Two Loves

by Siân James

  ‘I see. But, no, I don’t quite see what it’s got to do with me.’

  ‘It’s just that I don’t want to keep anything from you.’

  They walked on in silence for a minute or two. ‘I don’t know,’ Rosamund said, then, ‘but I find it difficult to believe that you haven’t any ulterior motive in all this.’

  ‘Well it would help Ben if he had your good will; I suppose I’m aware of that.’

  ‘Why? I’ve never even met Erica Underhill. It all happened thirty years before I got to know Anthony. I could be of no help.’

  ‘But you must still have some of his private papers and so on.’

  ‘Did he ask you to sound me out on all this?’

  ‘No. It was he who suggested I should try to get a commission to write about you, but I think that was simply for my sake. Because I’ve been short of work lately. I don’t for one minute believe he’d think me capable of being much help to him.’

  ‘He sounds a real bighead,’ Rosamund said. ‘Let’s go home and have some tea.’

  ‘The thing is, you’ve always intrigued me,’ Ingrid said, after they’d walked another few yards. ‘Ever since reading your late husband’s obituaries – with the inevitable photograph of the two of you with your baby son. I knew we were about the same age and I was extremely curious about you. I wanted to get in touch with you then, but I couldn’t think of any excuse – I wasn’t even a journalist at that time. I was obsessed by you for months, and when all this came up, I could hardly believe it and couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt by the letters.’

  ‘And it was simply a coincidence? Your boyfriend getting involved with Erica Underhill?’

  ‘Absolutely. He works in the newspaper’s features department and by chance her call was put through to him. When he told me about it a few days later I was able to tell him something about you; that you were an artist, and so on. And that you were still young, only about my age.’

  ‘I can’t see why you were so struck by that. Lots of girls marry much older men.’

  ‘Not these days. Not unless they’re multi-millionaires, anyway. You can’t have been in love with him … Oh, I’m sorry!’

  ‘That’s all right.’

  ‘But I mean, you were twenty-four, twenty-five or something when you got married and he was over seventy. You were an art student when I was at University. How could you have given it all up? I mean, going to gigs and parties, trying out men, all that tremendous … fun?’

  Ingrid’s voice faltered. Rosamund was striding ahead; she wondered if she was even listening to her.

  Was there a definite reason, Rosamund asked herself. There was certainly a man I was madly in love with in my first year. And when it didn’t come to anything, I lost my confidence, I think, what little confidence I had. I suppose I really floundered after that, afraid of any commitment. And that was it really. No, I didn’t have much fun.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, slowing her steps. ‘You asked how I could have given it all up. I’m not sure I ever had very much to give up.’

  ‘But why?’ Ingrid asked, almost aggressively. ‘You’re very attractive. You seem very normal. I mean, what was the matter with you? That you opted out at twenty-four? It worries me. I mean, why?’

  Chapter Two

  Though Ingrid Walsh had been enthusiastic about her work – the first person for a long time – Rosamund was far from happy after she’d left. Ingrid had seemed to feel she was some sort of freak. Had she really opted out of life? ‘How could you have given it all up?’ she’d asked, more than once. ‘All the excitement; being young and in the centre of things?’ Was her life so abnormal, then? Until recently, Rosamund had thought of herself as fairly contented; she had a son whom she adored, a very supportive mother living nearby, a lovely house and almost enough money.

  Her painting wasn’t much more than a hobby, she’d always realised that, but it gave her a certain amount of satisfaction and enough money for treats – extravagant Christmases and holidays abroad. She exhibited twice a year with a local art society and always sold three or four paintings.

  It was true she didn’t have much of a social life; she was invited to certain functions, the occasional party, but had never enjoyed standing about with a drink and a plate of indigestible food, making small-talk. And none of the men who’d shown any interest in her had seemed worth pursuing. A few years ago she’d met a young doctor at a charity ball; he’d persevered in his attentions for a while, but they had little in common. Going out with him often seemed rather an effort even though her mother was always ready to babysit, and after a few months’ desultory courtship he’d stopped ringing her and later phoned to say he’d got engaged to a nurse at the local hospital. She’d run into them soon afterwards. His fiancée looked about eighteen, was very glamorous and had succeeded in bringing him to life as she herself had never been able to do.

