The Open Marriage

by Flora Kidd

  He caught up with her by the door that opened into the porch and bent his head towards her. His breath was hot against her cheek and his eyes blazed into hers again.

  'You've never loved me—not really, not truly,' he whispered. 'You only had a crush on me ... like Sally had. Like that girl Glynis has. You weren't grown up enough to love me, you spoilt brat.'

  'That's not true!' she flared. 'I loved you—I know I did. But if you'd loved me you wouldn't have stayed away from me for nearly two years. You'd have come to Beechfield or you'd have written to me. You didn't love me, and you don't love me now.'

  'Then why do I want you so much?' he retorted, his eyes darkening, growing sultry with desire, his hands sliding along her shoulders to her throat.

  'Oh, don't touch me, please don't touch me,' she cried. 'Physical attraction, wanting me, isn't love. It's only lust ... and it doesn't mean anything. It isn't enough—not for me, anyway.'

  'You're telling me that this morning . . . what we did . . . meant nothing to you?' said Alun rather hoarsely.

  Immediately his hands dropped to his sides and he stepped back from her. Taking advantage of his sudden sharp withdrawal, intensely aware that she had hurt him in some way and wishing she hadn't, Jessica took down her raincoat from the hook behind the back door where he had hung it the night before and began to pull it on.

  'What are you going to do?' he demanded. His arms folded across his chest, he was watching her, his eyes dark under frowning eyebrows.

  'I must get to Dolgellau, somehow,' she replied. 'I must phone my mother. Tomorrow is the day the bank is going to foreclose on the loan Daddy borrowed and I promised her I'd be there. I promised her I'd be able to prevent the foreclosure. She'll be in an awful tizzy wondering what's happened to me, why I haven't returned to Beechfield. I'll have to phone Chris Pollet too.'

  'Who's he?' asked Alun.

  'The man I told you about who said he'll invest in Martin's, save us from going under,' she muttered, turning towards the door and opening it. 'I'll walk to the town, stay the night at the guesthouse there and get someone to see to my car in the morning.' She paused and swung back to face him. 'Unless you'd like to give me my keys,' she said pleadingly. 'Please, Alun. Please understand. I have to go!'

  Something flickered in the darkness of his shadowed eyes. It could have been an expression of pain, but it didn't last long enough for her to be sure, and in the next instant his face had hardened and his eyes were blank and cold. Without a word he stepped past her through the open door into the porch. From there he went out into the yard. Jessica stepped into the porch and watched him cross the yard to the hen shed. In a few seconds he came back to her. He dropped the ring of keys into her outstretched hand.

  'Thank you,' she murmured, not looking at him, afraid to in case her resolve to leave him weakened.

  'Will you come back here when you've done your phoning?' he asked.

  'No. I'll drive on as far as I can tonight, Maybe I'll drive all night so I can be at the factory in the morning. I have to go, Alun. I have to try and save Martin's,' she muttered, and turning away from him she hurried out of the yard and towards the gate.

  She opened the gate and closed it carefully, gave one last look at the white walls of the house gleaming softly through the mist. Alun hadn't followed her. He wasn't there to wave goodbye. With a little exclamation of distress Jessica turned and began to walk along the lane.

  The stream gurgled and splashed its way down the hillside. Raindrops dripped on to her uncovered head. Unseen- sheep on the slanting hillside baaed mournfully. Under her feet puddles glittered and stones glistened with moisture.

  She walked with a dogged determination through the misty rain, her head down, her hands in the pockets of her raincoat and was surprised when she reached her car sooner than she had expected. It was parked under a tree only about two hundred yards from the gate. Alun had obviously driven it nearly all the way to the farmhouse and then had decided to leave it and pretend that he couldn't drive it because he hadn't found her keys.

  Why? Because he had wanted her to stay another night. He had wanted to make love to her. That was all he had ever wanted from her, she thought bitterly as she unlocked the door of the car. She had been his sleeping partner. He had never wanted her to be his partner in anything else. He had never wanted her to share his life as a writer. Another woman, Ashley King, had done that. And now he didn't want her to share his life as the part-owner of an adventure school. Mavis Owen, with whom he had once been in love, could do that. So why should he stay married to her?

