him, and he asked, curtly, ‘What about his will?’
‘Ricky gets half his money and Phoebe gets everything else.’
‘I always said she was a gold-digger.’
‘That’s not fair, Bertram. She didn’t ask him to do it, in fact she doesn’t know anything about it. You surely don’t mind? She is his wife.’
It could have been worse, Bertram thought. At least half the wealth would be within his grasp soon. ‘No, I don’t mind. I knew he wasn’t pleased because I wouldn’t go into the mill, the family business, and I guessed he’d cut me off without a penny, like my grandfather did.’
‘I’ve often wondered about that. Was that the only reason your grandfather had?’
‘Not exactly.’ He decided to come clean, or half clean, at any rate. ‘I was a fool when I came out of the army first, running around with lots of young things and spending all my money on them. Then Dickson’s Supplies didn’t get off the ground for such a long time, Father and Grandfather thought I was useless, not fit to inherit anything.’
‘I see,’ Cissie said, thoughtfully. ‘And were you still running around with girls then?’
‘God, no, Cissie! Once I started going with you, I never looked at another girl.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about them before?’
‘I wasn’t sure how you’d feel, but it was just – oh, after what I’d seen in the war, I went off the rails a bit when I came home. Nothing to worry about, it’s all over long ago.’
‘Now I understand why your father said some of the things he did, but I told him you were the best husband ever.’
‘As I shall continue to be, my darling.’
‘Cissie,’ Dorothy burst out, as soon as she went into her friend’s house one wet day at the beginning of November. ‘I’m near sure I’m expecting.’
‘Oh, I can’t tell you how glad I am, Dorothy. I sometimes wondered if you were jealous of me having Ricky.’
‘Maybe I was, just a teeny bit, but, oh, I’ll have a wee bundle of my own in another eight months.’
Cissie giggled. ‘You wouldn’t be so happy if you’d seen this one half an hour ago. I’d newly changed him when the wee monkey dirtied himself again, and it was all over his gowns and bootees and right up his back. I’d to strip him to the skin and give him another bath.’
Dorothy chuckled. ‘Thanks for letting me know what’s in front of me, but they say shit’s lucky.’
‘Have you told Roland yet?’
‘I couldn’t keep it to myself, though I’m still not really sure.’ Dorothy paused, then looked at Cissie thoughtfully. ‘Did Bertram stop making love when you were carrying?’
Cissie blushed. She was shy of discussing this, but her friend obviously had something on her mind. ‘Not till I was about seven months on, and he hasn’t touched me since.’
‘Huh! As soon as I told Roland, he was on me like a ton of bricks, and you’d have thought he was trying to make another six babies the way he was going at it. I wish he would stop, for I’d love one whole night of peace.’
Cissie had smiled for a moment, then realised that Dorothy was in earnest. ‘Once you’re nearer your time he’ll stop.’
‘I doubt it.’
Waiting for Bertram to come home that evening, Cissie wished that he was more like Roland. He had stopped fussing over her like he did before Ricky was born; it was as if he didn’t even like her now, for he hardly spent any time in the house. If only he would tell her occasionally that he loved her, like he used to. Her heart cramped suddenly, as it occurred to her that he had only once said that he loved her, and that had been long before their wedding, the night she had responded by saying she didn’t love him.
Miserably, she tried to tell herself that she was wrong, that each time they made love he had said he loved her, yet she could only remember her own declarations, not his. But he did love her, of course he did. His kisses proved that – but there had been no kisses for a long time, either.
The baby had finished his last feed before Bertram came in, and Cissie, having been brooding for hours, could not help saying, ‘I’m surprised you came home at all.’
As soon as it was out, she wished she hadn’t said it, and could see that her sarcasm had angered him. ‘What is there to come home for?’ he snapped. ‘A woman so tied up with her child that she doesn’t bother to dress for her husband?’
So that was it, she thought, relief flooding through her. He was jealous of the baby, that was why he was so distant with her. ‘I’m sorry, Bertram. I didn’t want to spoil my lovely gowns when I’m still feeding Ricky.’
‘And that’s another thing. It disgusts me to see you flaunting your bare breasts the way you do. Why, you even did it one night in front of Roland Barclay, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off them. You belong to me, and no other man has the right to see any part of you.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think. When I lived in – when I came to Dundee first, it was nothing to see mothers standing on the pavements with babies at their bare breasts, and nobody bothered, not even the men going past. It’s quite natural.’
