by Iris Gower
She paused and looked at herself in the mirror that hung over the ornate fireplace. She was getting older, not really old, not yet, but there were creases around her mouth and lines around her eyes. Gerald didn’t seem to notice. He was grateful for her love and support. She was the only one who cared, that’s what he was constantly telling her.
One thing she needed to make her life complete was to have her son home again. She missed Jack terribly. She should be settled down now with a husband and family like any other woman but there was no way her husband, Geoffrey, would ever release her. She knew that even if he did, she would have no means of support. Gerald was not earning anything these days and sometime, even his seemingly endless source of funds would dry up.
Gerald was one of the finest men to come her way, and there had been many men in her life, too many if the truth were told. None of those men who had been her lovers – and somehow the word lovers comforted her – none of them had brought her more than a passing happiness, none except Gerald.
Abruptly she moved away from the mirror. It told the truth too starkly, it told her things about herself she would rather not know.
She glanced at the clock. Gerald would be a while yet and she was bored on her own. Perhaps it would be an idea to go round to see her son. Geoffrey would not be best pleased about a surprise visit but she had rights and it wasn’t often she exercised them.
The morning air was chill when she stepped out onto the small drive of her house. Sarah glanced up at the lowering skies and shuddered. It would rain soon. Over the bay of Swansea hung a string of clouds like washing on a line; dirty smudged washing, ragged and grey.
The sea ran ceaselessly reaching for the shore and then receding, pewter in the dying daylight. Even the sand on the beach appeared colourless, as though the world had been robbed of light.
Sarah almost laughed. She was being fanciful in her old age. Stop it! she admonished herself. She was not old and mustn’t even begin to think that way.
After she left the train, the walk to Geoffrey’s modest retreat was not a long one. It would have been pleasant if the weather had been a little more kind. She passed a small wooded field, heard the tinkle of the stream running over smoothed stones, saw the contours of the land as though for the first time.
Sarah felt, quite suddenly, that her eyes had been opened to the world around her and for a moment she was frightened. She didn’t want to see too clearly, for then she might learn that no-one really loved her at all, that she was just being used.
As she reached the house, she saw a lamp glimmer in the window. There was a silence about the place and as she raised her hand to the knocker, Sarah felt a sense of being outside an empty building.
The maid who opened the door to her was red eyed with weeping and Sarah felt a dart of alarm.
‘What’s the matter?’ She pushed her way into the hall and looked around her fearfully. ‘Is it the boy? Is my son hurt?’
The maid shook her head. ‘Mr Chas.’ Her voice broke with emotion. ‘I still can’t believe he’s gone. Living in those awful draughty rooms by the docks has done for him. He’s dead. The master’s down at Oystermouth church. He’s been there every day this past week.’
A sense of relief washed over her, and Sarah bit her lip. She’d imagined that Jack had fallen sick with some dreadful malady and the fear had made her almost fall into a swoon. She clung to the banister in the hallway and tried to get a grip on herself, trying to sort out her mixture of feelings. She should have heard about Chas, would have heard had she not been so engrossed in Gerald.
She should feel pity for her husband and yet there was a sort of triumph in knowing that he was free, free of the love that had bound him so tightly. She realized he must be sad. He’d lost so much, the man who in all the world had been his dearest friend. And lover, said a sharp voice within her.
‘When are you expecting Geoffrey back?’ she asked, standing up straight, feeling she needed to be strong. Somehow, all along, she had felt this to be a day of moment, a day when the world had grown a dark place, with sorrow round the corner waiting to pounce. And yet it wasn’t her sorrow, it was Geoffrey’s.
‘He’ll be in the cemetery a while yet, Mrs Frogmore.’ The maid tried to dry the tears that persisted in running into her mouth. ‘Can’t bring hisself to leave Mr Chas alone in the ground, if you ask me.’
‘My son, where’s Jack?’ Sarah heard her voice take on a note of panic and the maid visibly stiffened.
‘He’s safe in my care. Gone to bed, he has, Mrs Frogmore. Worn out the poor child is, sick from all that crying.’
