by Donna Huxley
'What things?' Chagrined to hear his lucid legal reasoning, Anna began to doubt the correctness of her actions.
'In the first place,' he said, 'you lost your job and your career, since this file made you unemployable. And in the second place,' he said darkly, 'you married me.'
'I don't understand,' began Anna, stung by his conclusions. 'What are you saying?'
'It's simple, my love,' he answered. 'You were lying before, and you're lying now. What I'm saying is that I do not believe you.'
'Marsh!' she cried. 'You can't be serious! I've told you the truth. I was guilty of nothing!'
'But you never behaved like a person who was innocent,' he pursued. 'You behaved like a person who had been caught engaging in illegal conduct, and who moved on to greener pastures.'
'What's that supposed to mean?' As though she had been enveloped by a nightmare that refused to end, Anna saw the shade of Charles Robbins' calm incredulity in her own husband's eyes. He doesn't believe me, she thought desperately.
'It means,' he said, 'that you were out of a job, still responsible for your sister's education, and unable to find work. As luck would have it, your considerable charms managed to attract a suitor who had enough means to take care of your financial burdens. A gullible sort of fellow who wanted nothing more than to marry you, support you, and share your troubles. In the circumstances, you saw the line of least resistance, and you followed it.'
'I can't believe what I'm hearing,' muttered Anna, her heart sinking. 'You think I used you? That I married you for the sake of convenience?'
'The shoe certainly fits,' he shrugged. 'Your farfetched story about a mystery man who manipulates the personnel department of a corporation in order to satisfy his personal grudges puts a bit of a strain on the imagination. If it were true, you would have sought legal advice. And,' he laughed bitterly, 'I was right there at the time. I'm a lawyer myself.'
'But I barely knew you,' Anna protested. 'I couldn't see involving you in my personal difficulties.'
'You knew me well enough to marry me, though, didn't you?' Angry triumph resounded in his deep voice as his logic coiled pitilessly around her. 'You married the man you wouldn't trust to help you. If that isn't using a person, I don't know what is.'
'You're twisting it all out of shape,' Anna objected in confusion. 'I may have been wrong, and as you say, I probably should have found legal help. But it seemed impossible to prove my innocence. When Mr Robbins fired me despite my work record at N.T.E.L., I felt I had no chance. I thought the battle was lost, and I wanted to put it behind me.'
'By marrying me.'
'No!' she cried, forcing herself to meet the black eyes which seemed to grip her cruelly. 'I did everything I could to find a job. Then I found out I wasn't going to succeed and…'
'And then you married me.'
'No, Marsh, you have it all wrong. I was desperate, and I was so ashamed… so disgusted by the whole thing. I just couldn't talk about it. But I married you for the simple reason that I loved you. You must believe that.'
'Why should I?' he asked. 'Since you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth about yourself then, why should I believe you're being honest now?'
'Because I am!' Anna insisted. 'What I've said is true, Marsh—every word of it.'
'What do you suppose would happen,' he changed the subject, 'if I showed this file to Charles Robbins?'
'He'd be surprised,' said Anna, 'since it's been altered. That is, assuming he was telling me the truth when he promised to keep the original accusation out of it. But he would still believe I was guilty of the security breach, and that I deserved to be fired.'
'You're wrong,' Marsh corrected. 'If I showed him this, he'd see the malice immediately, and you'd have your job back in five minutes.'
'I wouldn't want it,' Anna said bitterly. 'The conditions at N.T.E.L. would still be the same. As a matter of fact, I suspect that Charles Robbins believed me in the first place. He knew I was a trustworthy employee. But it didn't matter. It was just as the other man said: regardless of whether I was believed, I would lose my job.'
'First you say Robbins didn't believe you, and then you say he did believe you.' Alert intelligence was combined with obvious distrust in Marsh's sharp eyes.