  Rosamund was slightly peeved at being supplanted, but only her mother was really disappointed: ‘He was so fond of you, dear.’

  ‘Joss didn’t like him,’ Rosamund had said firmly. ‘He had no rapport with children, so it wouldn’t have done, would it?’

  Joss adored Thomas, not that that made any odds, because he wasn’t available; less so now than ever.

  Rosamund sighed. Thomas’s son, Harry, had been Joss’s best friend since they were in nursery school together, so of course she and Thomas had been thrown together for years; he was always around, returning Joss from their house in the village or fetching Harry from the schoolhouse. They were comfortable together, liked each other, got on well, and three years ago had become lovers. Neither of them had planned it, but after it happened, it had seemed natural, almost inevitable.

  She sighed again. He was also very nice-looking. She wished that didn’t make as much difference to her as it did; it seemed the trait of a very superficial person.

  Thomas’s wife, Eliza, was a career woman who seemed to have little time for him; that’s why Rosamund didn’t feel as guilty about their relationship as she otherwise would. Occasionally she fantasised about his leaving Eliza and coming to live with her and Joss, but knew it was impossible because he was a devoted father – with three sons of his own – and a dutiful husband. He was husband material, warm and loving rather than exciting. Whenever they were able to snatch an hour together, she felt, not dazed by love, but comforted, more reconciled to life, more completely human.

  It had taken her some months to realise that it was much easier for her than for him; he was the one torn between two women, two lives. She started noticing the deep frown lines between his eyes when he got out of her bed and the way he held his body as he got dressed, his elbow tight in against his ribs as though deeply uneasy by what he was involved in. He was a nicer person than she was.

  And then the previous year, Eliza had become pregnant again. Rosamund was surprised and rather shocked when Thomas broke the news to her; she’d somehow assumed that they didn’t have sex together, though Thomas had never said so. She’d suggested at that point that they should give up their affair, but they hadn’t, though their meetings had become more infrequent. And they’d hardly seen each other at all since the baby was born the previous month.

  Then just over a week ago, she’d called on Eliza, taking her a present for the baby. She’d felt uncomfortable about going, but thought it might seem strange if she didn’t, since they were neighbours and their children friends. Also she was longing to see the new baby.

  She didn’t know Eliza well, or particularly like her; she seemed to have no time for those she obviously considered lesser mortals. At one time Rosamund had felt slightly aggrieved to be so often asked to pick Harry up from school and to keep an eye on him until his father fetched him at five or five-thirty. Especially since Eliza seemed to assume that she couldn’t possibly have anything more important to do, and never phoned to thank her. She’d never bothered to find out what exactly Eliza did as a business consultant, but it was probably very high-powered
and certainly well-paid; the family had a large new BMW every year and the children had every conceivable gadget and a roomful of computers, which wouldn’t have come from Thomas’s salary as science master at the local comprehensive.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ Eliza asked her after opening the door, almost as though she was delivering pamphlets rather than visiting a new baby.

  ‘Please. If it’s convenient, I’d love to see him. I’ve brought him a little sweater. I’m sure he’s got dozens, but this one was so pretty. Joss thinks he’s wonderful. What are you calling him?’

  ‘We haven’t decided yet.’

  ‘May I see him? I hope he’s not asleep.’

  Eliza looked at her wearily and pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down, won’t you. Look, I don’t feel like making small-talk, but now that you’re here, I’d just like to ask you to lay off my husband. All right?’