  She slid into the driver's seat and closed the car door. It took a while to start the car because it was damp, but at last the engine spluttered into life and kept on running. Jessica checked the fuel gauge. There was enough petrol to get her to the town and the phone.

  As she drove she thought about what she would say to her mother and then to Chris when she eventually got through to them. She would tell them both she had seen Alun and had decided to let him have a divorce. Then Chris would agree to merge with Martin's and save the company from bankruptcy. She didn't want to divorce Alun, but she could see no alternative. Neither he nor she could do what they wanted if they stayed married to each other. He couldn't start his adventure school with Mavis Owen and she couldn't save Martin and Son from bankruptcy and closure. And she had to save Martins somehow, for her dead father's sake, for her mother's sake and for the sake of the people who worked in the small company, the skilled craftsmen who made beautiful furniture.

  She found a telephone kiosk in the town and tried her mother's number first, reversing the charges. There was no reply. No one answered the ringing phone at Chris's place either. Wondering what to do next, Jessica left the phone booth, glancing at her watch. Just after six o'clock. She would find a petrol garage, fill the car's tank and drive on to Dinas Mawddwy and phone again from there. Once she got through to Chris and told him that she had seen Alun and had decided that the best course would be to arrange to divorce him Martins would be saved and she would be able to stay the night somewhere and drive on in the morning.

  At Dinas Mawddwy she rang Chris's number first. Again there was no answer. She ate a meal at a different hotel from the one she had stayed in before, not wanting to meet the curious Eira again. She took her time about eating and it was going on for quarter to nine when she tried again to reach Chris and then her mother and failed again, neither of them being at home, so she decided to drive on through the night to reach Beechfield by morning.

  It was when she was on the Ml with only a few miles to go to the exit road she would take for Aylesbury and Beechfield and dawn was streaking the sky in the east that the tedium of driving along the straight dull road had its effect. She went to sleep at the wheel. The car swerved off the road, and somersaulted into a ditch. Jessica was very badly injured, and it was a long time before she recovered sufficiently to remember where she had been and where she had been going when the accident happened.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHE opened her eyes and looked around the room. It was a small room, very plain. The walls were painted a pleasant soft pink and the trim around the window and the double swing doors was white. She was lying in a high narrow bed covered in hygienic white. A tube attached to a bottle half full of a colourless liquid that was strung above her disappeared under the wide sleeve of the white gown she was wearing. The tube seemed to be attached to her left arm. There was a locker beside the bed. On it was a vase of flowers and a water-jug and a glass. On the wall opposite to her hung a television set. Through the window she could see the tops of trees waving in a wind. The sky behind the trees was grey and cloudy.

  Puzzled, she tried to sit up and failed. She tried to move her legs and also failed. Panic flickered through her, and she called out.

  'Help! Help me!' Her voice was weak, creaking as if it hadn't been used much lately. Its weakness increased her panic. She was in a strange place, her head felt as if it was stuffed with cottonwool and she h
ad no idea who she was or how she had come there. She tried again to shout. The noise she made was louder. One of the swing doors was already open, and a woman appeared in the opening. She was dressed in a nurse's uniform and was carrying a small tray. She walked over to the bed. Her cheeks were shiny and red and her eyes smiled.

  'What is this place?' asked Jessica.

  'The County Hospital,' replied the nurse, putting the small tray on the locker.

  'What am I doing here?' asked Jessica next.

  'Getting better, I hope,' replied the nurse, smiling. 'It's nice to hear you talking. You've been silent an awful long time.'

  'How long have I been here?'

  'Over six weeks.'

  'Oh.' Jessica frowned. It seemed now that her brain was filled with grey stuff that blotted out everything. It was like being in a thick fog. 'Why?' she muttered. 'I don't seem to be able to remember anything. Do you know ... I mean, would you tell me who I am?'

  'Oh, my God!' exclaimed the nurse, and hurried from the room.