'Because it doesn't matter one way or the other,' Anna sighed. 'He told me it's company policy to fire anyone who is even accused of being a security risk. Besides,' she added, 'the person who… did this to me is in a position of responsibility. He's more important to the company than I ever was. My word could carry no weight against his, regardless of where the truth lay. That's why they can keep their job, as far as I'm concerned.'
'Your sour grapes aren't very convincing,' said Marsh. 'You claim you don't care that an injustice has been done you, and that your chosen career has been destroyed. You just want to leave it all behind you, as you say. In favour of what, Anna? Of marriage to a man you refused to invest a little trust in, but who happens to be well enough fixed to take care of your sister? Is that it?'
'Now you sound like a prosecutor,' Anna reproached him. 'I'm your wife, not a felon.'
'Not according to that,' he said, pointing to the file.
'So you don't believe me.' Anger welled up in Anna's frayed nerves, banishing her fears.
'There's no reason to,' he replied evenly. 'You have no credibility. You married me under false pretences; you made no attempt to defend yourself legally against what you claim was an injustice; at every turn you've covered up the truth instead of revealing it. That, Anna, is what a lawyer would say. From a husband's point of view it's much simpler. You have refused me your trust, so I see no reason to extend you my own.' A bitter laugh escaped Anna's lips as she contemplated the enormity of her predicament.
'This is amazing,' she said. 'I've committed the unpardonable crime of being a victim. I've lost my job and my career. And now my own husband, after going behind my back to investigate my misfortunes, doesn't believe that I'm innocent. Have it your own way, then, Marsh. I've had enough.'
He had stood up.
'So have I,' he said. 'I don't think you deserve it, but I'll give you one last chance to tell me the name of this shadowy character you say is behind all this.'
'Why should I expect you to believe that?' asked Anna, infuriated by his imperious behaviour.
'You have a point there,' he agreed bitterly.
'Marsh,' she said suddenly as the terrible import of their quarrel came home to her, 'I love you. I couldn't tell you about this whole mess—it was too horrible. It was all happening just as I met you, and I wanted to put it behind me. But you must believe me. I intended to tell you everything once some time had gone by…'
'You mean once you were safely married and your bills were paid,' he interrupted.
Agonised by his cruel words, she made a last effort to convince him he was wrong. 'I wasn't keeping silent to protect myself,' she said.
'Then why?' he asked. 'To protect me? I hardly think so, Anna. I'm sorry, for you—for both of us.'
Marsh had thrown open the closet and seized a jacket. He opened the door to the corridor and stood in silence. An invisible force, powered by all the hopes accompanying her newfound love for him, struggled to turn her to him, to make her plead with him to come back. But something else, born of his obvious lack of trust and her own hurt, made her hesitate and turn in upon herself. And in that split second he must have sensed the inner conflict that kept her from him, for he closed the door abruptly and was gone.
Hours later Anna lay silently in his bed, having long ago given up her tossing and turning, for she was sure that sleep would not come this night.
After throwing away her uneaten dinner and doing the dishes, she had contemplated the apartment. The traces of her arrival were still sparse enough that she could erase them all by leaving now, tonight. It was simply a matter of packing her bags, re-packing the large box with books and personal effects, and calling a cab. She would sleep tonight in her own bed, miles away, and when he
returned he would know she had accepted his assessment of their marriage. If he wanted his freedom back, let him have it.
On the other hand, he might return at any moment. It would be embarrassing to be caught in the process of packing her things. He might be angry. He might try to stop her.
Besides, what if his anger drove him to do something foolish? What if he drank too much, or got into some kind of trouble? She should be here in case he needed her.
But most of all, she could not bring herself to abandon him, even though it was he who had walked out on her. She prayed he would return, that he would not despair of their relationship so quickly. If he had a change of heart, she wanted to be here, so he would know she had waited. She herself could not give up so soon on this marriage that had seemed so wonderful only twenty-four hours ago. Perhaps Marsh would remember the happiness they had known these past days. Perhaps he would reconsider. In spite of her impulse to seize what remained of her independence, to go home alone, she could not deny that she needed him.