  ‘To lay off your husband,’ Rosamund repeated, shocked to the bone by Eliza’s attack. ‘But you’ve always said … I mean, Thomas has always said that you didn’t mind his spending some time with me occasionally when you’re working.’ She glared at Eliza. ‘And you’re always working,’ she said, unwilling to take all the blame. ‘I mean, Thomas and I are friends. I mean, I don’t see him very often, hardly at all these days. I mean…’

  ‘I admit to treating him in rather a cavalier fashion, I know I cut him out of my life to some extent, I know I didn’t give him enough time and attention, but—’

  ‘A man needs time and attention.’

  ‘All right, I’ve admitted to being negligent. I don’t blame you for trying to take him away from me – he’s an attractive man – but now I want him back. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘Have you given up your job, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So what’s your answer?’

  Rosamund took a deep breath. She wasn’t prepared to accept Eliza as the wronged wife and herself as the intruder; it was far more complicated than that. ‘I’ll have to discuss it with Thomas – he’s got a part in all this. I don’t want to make you a promise I can’t keep.’ They looked hard at each other. ‘Do you love him?’ Rosamund asked.

  ‘Of course. He’s my husband.’

  ‘That sounds a bit glib. What if I love him, too? I’m certainly very fond of him. I’m always very happy to see him.’

  ‘You’re just happy to be fucked. Because you haven’t got anyone else.’

  Rosamund looked straight into her eyes. ‘Have you? I answer your questions. Why don’t you answer mine?’

  ‘He’s my husband and the father of my children and I want to turn over a new leaf and be a good wife and mother. I want us to be a proper family again. And if you have any decent feelings you won’t stand in our way.’

  ‘Does that mean you love him? That’s what I want to know. That’s what I asked you.’

  ‘I certainly don’t love anyone else. Though I admit to neglecting him, it was never for another man – there’s never been another man – it was only for my work.’

  ‘And I expect your work will take over again quite soon.’

  They were interrupted by a sudden cry from the pram standing outside the French windows, not the first shaky bleat of a new baby on waking, but a sharp wail of pain, a cry to be immediately attended to.

  Eliza fetched the baby, put him over her shoulder and patted his back. He grew quiet.

  Rosamund was surprised again at how small new babies were. She wasn’t able to see his face; Eliza seemed determined to keep his back to her, but the little body cocooned in its white cotton blanket seemed too small to be living a separate life. She suddenly decided that if she was about to give Thomas up, she’d like to be pregnant first. ‘I’d love a baby,’ she said. And was surprised at how fretful she sounded.

  ‘They’re nice little things,’ Eliza said, her voice milder.

  And then she must have realised how lucky she was, or at least how strong her position, because she took the baby from her shoulder, loosened his shawl and showed him off to Rosamund. His face was red and stern and his hands were little trembling claws. ‘Oh, he’s beautiful,’ Rosamund murmured, her voice hushed as though in a church.

  She hadn’t expected Eliza to breast-feed in front of her, especially as her breasts were rather slack and tired-looking, white with greyish veins. It made her look weak and vulnerable instead of sophisticated and powerful. Rosamund felt pains in her own breasts, almost as sharp as when Joss was newly born. ‘I’d really like a baby,’ she said again.

  ‘Well, you certainly can’t have Thomas’s; that would be most unfair. It’s bad enough for him already. He’s very worried about giving you up.’

  So it was already arranged? Rosamund felt she should at least have been consulted. ‘Perhaps he’s miserable rather than just worried. We’ve been … quite close.’

  ‘I don’t want to know. Please don’t upset me. I try to clear my mind of worries when I’m breast-feeding.’

  Rosamund relented. ‘Do you have any other worries? Besides me, I mean?’

  ‘Of course I do. Money.’

  ‘Money’s always a bloody problem.’

  ‘We used to have oodles and now we’ve only got Thomas’s salary. We’re selling the BMW. We may have to sell the orchard. We’ll certainly have to sell the—’

  Eliza looked up to see that Rosamund was looking about her and yawning, so she stopped abruptly. ‘Sorry to bore you,’ she said.

