The Open Marriage

by Flora Kidd

  Stunned, her father had left and she had turned to Alun and had asked hesitantly,

  'Did you mean what you said just now?'

  'Would you like me to have meant it?' he had replied mockingly.

  'Yes—oh, yes, I would! I would like to be married to you,' she had whispered sincerely.

  'Then I meant it,' he had said, stepping towards her, and taking her in his arms, he had kissed her for the first time since they had met, the way she had always wanted to be kissed, with passion and yet with tenderness too.

  So they had been married in the modern way. She hadn't changed her last name and they had agreed that each of them should be free to go and come without hindrance. And it had worked, even after she had returned to work for her father. It had worked until Sally Fairbourne had begun to drop hints about there being another woman in Alun's life; a woman in New York who had worked as an editor for the magazine that published Alun's articles.

  'How do you know?' Jessica had demanded, trying to ignore the stabs of jealousy she had been feeling.

  'Because he used to tell us about her, of course,' Sally had retorted. They had been having lunch together in Beechfield High Street at a new fast food restaurant. Sally had just graduated with a degree in languages and had been looking for a job.

  Then you know her name,' Jessica had said.

  'Yes. It's Ashley King. Her father was one of the founders of the magazine. Alun is really thick with her. It was she who persuaded the editorial board of the magazine to accept his first article . . . and she's made sure he's had assignments ever since. Why don't you ask him about her next time he comes home?'

  The next time had been the following week when after returning from an assignment and being home only one day Alun had announced he had to fly to New York the very next day.

  'To see Ashley King?' Jessica had asked as casually as she could, watching him pack clothes in readiness to catch a plane from Heathrow that noon.

  'Probably, among others,' he had replied carelessly, but the glance had given her had been sharp. 'They—the editorial board—have asked me to go to the Canadian Arctic this summer, to cover the last part of an expedition that's been following the route taken by Eskimos migrating from the Bering Strait to Baffin Bay. Wallis Grove, who was originally assigned as writer for the trip, was drowned last month. I'll be away until September.'

  He had given her another frowning glance. 'How do you know about Ashley? Have I ever mentioned her to you?'

  'No. But Sally told me about her last week,' she had replied—and then she had made her big mistake. She had asked him if he had Ashley King were lovers.

  If she had wanted to keep Alun she should have held her tongue. After all, she had agreed that their marriage was to be open. She should also have known better than to have engaged in a verbal battle with him. She had been no match for him, and finally, deriding her for being childish and jealously possessive, he had slammed out of the flat on his way to the airport, leaving her question unanswered.

  'Alun only married you because your father was so angry with you, you know,' Sally had remarked when Jessica had told her friend nearly a year later that she had come to the conclusion that Alun had left her. She had, at the time, been trying to find out from Sally if she knew of Alun's whereabouts. 'And because your father threatened to sue him for kidnapping and seducing you. Marriage isn't really Alun's line. He likes his freedom too much, and I expect he's been looking for a way out ever since he married you. He's probably staying away from you now so you can get a divorce for desertion. Why don't you?'

  'I ... I ... oh, because I don't know where he is,' Jessica had mumbled defensively. 'I'd have to see him again before I could do anything like that. Do you know where he is?'

  'No.' Sally had shaken her head. 'He's just disappeared. No one in our family has seen him sues his father died.'

  Leaving the bed, Jessica went over to the window and looked out at the misty moon. She still felt the same about divorcing Alun as she had when she had talked to Sally last year. She couldn't do anything until she saw him first and found out if there was any way of saving their marriage. She would have to go and see him.

  'When?' she asked the moon.

  'Now,' came the answer from within herself. 'Leave now. You know you're not going to sleep. Pack, write a note for your mother telling her you've gone to see Alun in Wales and that you'll be back on either Wednesday or Thursday. If you leave now you'll be in Dolgellau by the afternoon today. You could go to see him this evening. Go on, do it. You know you're longing to see him.'