Sleep, held back by the state of her nerves, but abetted by her emotional exhaustion, crept stealthily over her, and her pained thoughts became tinged with dream fantasies. The blue surface of Crystal Lake hovered before her mind's eye, reflecting multitudes of bright autumn leaves, and rippled by the crisp breeze of Indian summer. She was back in the hotel room. Marsh was smiling again, touching her gently, intimately, as he had the night of their arrival. In his tall, taut presence, so vital and strong in his windbreaker, his jeans, he was so handsome. And he smiled. He was not angry…
She did not hear the quiet click of the outer door, or the muted sounds of him taking off his clothes. The settling of his weight on the bed brought an unconscious purr of satisfaction from her, as she sensed his approach from within her dream. Even the quiet touch of his hand to her cheek, her hair, did not wake her, but stole through the confused levels of her consciousness to her senses, which reacted immediately to him.
For a long, sweet moment, her sleeping mind joined her aroused body in believing that the clock had truly been turned back. The hushed rustle of leaves persisted dreamily in the background of her growing desire. The darkness was that of the hotel room, plunged into daytime obscurity by his sudden closing of the curtains. The daunting warmth of his flesh closing over her own was again the penetrating intimacy it had been in the middle of that rapt afternoon.
Over and over again, in the confusion of her dream, Marsh's hands loosened her jeans, her shirt, her bra. Again and again the fabrics came loose, hung in a disarray produced by passion, slipped softly to the floor. Once more his hand crept to her breast and closed over the poised nipple which clamoured for his touch. Again she was naked, naked as though for the first time, her skin flicked tempestuously by the still, warm air of the silent room. And the hardness of his body grazed her soft curves, so magnetic, so powerful even in the most ethereal pressure. Her own sleek flesh, moving instinctively in its strange, rhythmic way, rubbed and touched him, kissed and released him, slipped luxuriantly over him, making of this contact a weird, teasing magic as old and irresistible as life itself.
Again and again, in this sensual dream fuelled silently by a reality of which she was not yet aware, his lips and hands drove her to a frenzy of wanting as the comforter slid beneath her. She was gripping him, running her slender fingers through his hair, returning his kisses with an abandon that stunned her senses. Closer he came, his touch penetrating ever deeper into the heady obscurity of her mind and soul, and she accepted him happily. The tickling, the teasing which had taunted her senses into an agony of desire were already expanding into that enormous fire of fulfilment, of ecstasy, in which he knew her utterly.
Slowly, in little dreamlike fits and starts, she came to herself in his bed. But in this awakening she was coming to him, losing herself in him, and finding herself once again through the passion he inspired in her. Aware now of the terror that had gripped her tonight, she clung to him desperately as his desire grew stronger. All at once the novelty of her surroundings struck her, adding its lush unfamiliarity to the wild probing of his touch. Before she could quite fathom what was happening, her passion was growing, preparing to spend itself here in the darkness with him. With a strength born of desire and fearful love, she grasped him, held him to her breast, as though to convince him that whatever had come between them, this intimacy still remained to bind them together, to provide some small hope that the damage might be undone, the clock turned back, the future saved.
The paroxysm had ended. Quietly Marsh receded from her embrace, and she felt sleep close over her like a soft coverlet. He was still beside her, warm and close, breathing deeply. Aware that he had come back to her despite the gulf between them, she clung to the hope promised by his physical presence, and slipped into an exhausted sleep by his side.
When she awoke, he was gone. After a day of restless activity in the apartment, she heard his key turn in the lock once more. His anger seemed gone now. In its place was a strange, disturbing aloofness. Unfailingly courteous and even attentive in his behaviour towards her, Marsh remained politely distant as he answered her questions, spoke in casual phrases of his work, and enquired about her own day.