  ‘It’s just that you used to be so genial towards me,’ Rosamund said. ‘That evening we were all at that parent–teacher barbecue, and you came across Thomas and me sitting on our own behind the beer tent and you seemed so complacent about it, almost as though you were giving us your blessing. “I’ve got to go now, Thomas,” you said, “but if you want to stay longer, I’m sure Barbara and Tony can give you a lift back.” To tell you the truth, I was sure you’d got someone waiting for you.’

  ‘No, I just had some work to finish. Work was always more important than anything else. I had to keep at least one jump ahead of all the others who were scrabbling around for my job. I was the first woman to be made a director of the firm, so I had something to live up to.’

  ‘And yet you gave it all up to have another baby?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to give him the other breast?’

  Eliza glanced at her sharply. ‘No, he’s all right now. He’s dropping off.’

  ‘But won’t you feel lopsided?’

  ‘No, he’ll have the other side when he wakes up next. Though I don’t know what concern it is of yours.’

  ‘I can’t help being interested in babies, that’s all. Who does he look like?’

  ‘Can we change the subject? I don’t know why we should be discussing mothercraft. The thing is, I thought I could trust Thomas. I thought you and he were just friends. I wanted him to have friends because I felt guilty about neglecting him. I didn’t know he was fucking you.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I didn’t know he was fucking you.’

  ‘Christ, I’m his wife. Haven’t you got any decency?’

  ‘We didn’t for ages. He used to come to the house to fetch Harry and we’d just sit and talk and drink coffee. I was pleased to have company, I don’t meet many people except my mother’s friends.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Well, it was the evening Harry stayed the night in that little tent Joss had. I think it was Joss’s birthday. Yes, his seventh birthday.’

  ‘That was … three years ago.’

  ‘Almost three years. Yes, three years in June. And Thomas strolled up to see if they were all right – you know how they can suddenly get homesick and frightened of the dark. But they were both fine. Asleep, in fact. They were both asleep.’

  Rosamund’s voice had become low and meditative as she re-lived that night, but Eliza’s acid look brought her back to the present. ‘So we sat and talked for a while. And then there was this terrif
ic thunderstorm; thunder, whipping lightning, rain in torrents flowing down the garden, so we simply had to get them in. We went out with torches and scooped them up, still in their sleeping-bags, and would you believe, they were still asleep as we laid them down on the floor in Joss’s room. Their faces were soaking wet from the rain as we carried them in, but they were still fast asleep. Then I went to my room to get a dry shirt and Thomas followed me.’ Rosamund felt herself blush and put up her hand to shield her face. ‘And … well, that was that. Quite unpremeditated. Not that that excuses us, I know.’

  Rosamund sighed as she thought of that stormy night, all the pleasure she’d be giving up.

  Eliza laid the baby back in the pram.

  ‘Don’t you wind him after his feed?’ Rosamund asked.

  Eliza gave her another angry look, but disdained to answer. She came back to her chair and sat down rather heavily. And then, with no sort of warning, she started to cry – great shuddering sobs, one after the other as though she would never stop.

  Rosamund started to tremble. ‘Oh, it’s terrible, I know,’ she said, as soon as she could make herself heard. ‘But I’ll give him up, I promise you. I honestly didn’t realise how much you needed him. You see, I always thought you had someone else, someone connected with your work, someone more your type, more exciting. I suppose I wanted to think that, needed to. I’m very, very sorry. Honestly.’

  Eliza’s sobs gradually subsided and became deep intakes of breath. ‘I was sacked,’ she said at last. ‘We had a new boss and he must have seen me as a threat because I’d been there nine years – longer than anyone else – and had all the relevant information at my fingertips. He called me into his office one Monday morning and said he was reorganising the business and had to make some changes.’

  She broke down again and there was another bout of anguished sobbing. ‘I was sacked,’ she said again, ‘and my PA, a girl of twenty-six, with no business degree, no experience, no personality, was appointed in my place. I gave my all to that company. I built up my department from nothing and it became the power base of the whole organisation. Everyone said so.’