  When she came back there was another nurse with her, an older woman in a slightly different uniform, whose lean long face was marked by the severe lines of authority. Her eyes were a cold bluish-grey and their glance was sharp.

  'How are you feeling today?' she asked.

  'I'm not sure. I don't seem to be able to move and I don't know who I am.' Teats of weakness welled in Jessica's eyes. 'Please will you tell me my name?'

  'You're Jessica Martin,' replied the older nurse. The younger one hovered behind her, her brown eyes wide with curiosity. 'You were in a very bad car accident. It happened when you were returning home from Wales, I believe. You've been in a coma for some time, but this week, we're glad to say, you've shown signs of consciousness. We're very pleased, and as soon as we can we'll take you off intravenous and other life-support systems and you'll be able to feed yourself and have physiotherapy exercises to strengthen your muscles so you can walk again.'

  'Thank you.' Jessica was silent for a few moments as she absorbed all that the nurse had told her and tried to make sense of it. She had recognised her name and memories were beginning to flicker through her mind; memories of her mother and father, of her home in Beechfield.

  'I'm Sister Leyland,' continued the older nurse, 'and this is Staff Nurse Blewitt. We've been looking after you in this intensive care unit while you were in the coma.' She stared intently at Jessica. 'Do you remember anything now?'

  'Some things. I remember my parents and my home in Beechfield. Where exactly is this hospital?'

  'Near Aylesbury. You were brought straight here after the accident.'

  'I don't remember anything about the accident or what happened before. I wonder what I'd been doing in Wales?' muttered Jessica.

  'Well, don't worry about that now. As you get stronger I'm sure you'll remember more,' said Sister Leyland practically. 'Your mother will be here soon to visit you and you'll be able to ask her more. Maybe the sight of her will trigger off your memory. Let's hope so.'

  After her temperature had been taken Jessica lay quietly watching the trees through the window, making herself go over what the nurse had told her, afraid she might forget it. Wales. Where was Wales? Well, that part of her memory was working all right. She knew where Wales was. It was to the west of England, a beautiful country, a place of mountains, glens and lakes, all shrouded mysteriously in mist.

  What had she been doing there? Desperately she tried to remember, but like the mountains of Wales her mind was also shrouded in grey mist and trying to see through the mist made her head ache. She felt very tired so she closed her eyes and slept.

  When she opened her eyes again a woman was standing beside the locker arranging some long-stemmed pink roses in a vase. She was a tallish woman with fair greying hair cut short and she was wearing a suit of blue tweed with a white frilly blouse. When she had finished arranging the flowers she stood back to admire them. She caught sight of Jessica looking up at her and smiled, showing perfect teeth, her grey eyes glinting with affection and good humour.

  'Hello, darling,' she said, sitting down on a chair beside the bed. 'Did you have a nice sleep?'

  'Yes, thanks.' Jessica smiled too and lifted one of her hands from the bed and held it out rather weakly. 'Hello, Mother,' she murmured.

  'It's so good to hear you speaking at last,' replied Anthea Martin, taking Jessica's thin hand in both of hers. Tears shone in her grey eyes. 'It's been such a long time since the accident. You've been so ill. There were times when . . . when I thought you would never get better; that you'd be on those life-supporting machines for the rest of your life. But the surgeons and the nurses have been marvellous, and today they tell me you've really turned the corner and it won't be long before you're walking again and you'll be able to come home.'

  'I can't remember,' whispered Jessica. 'I can't remember much about myself before I woke up and found myself here this afternoon. I couldn't remember who I was. They had to tell me.'

  'Oh, my poor darling!' Anthea looked very concerned. 'How awful for you. But you remember me, don't you?'

  'Yes, I do. I remember you and Dad ... and I think I remember the house. But everything else is blotted out by fog. There's a fog in my mind and I can't see through it. It's like the mist was.'

  'What mist, darling?'

  'The mist on the hills.' Jessica closed her eyes and immediately she was in a garden in front of a house with white walls. The garden was full of flowers. She opened her eyes and smiled at her mother. 'You would have liked the garden,' she said, 'but it needed weeding.'