‘Perhaps amongst the riff-raff, but not in my circles.’
‘Oh, Bertram, stop being so silly. A change would upset the baby, and in any case, mother’s milk is far better than any powdered stuff. I don’t care what you say, I’m going to carry on breastfeeding.’
‘Is that why you don’t love me any more?’ Cissie said, plaintively.
‘Love!’ he exploded. ‘That’s all a woman ever thinks of. Isn’t it enough that I married you, and gave you a beautiful home and expensive clothes? I’ve made love to you . . .’
‘Not since before Ricky was born.’
‘Ha! Now it’s out. You want me to start making love to you again, is that it? Why didn’t you say? It hasn’t been easy for me to keep my hands off you – it’s been a long time.’ His voice, and his eyes, softened now. ‘All right, my dear, upstairs with you this minute.’
Presuming that the cruel things he had said had been the result of his long self-enforced celibacy, Cissie forgave him and followed him up to their bedroom.
Wishing that she had let well alone, Cissie sat in the dining room long after her husband went to his office in the morning, her whole body aching from the terrible things he had done. Had that been the real Bertram? Had he held himself back before, or was she misjudging him? It was the first time in months for him, and who could blame him for being over-excited? It would be better tonight.
Sadly, Cissie was to discover that things did not improve. Bertram was like a crazy man every night, punching her, even biting her and drawing blood – in places where the marks would not be seen – working himself up into a frenzy before he rammed into her to satisfy himself fully, all the while shouting that he loved her, but not as if he meant it. At other times, he wanted her to be the brutal one, and made her do vile things to him in spite of her outraged protests. She dreaded going to bed with him and struggled against him with all her strength as soon as he touched her, but she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her screaming or pleading with him to stop.
It grew even worse when he started tearing off her clothes as soon as they went into the bedroom, forcing her down on her knees on the floor, pulling her arms up behind her until she thought they would be torn from their sockets.
‘I’m your master!’ he exulted, one night. ‘Say I’m your master, damn you!’
She wouldn’t say it. She wouldn’t degrade herself – no man had the right to treat a woman like that, not even his wife – and he hauled her to her feet and threw her on the bed to do the foul things he seemed to revel in.
She knew the servants were speaking about her now. She had caught them in a huddle several times in the kitchen, and though they jumped apart, the way they looked at her showed they knew what was going on. Elma slept in the basement, two floors below, but could she have heard?
After some months of nights when she wished she were dead, she longed to confide in someone, to ask advice, to find out if other men behaved in the same way, but it was so shameful that she couldn’t let anyone know, and there was no one to tell, anyway. Dorothy Barclay was so happy in her pregnancy that it would be wicked to upset her, and Phoebe had gone to America three months before.
The odd thing, Cissie thought one morning, was that at all other times Bertram was the perfect husband. He came home early, and sat with her in the sitting room after dinner, telling her what he had done during the day and asking about their son’s progress. At these times, she loved him as much as ever, but at night-time Bertram was a stranger to her – a horrible stranger she loathed with all her being. She was tired of fighting him – maybe she should threaten to show Dorothy the marks he had left on her. That would surely make him stop. In any case, she didn’t intend to let him do what he wanted without a murmur, and to do what he asked her to do to him. She must try to get the better of him.
Bertram was furious. Not only had Cissie threatened to show Dorothy Barclay what he had done to her, she had ended up by locking him out of their bedroom, after all he had done for her – a common spinner! He had provided her with a lovely home, good food, expensive clothes, and this was how she repaid him! He should have married a girl from his own class, or, preferably, a class above, but she’d been the only girl he could think of at the time who would fit the bill as far as his father was concerned. Granted, she had given him the son who would make it possible for him to get his hands on half the Dickson fortune in the not-too-distant future, but that didn’t give her liberty to refuse him his rights.
Maybe it was time to move on to somebody new, for even Barbara Troup had palled on him before he stopped going to her. Elma had shaped up very well when she’d shared his bed during the two weeks Cissie was in the Maternity Hospital, and hadn’t been disgusted by anything he did, but she was only a skivvy and he could do better than that.
Cissie had served her purpose, and he would have to think of some way to be free of her, but he’d better wait until Ricky was not so dependent on his mother. He would have to make her leave the boy behind, which would be a mammoth task, but it would have to be done. His son was the safeguard to his future. He had better not wait too long, however. It must be done before his father and Phoebe returned from America. His stepmother would be livid when she found out, but it would be too late for her to do anything.