Sarah glanced upstairs. She must see him, make sure her son was safe. Then she would go to her husband and comfort him. He would need her now more than he ever did before. Somehow the thought gave her a strong sense of power; no-one had ever really needed her. Perhaps in the last few weeks Gerry had clung to her but now he was recovered, he seemed to want to stand on his own two feet again.
She felt happy, reassured; if she so wished, she could resume her rightful place in her husband’s life. They could never give each other physical love but there would be a strong warm bond of friendship between them. And if the day ever came when Gerry no longer wanted her, Geoffrey would be there, to care for her as he always had, in his own strange way.
Arian was outside the buildings that housed her newspaper, her very own newspaper. It seemed she never grew tired of admiring it, this, the solid proof of her growing success. The newly painted façade was old but gracious, the windows arched by stone, that appeared now like eyebrows raised in question. The windows shone, the paint on the woodwork new and fresh. And yesterday in the vaults, she had found the deeds that had proved the building was hers, something her father had left her, a building he’d thought worthless, not even valuable enough to gamble away at cards or dice. Now, it was worth everything to Arian. It offered her security, a future.
She stepped back a pace, watching the passers-by glance with interest at the sign above the door. It gave her a sense of pride to know that her name was there, hers alone: Arian Smale, proprietor. It was an achievement, of course it was. Why then, did she still have a sense of being unfulfilled?
She heard the clock on the Guildhall chime and knew it was time she got some work done. There was an obituary to write, a difficult one about Geoffrey Frogmore’s friend, his lover if what Mac said was correct and it usually was, but what to say about a man who seemed to have no identity, no job, no aim in life?
Mac had refused outright to write the obituary. ‘Don’t like that sort of man, spot ’em a mile off. Should be tolerant, I suppose, but I can’t understand it myself.’
Arian had taken the task upon herself, not knowing quite how tactful the younger reporters would be in such a situation and she wasn’t about to risk either bringing her paper into disrepute or harming Geoffrey Frogmore’s reputation, perhaps even condemning him to a prison sentence into the bargain.
When she knocked on the door of the modest house where Geoffrey Frogmore lived, the maid who opened it looked at her suspiciously. ‘Yes?’
‘I would like to talk to Mr Frogmore. I’m from the Swansea Times.’
‘I’m not sure…. Mr Frogmore isn’t in at the moment, you see.’ The maid hesitated and Sarah appeared in the doorway behind her.
‘Arian, do come in.’ Sarah’s eyes were alight with triumph. ‘I should like to talk to you, anyway.’
Arian stepped inside the neat house. The place smelled fresh, the furniture glowed and in the polished grate, a warm fire was burning.
Sarah led the way into a tiny sitting room. She stood, arms folded, looking at Arian as though she’d scored a victory over her.
‘Gerald is better, much better.’ Sarah’s cheeks dimpled coyly. ‘The doctors were wrong, quite wrong. His recovery is the result of living with me. I care about him, you see, really care. Oh, I know he can be difficult at times but he really is a wonderful man. You’ve never understood him.’
‘
He’s taking his medication, is he?’ Arian asked and Sarah laughed out loud.
‘That rubbish! It made him dull and boring. He’s fine without it.’
Arian felt a pang of alarm. ‘He can be dangerous, Sarah. For God’s sake, take the advice of the doctors. Make sure Gerald takes the medicine regularly.’
‘There’s no need. I don’t know what trick you’re trying to pull but Gerald is fit and well. I look after him properly, which is more than you ever did.’
‘Look, Sarah, I haven’t come here to quarrel with you about Gerald. All I wanted was to talk to Mr Frogmore about his … his friend.’
‘Why?’ Sarah looked at her challengingly. ‘What are you going to say about Chas?’
‘I don’t know.’ Arian shrugged. ‘Perhaps you can tell me a bit about him, something flattering that I can print in my paper, an obituary.’
The door behind her opened and Geoffrey came into the room. Arian felt herself melt with pity for him. Geoffrey Frogmore had been crying, his eyes were red and swollen and his hair was tangled about his forehead.
‘What’s going on here?’ He looked from Sarah to Arian. ‘What are you both doing in my house?’