  'What garden?' asked Anthea, looking puzzled.

  'I don't know—I can't remember.' Jessica frowned. Her head ached. 'I can't remember anything,' she moaned. 'Oh, what am I going to do? The nurse said I was in an accident and it happened near here.'

  'That's right—on the Ml. You went off the road. The police think you might have gone to sleep at the wheel. It happened early in the morning. You suffered injuries to your head, ribs and spine and you were in a coma until just this week. We've all been very worried about you.' Anthea's voice choked a little and taking a handkerchief from her handbag she blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Then she attempted a smile. 'But now you're going to get better, and when you're stronger and you're able to move about I'm sure your memory will return.'

  But what Anthea Martin hoped would happen didn't happen. Although Jessica did get stronger and was taken off intravenous feeding and was able to begin the physiotherapy the fog remained in her mind, shrouding from her everything she had done or had happened to her during the two years preceding the accident. She knew who she was. She knew she was married. She knew she had worked in her father's furniture company, but she remembered nothing of the time that had passed since Alun had returned from an assignment in South America two years ago. She remembered nothing of their quarrel, their separation and their meeting again in Wales.

  Several times she was visited by a doctor of psychiatry, a small Indian woman called Dr Mehta, who sat with her and talked about the problem of loss of memory.

  'Often it happens when a person suffers a great shock to the system, as you have,' she explained. 'You are experiencing a mental black-out which is acting as a sort of protection. It's possible that there are happenings in your life that you don't want to remember; problems that caused you distress and pain. But I don't want you to force yourself to remember. Just take each day as it comes and concentrate on building up your health and strength. We'll talk about what you do remember every day and perhaps gradually you'll start to remember more.'

  Strength returned to Jessica's muscles very slowly. At last she was able to sit up without support and to feed herself. Then came the trips to the physiotherapy department, in a wheelchair. The days went by. Outside the window of her room the leaves on the trees began to change colour as September gave way to October. Anthea visited her every day.

  'They tell me you were able to take a few steps by yourself today,' Anthea said one wet and wi
ndy afternoon. 'How's the old memory? Have you remembered yet why you went to Wales.'

  'No. I don't remember anything about Wales.'

  'Do you remember working at the furniture factory?' asked Anthea casually. She was busy arranging flowers again—chrysanthemums this time, big shaggy golden-brown blooms that she had grown herself.

  'Vaguely. Mother, was there some sort of problem connected with the company? I seem to remember being worried about the company and planning to do something to save it.'

  Anthea gave her a sharp glance.

  'Yes, there was a problem. But I'm not going to tell you what it was because Dr Mehta says I mustn't tell you too much. It's best if you remember by yourself. I'll just tell you that the problem was solved and you have nothing to worry about. I sold out to Lithgows. They own the company now. It's what your father would have wanted.'

  The mists in Jessica's mind swirled and lifted a little. The name Lithgow meant something to her. She remembered a man called Arthur Lithgow.

  'Arthur,' she whispered. 'Arthur Lithgow. I remember him. Dad wanted me to marry him.'

  'Wonderful!' beamed Anthea. 'You've remembered something else! It was the name, wasn't it? The name shone through the mist in your mind.'

  'But why did you sell out to him? There was someone else wasn't there? I'm sure there was someone else who was interested in helping us; something else we could have done.'

  'Listen to me,' said Anthea authoritatively. 'When you didn't return from Wales, and then when the police came and told me you'd been seriously injured and were in a coma, I had to act on my own. The bank would have foreclosed if I hadn't and Martin and Son Ltd would have been lost. So I went to Arthur and he agreed to take over the company and to continue to employ myself and you.'

  'But . . . but . . .' Jessica struggled to hold back the mist, but it came down, blotting out everything. 'Oh, it's no use—I can't remember what I was going to do; why I was driving back to Beechfield. I didn't want to come back. I didn't want to leave Wales. But I had to come back to save Martins. I'm sure there was something I was going to do. Oh, Mother what's going to happen to me? I can't walk properly and I can't remember. I'm useless....'