Chapter Twenty-three
1925
Cissie was thankful that Bertram’s violent love-making had not resulted in the making of another child, although there had been times when she hoped it would, so that he would leave her alone for a few months. She had suffered agonising pain every night, even when she had been indisposed, but it was all over. Whatever had caused her husband’s savagery – he must have had a brainstorm – it was over.
Their marriage had settled down again, and they were just an ordinary husband and wife now – no, not ordinary, because he never made love to her at all, but she preferred it that way. She didn’t believe she would ever be able to let him touch her again. He stayed out late three or four times a week, but she didn’t mind that. Several mills were having difficulties – some short-sighted engineers had exported textile machinery to Calcutta at one time, and India could now produce the goods cheaper than Dundee – and Bertram’s would be no different. He probably hadn’t wanted to burden her with his problems, and was sorting them out himself when the office was closed.
At almost a year old, Ricky was crawling about, a happy wee soul, babbling away unintelligibly. ‘I think you must have taken up with a foreigner,’ Dorothy teased, one day.
Cissie laughed, because her son was the very image of Bertram. ‘What an imagination you’ve got. I believe you could write a book if you tried.’
‘Write a book?’ Dorothy scoffed. ‘It takes me all my time to write my name, yet I still landed a rich husband.’
‘How did you meet Roland? I’ve often wondered.’
‘By accident, really. I went over my ankle one Sunday, and I was hanging on to a lamppost in agony when a car drew up and this handsome man asked what was wrong. It was love at first sight, and in a couple of months he’d bought a house and married me. Can you imagine it? Me, up to my ankles in Axminster when I was used to bare congoleum. Da didn’t work half the time, and Ma was a cleaner. I think they starved themselves so I could get enough to eat, and I often wonder if that’s why I was an only child. They couldn’t have had the strength to – oops! I nearly said it. Roland would have a fit if he thought I knew words like that.’
Dorothy gave a rippling chuckle. ‘It’s a good thing we’ve got husbands like we have, though. It’s good to know we’ll be kept in luxury for the rest of our lives.’
For a moment, Cissie remembered how bleak the outlook was for all industry in Dundee. If the worst came to the worst, and Bertram had to close his mill, would there come a time when he couldn’t keep her in luxury? But he still had his other business, and people would always need groceries. She would never be poor again, never have to suffer the hardship she’d had to put up with in Jen’s squalid room.
She suddenly remembered what Richard had told her just after Ricky was born, and was glad that Phoebe was a
lso set for life. Thinking about her stepmother led her to observe, ‘I got another letter from Phoebe yesterday. They’re still in New York, but Richard’s hired a car, and they’re going to drive across to California. She said it would take them days, though I can hardly imagine a country that size. I only hope he’s not taxing his strength too much.’
Sitting in the drawing room one evening after a solitary dinner, Cissie was feeling neglected. Bertram never showed her any affection these days, and at breakfast he had said, ‘I’m going to a conference in Glasgow today, and I’ve heard there’s usually a booze-up afterwards. Most of the others live around there, so it won’t matter to them, but I don’t fancy driving home with a drink in. I’ll have to spend the night in a hotel, and I’ll go straight to the warehouse when I get back in the morning.’
‘You’ve never been a whole night away from me before,’ she had said, sadly.
‘This may not be the only time. I’ll have to start going all over the country to drum up business for the mill.’
She admired him for his determination, but hated having to be on her own overnight. Not that she was completely alone, though she couldn’t count Ricky, and Elma was anything but friendly towards her.
Cissie looked up in surprise when the maid opened the door without knocking and said, ‘A man’s asking to see you.’
Frowning at her rudeness, Cissie wondered who it could be. The men Bertram dealt with should know to go to the mill or the warehouse in office hours. Before she could tell the girl to say that the master was not at home, the man walked in. ‘I bet I’m the last person you expected to see.’
Giving a shriek of delight, she jumped up and threw her arms round her brother’s neck. ‘Tommy! Tommy!’
They hugged ecstatically, Tommy stroking her hair as he kissed her cheek, and neither of them noticed that the maid was watching them, her calculating eyes narrowing before she closed the door softly behind her.
Cissie was first to draw away. ‘Sit down, Tommy, and tell me how you knew where I was.’
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