‘I came to see Jack.’ Sarah moved to her husband’s side and slipped her arm through his. ‘This, this woman has come to write about Chas. Tell her how we both cared about him as friends should, go on Geoffrey.’
He disentangled himself from his wife’s arm. ‘I loved him, as a friend.’
The simple words brought a constriction to Arian’s throat. She smiled sympathetically. ‘I know you did but I need facts about him; his age, occupation, the names of his parents, where he was educated, that sort of thing.’
‘You’ll be sympathetic?’ Geoffrey looked at her appealingly. ‘You won’t write anything speculative?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not ashamed of caring for Chas but there’s so much to consider, my son for a start.’
‘I know,’ Arian took out her pencil. ‘That’s why I came myself, so that I can be sure of writing a suitable obituary.’
‘Don’t listen to her, Geoffrey. She’ll make a scandal of it all, expose you to ridicule. Be very careful what you say. In any case, I’ll be a witness for you, Geoffrey, should she tell any lies.’
‘Please, Sarah, be quiet.’ He spoke with authority. ‘I want Chas’s name to be honoured in Swansea. He was born here and he died here and I don’t think Miss Smale is going to do anything underhand or scandalous, so leave it to me, will you?’
Geoffrey’s dignity impressed Arian and as he talked she wrote rapidly. Chas, it seemed was the son of a rich copper baron, his father was a man of means and of stiff-necked pride.
Arian folded her notebook and looked up at Geoffrey. ‘I’ll be very careful how I write this obituary,’ she reassured Geoffrey, ‘don’t worry.’
She left the house and turned once to see Sarah framed in the window. Perhaps, Arian thought, she should have made another attempt to convince Sarah that Gerald could be dangerous. But then Sarah had made up her mind that he was fit and well, it was pointless talking to her. And yet, even as she walked back into Swansea, Arian’s sense of unease was growing. Gerald was at large a dangerous man who might strike anywhere, anytime and Arian knew that she was afraid.
The house smelled of paint and brand-new drapes, the carpets were deep and rich, and the good heavy furniture was waxed and fragrant. The Hollies was Arian’s new home, rented for now but once she had enough money, she intended to buy it and live there for ever.
The elegant house looked over the sea at Swansea. The large windows facing the curving bay allowed the sunlight into every room. There were no dark corners at the Hollies and better still, no dark memories.
‘You’ve done well for yourself, girl.’ Fon hugged her baby daughter to her breast and stared across the room admiringly. ‘Duw, I’d never have thought to see you so prosperously set up, mind.’
Arian looked towards Fon who had settled in the depths of the chair. Everything about her seemed to gleam with happiness, from her bright hair to her even brighter eyes. It was good to see Fon again, Fon with her ever growing brood of children.
‘I’m successful, after a lifetime of failure,’ she agreed. ‘I haven’t got what you’ve got, though, the love of a fine man and lovely family. I can see the happiness shine from you right across the room.’
Fon blushed. She would always be the simple girl from the village of Oystermouth who had married her farmer, never be sophisticated, never be a career girl like Arian and yet it didn’t seem to matter.
‘Me and you, we shared some good times and some bad times, mind.’ Fon lifted her baby to the other breast and a pearl of milk beaded the child’s mouth. ‘But we’ve come through it all and none the worse for it.’
Arian wasn’t too sure of that. Her past had marked her and there were memories that would always haunt her, memories that sometimes even now reared up in the night.
She realized with surprise that she hadn’t thought of her husband in weeks, since she’d visited Geoffrey Frogmore and spoken with Sarah.
Arian had not heard a word from him or about him and she didn’t want to. Still, the feeling persisted that he would always be there, at the back of her mind, at the back of her life, waiting to pounce.
‘The paper’s doing well, got to be the best one this side of Cardiff.’ Fon’s soft voice interrupted Arian’s unhappy train of thought. ‘Everyone reads the Swansea Times, see it everywhere I go.’
Arian concealed a smile. The places Fon went were few indeed, a visit to her relatives in Mumbles and perhaps a supper with friends now and again was about the limit of her social life. Fon needed no-one. She had her family growing up around her. Above all, she had Jamie, in love with her still in spite of the new plumpness in her hips and the roundness in her cheeks.