Clearly he believed the burden was on Anna to prove her innocence and to justify her disastrous concealment of the facts concerning the loss of her job. Unable to forgive her for withholding so crucial a confidence, Marsh hid his feelings behind a facade of cool civility. Even in his occasional laughter over one or the other of the inconsequential events which amused him, he remained quietly unapproachable. Without trust, he seemed to be saying, she could hardly expect more from him than the pleasant, reserved stranger who confronted her now.
His message was not lost on Anna, who would have preferred a thousand angry quarrels to this hollow mood of deferential calm. But as the days passed she discovered in spite of herself that she too could be proud, and stubborn, and demanding. Reflecting that she had nothing to blame herself for beyond being the victim of a malicious plot against which she could not be expected to defend herself, she reproached Marsh for his blunt disbelief. Not only had he gone behind her back to discover the false charges against her, but he gave them his credence over her own word.
The damning personnel file remained on the coffee table where he had thrown it in his anger. Her glance returned obstinately to it as she paced the apartment. 'What does he expect of me?' she wondered in exasperation. If he believed she was guilty of the crimes alleged in the file, and of marrying him without love, she could hardly expect to convince him he was wrong. Having abandoned his trust in her, he would believe what he chose regardless of whatever action she might take.
But again the thought of her vulnerable friends at N.T.E.L. forced Anna to an effort in which she invested little hope. She put the hated file in an envelope addressed to Charles Robbins, accompanied by a letter explaining that its contents proved there was malice behind her dismissal. Although indifferent to the prospect of regaining her old position, she wrote, she implored Charles to investigate the situation with a view to exposing Porter Deman and protecting his potential victims.
She reasoned that her action must implicitly satisfy Marsh by proving that she did not shrink from defending herself against charges she knew were false. In the improbable event that the company acted upon her request, her name would be cleared. And if, as she bitterly expected, nothing was done, Marsh would have to accept her claim that self-defence was futile against the corporation's inertia and indifference.
But she decided not to tell him of her action until she knew its results. And when her letter went unanswered she shrugged sadly and put it out of her thoughts. What was the point, she wondered, of belabouring a point that was already lost? She had no interest in recapturing the job she had lost, but only in regaining her angry husband's trust. On the other hand, she refused to beg for a confidence she felt she already deserved. Let Marsh himself re-examine his hasty conclusions, she decided resentfully. If she had act
ed wrongly in hiding her dilemma from him, he had been only too quick to withdraw his support from her. Having rejected her so brutally, he owed her a sign of trust, or even of apology, before expecting her to justify herself anew.
So the stand-off persisted, a marriage between strangers punctuated by bits of insignificant conversation which quickly dissipated into uncomfortable silence. But in the night's quietest hours, as though under cover of a darkness that obscured mistrust and resentment, he came to her, renewing through his caresses a secret contact which persisted underneath the cold civility of the new day.
And thus a pattern was established. Polite strangers by day, Marsh and Anna were impassioned lovers by night. Each time they were intimate, and the heat of his touch stoked daunting fires inside her, she cherished the hope that this closeness promised an end to the discord that troubled their days.
But nothing changed. No matter how early she awoke, he seemed somehow to have arisen and disappeared, as though making a furtive escape from her. His nightly return was hardly an occasion for joyous renewal, since the empty affability of their conversations made her feel lonelier than ever in his company. The evenings passed painfully for Anna, and she went to bed torn by the conflict between her increasing desperation and her secret knowledge that, in the dark of night, she would be his again.
As the days and weeks passed, his lovemaking seemed to take on an infinite variety of meanings. In the absence of real conversation, it was as though all the private feelings which succeed one another during the first weeks of a new marriage were expressing themselves wordlessly through the subtle modulations of his caress, his kiss, the feel of his body.
Sometimes he made love to her with a deliberate violence which seemed to reproach and punish, even as it left her faint with pleasure. At other times his touch was gentle, tender, as though he wished to point out regretfully the bond that still linked him to her, and to strengthen it somehow. Now and then there was a perverse, mocking intimacy in his kisses, a delight in sexual arousal which bypassed trust as it inflamed her shamelessly to him.