  It took her only half an hour to pack the clothes she needed for a day and a night, to get dressed and write a note for her mother that she propped up against the toaster in the kitchen, and as she drove along country lanes on her way to Ml, the motorway going north, the first pale streaks of dawn were beginning to show in the west. The shortest night of the year was over.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FEELING the effects of a sleepless night and tired with driving, Jessica did not go as far as Dolgellau that day but decided to stop in Dinas Mawddwy, pronounced Deenass Mouth-oo-ee, where she stayed the night in a small hotel and slept a good twelve hours without dreaming in a bedroom tucked under the eaves of a steeply sloping slate roof.

  Next morning she woke to a world of grey misty drizzle that hid the hills surrounding the town. Her breakfast was served by the manageress-owner of the hotel, a flame-haired woman, who asked her if she would be staying long in the district.

  'We have good fishing and there are many pleasant walks in the hills. And then there's the Meirion Mill. It's open to visitors and you can buy local wool there and see them weaving it into lengths of Welsh tweed,' said the woman, whose name was Eira Thomas. 'You can also take a trip to Bala. You must have heard of Bala Lake—it's the largest natural lake in Wales. You can sail and swim there.'

  'It sounds very nice,' Jessica replied politely. 'But I'm going to Dolgellau. Do you know that area at all?'

  'Do I know it? I was born and grew up there,' said Eira. 'And my Aunt Bessie still owns the grocery shop there. She lets out rooms too, bed and breakfast, above the shop. You can't miss it. In the main street it is. Tell her you've been staying with me and she's sure to make you comfortable.'

  'Thank you,' smiled Jessica. 'Do you know of a house called Whitewalls? It's supposed to be near Dolgellau.'

  'Well, fancy you asking about it!' exclaimed Eira, sitting down on the other chair at the table. 'I used to go to Whitewalls often when I was a girl. I was friendly with Margian Gower, see? You may have heard of her. She's an actress in London, now.'

  'Yes, I've seen her on the stage—but is it far, the house I mean, from Dolgellau?' persisted Jessica, thinking she would drive right through Dolgellau, visit Alun, say what she had to say and drive right back to Dynass Mawddwy or even to Welshpool that same day.

  'About fifteen or twenty kilometres, I'd say,' said Eira. 'But it's off the beaten track, in a valley between the hills. You'd have to drive right through Dolgellau as if you were going to Penmaenpool and then take the second road to the left off that. Not the first road, that goes to Lyn Gwernan, but the second. There's a signpost, but it's small and you might miss it. The lane is very narrow and winding and in bad weather it sometimes gets washed away.' Eira's bright blue eyes gleamed with curiosity. 'But whatever would you be wanting to go to Whitewalls for?' she asked. 'Are you friendly with the Gowers?'

  What would she say, I wonder, if I said I'm Alun Gower's wife? thought Jessica.

  'I just wanted to see the house where Huw Gower used to live,' she said out loud. 'I've always admired his poetry.'

  'I could never understand it myself,' said Eira frankly. 'But then I'm not into literature. And he wrote a lot of it in Welsh and I can't read or speak the language. I mean, what's the point? It's dying out. They teach it in the schools now but they can't make it the language of the home. And all the tourists speak English and we make our money out of them.'

  'If you use
d to visit Whitewalls you must have met Huw Gower,' said Jessica.

  'Many times. He was a nice man, soft-spoken and kind. A sheep farmer really, for all he wrote poetry and was crowned bard of Wales. But he had no control over his children. Both Margian and Alun ran wild and they both left the valley.' Eira frowned. 'But come to think of it, Aunt Bessie was telling me Alun is living at the farm just now and there's talk that he's going to start an adventure school—you know, one of those places where you can spend your summer holidays rock-climbing or canoeing. Wouldn't do for me. I like the bright lights when I go on holiday.' Eria laughed and stood up. 'Well, I must be getting on with the work. Don't forget now, if you want to stay in Dolgellau, go to Rowlands the grocer and Aunt Bessie will see you're all right.'

  An hour or so later Jessica drove into Dolgellau. Sturdy houses built of a dark local stone glistened in the soft drizzling rain and she had no difficulty in spotting Rowland's grocery store that was on the ground floor of a tall, gabled building.