‘Jamie coming to fetch you, is he?’ Arian asked pouring a fresh cup of tea.
‘No, I’m meeting him in town. He doesn’t believe in me being away from him and the little ones for too long.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘Not trying to get rid of me are you? Haven’t got an assignation with a lover by any chance?’
‘Not by the slightest chance,’ Arian said firmly. ‘There’s no man in my life now, which is a relief after Gerald, I can tell you.’
‘Everybody needs someone,’ Fon said softly. ‘You can be too independent, mind, turn the men away, make them frightened of you. Ease up a bit, Arian they’re not all wasters, believe me.’
‘I do,’ Arian forced a smile. ‘I’ve seen you and Jamie together but as for me, I’m all right as I am, I don’t need anyone. I’ve got my job.’
‘The paper can’t tuck you up into bed at nights,’ Fon shook her head disapprovingly. ‘Can’t tell you it loves you or give you a bit of a cuddle when you’re feeling down, and you are feeling sad, I can see it in your eyes.’
‘I’m all right, just envious of you.’ Arian coughed to cover the sudden rush of tears. ‘And I’m never lonely, it’s difficult to get any time alone, in fact. This evening now, I’ve got Mac coming round, Mac’s my senior reporter.’ She paused. ‘I’m going to ask him to start up a new features section to the paper, see what he thinks.’
‘All right, you’re good at changing the subject so I’ll be good and ask what sort of thing do you have in mind for this new part of the paper?’ Fon held the baby upright on her knee and rubbed the small body.
‘Well, it will principally deal with women’s interests, sewing, cooking hints, budgeting, that sort of thing.’
‘Will that go down well in Swansea?’ Fon sounded doubtful. She buttoned her bodice and cuddled the baby, making small rocking movements even though the child was asleep.
Arian couldn’t help staring. She would have no child of her own, not now. It wasn’t that she was old, not really, but she couldn’t envisage being a mother even if her life had turned out differently. As it was, she was tied to Gerald. She couldn’t marry anyone else and she was not interested in casual alliances. No
t now.
‘I don’t know if a women’s page will be well received or not,’ Arian answered Fon’s question truthfully. ‘I never will know unless I try it. Anyway, I trust Mac’s judgement. I’ll see what he says about it.’
‘But you’ll go ahead with the idea whatever?’ Fon said smiling and Arian smiled too.
‘I expect so.’ She watched as Fon rose to her feet and picked up the closely woven shawl which she wrapped around her own body, tucking the baby inside like a neat parcel.
‘Better be on my way,’ Fon said. ‘Jamie will be waiting for me in the market.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t like to leave the children for too long, April isn’t the most patient of girls.’
She stood for a moment on the front step with Arian and it was clear she wanted to say something more. Arian smiled indulgently. ‘Come on, spit it out.’ She watched the frown on Fon’s brow and knew that something she didn’t want to hear was about to be said.
‘I saw that Sarah Frogmore,’ she said. ‘In the market she was, with him, your husband. He had the cheek to ask about you, where you were living. I didn’t tell him anything, mind, but he was that persistent.’
Arian felt she was facing a great chasm. ‘Damn and blast,’ Arian said softly. ‘I hoped I’d never hear from either Sarah or him again. Did he look well?’
‘You owe him nothing,’ Fon spoke sharply. ‘They might make a show of being respectable but he left you to live with that Sarah Frogmore. You can’t feel responsible for him any more.’
‘I wish I didn’t.’ Arian bit her lip. ‘But tell me, Fon, was he all right?’
‘Seemed a bit agitated, if you must know. Eyes staring at me in a strange way, frightening really.’
Arian sighed and stared up at the sky without seeing the slowly moving clouds.
‘I wish I hadn’t told you now,’ Fon’s voice was low. ‘I should have kept my mouth shut but I thought you should be warned about him. I think he’s going to come and see you from the way he was talking.’
Arian forced a smile. ‘Don’t let it worry you, I can cope with Gerald.’ She watched as Fon walked away from the house, her baby wrapped close, her tawny hair shining in the sunlight. Slowly Arian turned and moved back into the house and suddenly, her hands were trembling.