  But she didn't stop. She drove straight through the town and out along the road to Penmaenpool. Thin clouds, like grey chiffon scarves, swirled about the hillsides, completely blotting out views of the summits. The surface of the road was wet and slippery and at the sides of it long grasses were starred with daisies and buttercups. Honeysuckle vines twined over stones walls that confined misty green fields.

  Jessica passed the end of the road to Llyn Gwernan and began to watch carefully for the second road to the left and a sign pointing to Whitewalls, excitement beating suddenly through her. Soon she would be there. Soon she would see Alun again. What would he say when he saw her?

  She bit her lower lip, imagining him making some biting sarcastic remark, and in the next instant stiffened her shoulders and tilted her chin. She mustn't let him intimidate her. She mustn't let him defeat her in verbal battle as he had the last time. She must behave calmly and coolly, and go straight to the point; ask him if he would agree to a divorce.

  The car climbed to the crest of a steep hill and through a break in the mist she had a glimpse of the road twisting down towards flatter land, green and cultivated beside a wide river estuary. Rays of pale sunshine slanted from behind ragged clouds, making the surface of the distant grey water gleam yellow. Then the mist swirled in front of the car again, blotting out the view.

  A gleam of white on the left caught her attention and she slowed the car. It was a signpost at the end of a narrow road. A Welsh name was painted on the sign in black. Underneath the name were the words: To Whitewalls.

  Cautiously Jessica turned the car into the narrow road which was only wide enough to take one vehicle. The surface of the road was unmade and rough with grey stones. On one side a stream foamed white between misty green banks and on the other the hillside sloped upwards, the short green grass scattered with grey rocks and white sheep. The road followed the course of the stream upwards and in parts seemed to be a stream itself because water trickled downward between the stones.

  Jessica was just beginning to think it was the original road to nowhere, leading her further and further into the mysterious swirling mist from which she would never return, when the car juddered to a stop. Thinking she had stalled the engine, she turned off the ignition, pulled on the brake and turned on the ignition again. Nothing happened. She glanced at the dials in front of her and gave a sigh of exasperation. Of course—she had run out of petrol. She remembered now thinking that she should stop in Dolgellau to fill up the tank, but she had been so eager to get on to this road to Whitewalls, so keen to get the meeting with Alun over and done with, that she had forgotten. And now she was stuck here, miles from anywhere and unable to see where she was going. For a while she sat and considered her options.

  She could leave the car here and walk on towards the house, hoping that she would find it in the mist. Or she could walk back to the main road and start off towards Dolgellau hoping that a car might come along and give her a lift to the nearest petrol garage where she could pick up a can of petrol and hope that someone would drive her back here.

  Eventually she got out of the car and locked the doors. Fine drizzle swept around her, so she took a scarf from her raincoat pocket and tied it over her head. If she went back to the road and tried to get to Dolgellau she would get soaked. It would be better to go on towards Whitewalls. The house couldn't be very far away now and there would be shelter there, and Alun would have petrol, surely. He couldn't possibly live this far out from the nearest town without having a vehicle of some sort.

  It wasn't easy walking along that rough road in high-heeled shoes and she wished she'd thought to bring a pair of walking shoes. But then she hadn't intended to do any cross-country walking when she had left home the day before. She had intended just to have a brief meeting with Alun, ask him if he would agree to a divorce and, once she had his answer, to leave.

  Sheep, unseen on the misty hillside, bleated mournfully. The stream chuckled over its rocky bed. Behind her Jessica could hear the drone of an engine. A vehicle passing the end of the narrow road? She stopped to listen.

  Now, the sound wasn't going away from her, it was coming towards her. She looked back in the direction she had come. The sound grew louder. A vehicle loomed out of the mist. It wasn't a car but a Land Rover, ideal for that rough road. She waved a hand at it and it stopped beside her. Her heart did a strange little lurch when the nearest door opened and Alun looked down at her, a slight smile curving his lips, his golden eyes gleaming between thick black lashes.

  'Is that your car back there?' he asked, speaking to her as if they hadn't been apart for nearly two years.

  'Yes. I ran out of petrol,' she replied breathlessly.

  'You're on your way to see me, I suppose,' he said. His lean sun-browned face expressed no surprise and his eyes were without expression as he looked her over.

  'Yes.' Now that she was actually face to face with him she seemed to have lost the power of speech. She could only stare at him, feeling the old familiar attraction to him pulsing through her.

  'Then you'd better get in,' he said, and slid over until he was behind the steering wheel again. 'It's another two and a half kilometres to the farm and you'd find it pretty hard going in those shoes.'

  Jessica got into the seat beside him, slammed the door shut and tried to speak calmly and sensibly.

  'If you would take me back to Dolgellau to get a can of petrol we could talk on the way,' she said firmly.

  His hand on the gear lever ready to push it into first, he slanted her a glance.

  'I'd prefer to go home first, have a bath and change my clothes and eat some food before talking,' he replied coolly. 'I've been on the mountain since sunrise, helping to search for two climbers -who didn't get back yesterday when they were expected at their lodgings.'

  'Which mountain?' she asked as the vehicle lurched forward. She might as well save her breath than ask him again to take her to Dolgellau. They would do what he wanted to do. They always had.

  'Cader Idris. If it wasn't for the mist you'd be able to see it, over there.' He jerked his head towards her side of the Land Rover.

  'Did you find the climbers?' she asked.

  'Yes. One of them had slipped and had hurt her leg, and the other one was sensible enough to stay with her until they were both found. They're on their way to the nearest hospital now, a little wiser and more respectful of the mountain and the weather.'

  Hearing the critical rasp in his voice, remembering he had never had time for people who went climbing or camping or exploring without proper preparation, she glanced at him. He was probably thinking critically of her too, because she had come this far without filling up the car's tank first.

  'Why did you go to search for the climbers?' she asked.

  'I'm a member of the local mountain rescue team.'

  'But how did they contact you? Margian said. . ..' She broke off confusedly, realising she had betrayed the fact that she had seen his sister.

  'Did Margian tell you where to fi
nd me?' he demanded.

  'Yes. But I promised I wouldn't tell you she told me, so please don't tell her I gave her away,' she said, turning to him. 'I'd have phoned you, before coming, or even instead of coming, but she said you don't have a phone. That's why I wondered how the mountain rescue people contacted you.'

  'We keep in touch by radio,' he replied, and gave her another sidelong glance. 'You could have written instead of coming.'

  'I know, but . . . well, it seemed to me I ought to see you first. Alun, why haven't you written to me? Why haven't you been to see me?'

  He didn't reply, nor did he glance at her again. The road dipped down into a green valley caught between misty hills and, as if to make them welcome, the clouds split and a gleam of sunlight shone through on the walls of a small white house that was situated on a hillock above the shining waters of a small lake.

  Trees, an unclipped hedge and a five-barred gate loomed before them in the sun-shot mist and Alun stopped the Land Rover to get out and open the gate. When he had driven through the opening he got out to close the gate behind him and drove on along a rutted muddy lane towards the house. In the field beside her Jessica noticed a group of stones, some standing upright, other lying horizontally supported by the perpendicular ones, forming a sort of small shelter.

  'A stone burial chamber,' said Alun, noticing her glance. 'There are scores of them in North Wales. My father liked to think this one was erected by his ancestors, dark-haired people from the Continent who came here in the Stone and Bronze ages, long before the Celts came. His own burial spot is over there under that old apple tree. He wanted to be buried near the things he loved; the house, the lake, the mountain behind.'

  Feeling her skin prickle a little, remembering that Wales was a land of myths, where strange rituals had been performed long ago Jessica glanced at the apple tree. Under the spread of its gnarled branches a white cross gleamed, too far away for her to read what was written upon it.

  The Land Rover lumbered over more mud and into a yard behind the house. Alun turned off the engine and opened the door beside him and got out. Jessica opened the door beside her and looked down at the mud, biting her lip as she thought of her elegant leather shoes. They would be ruined if she stepped into it.