“I mooned around at home, shed a few tears of frustration and decided my life had finished at the age of sixteen.”
“All very normal behavior, in fact, for a young girl in the throes of calf love.”
“Oh yes, everything was absolutely normal. But then …”
“Just take it in strict chronological sequence. There you were, you say, shedding tears like a lovesick heroine—”
“—in the summerhouse, yes, I was just weeping over my volume of Browning when … when Bobby turned up with Glendower—or at least the Glendower of seventeen years ago. He asked me what the matter was and when I poured out my heart to him he was so kind and understanding.” This was the Bobby I could allow myself to remember. I was able to speak the words without difficulty.
“Was there any manifestation of an abnormal interest at this stage?”
“No, but after that he became nicer and nicer to me, and I kept meeting him by accident at odd moments—only of course the meetings were no accident—”
“I’m sorry, I’ve lost track of the time here. Is this still May or are we in June?”
“It must have been still in May. I met Conor at the beginning of the month, and I don’t think this unusual interest from Bobby went on for more than a fortnight or so—three weeks at the most.”
“But there was still no hint of impropriety?”
“No, I knew his interest was unprecedented but I just thought he was making an extra effort to cheer me up.”
“He didn’t kiss you here in the music room, for instance, when no one was around?”
“No, never. But it’s odd you should mention the music room because he did come here more than once when I was practicing the piano.” I tried to recall the incidents. I had spent so many years trying to forget that my memory had become shadowy, but I now found as a matter of pride that I wanted to dispel the shadows in order to impress Robert with my courage. “Wait a moment,” I said to him. “I must try and get this right.”
“Take your time.”
I went on thinking. I now felt no pain, no fear, just a consuming desire to confess as accurately as possible, and as I sat there in silence the past seemed no longer an emotional nightmare but an intellectual puzzle which I felt morally bound to solve.
At last I said slowly, “I think the truth is probably this: Bobby may well have wanted to kiss me—or hold my hand—or something—by that time, and I think if I’d been older I’d have realized that he was thinking of me sexually, but I didn’t realize and he didn’t actually do anything.”
“Very well, I accept that.”
“You see, when it did happen it was as if I’d had no warning …” My voice shook and I had to stop.
“Yes, I understand but don’t jump ahead—keep to the sequence. Margaret went away at about this time, I think.”
“Yes, to Staffordshire to see Aunt May whose baby had died. Poor Aunt May, she was so nice—trust awful old Aunt Ethel to be the sister who survived—”
“A tragedy, I agree, but don’t let’s be diverted by Aunt Ethel’s indisputable awfulness; let’s concentrate on the May of 1896. Now: Margaret was away in Staffordshire and Kinsella, presumably, was still at Porteynon. How did you manage to see him after Margaret left?”
“I didn’t. I never saw him. That story of the clandestine meetings was invented by Margaret later to hush up what had happened.”
“I see. Very well. So there you were at Oxmoon, but you certainly weren’t alone with Bobby. You had your governess and Celia bobbing around you whenever you weren’t being pestered by the babies in the nursery, so Bobby must have had to choose the moment for the seduction very carefully.”
“Yes. He did.”
“If I were Bobby I’d have gone to your room at night.”
“Yes,” I said again. “He did.” As I crushed out my cigarette I heard myself say rapidly, “That was what was so awful, Robert, about last night when Bobby interrupted us. Of course I knew perfectly well he only wanted to find out how likely I was to marry you—I knew he had no sinister purpose in mind—but when he came in it was as if the past was repeating itself—oh God, I can’t tell you what a nightmare last night was—”
“It was a nightmare for all three of us. But let’s return to the nightmare of ’96.”
“That’s why Margaret didn’t put me in my old room this time. She knew—she understood—”
“Never mind 1913. We’re in 1896 and Bobby’s come to your room to show he can no longer think of you as a daughter.”
“Yes, he … he kissed me and … I’m sorry, I will be able to go on in a moment—but you’ll have to ask me another question; I can’t see where to go next—”
“Did he seduce you then or did he merely set the scene for a later seduction?”
“Oh God, the answer’s both yes and no. I’m sorry, I know that sounds ludicrous, but—”
“Not at all. He seems to be conforming to a well-known pattern. What you’re saying is that he did seduce you but he didn’t—he left you a virgin physically but not mentally and emotionally.”
“Yes, it was all so … oh, so indescribably awful, awful because … because … well, you did say just now, didn’t you, that in such cases the child sometimes acquiesces to the point of encouragement … and I did acquiesce, it was because he frightened me. I knew it was wrong, but what shattered me was that I could see he knew it was wrong yet he couldn’t stop himself—and when I saw him like that, a changed man, a stranger—oh God, it was so terrifying, all I wanted was to put things right. … He said he was unhappy, you see, so I thought that if only I could make him happy he’d become the Bobby I knew again—”
“Did he explain why he was unhappy?”
“He said that with Margaret away he was afraid to sleep alone because he knew he’d have nightmares, and he asked if he could sleep with me for a little while to keep the nightmares at bay. And the awful thing was, Robert—”
“He was telling the truth. He was genuinely desperate and of course you longed to help him—oh yes, the really consummate liars of this world always use the truth as far as they possibly can! Very well, so the truth gave him the excuse he needed to get into bed with you, and you were much too terrified by this revelation of the unbalanced side of his personality to do anything but consent. I accept all that. Now—”
“He did say he wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do, but the trouble was … well, I didn’t really know what he meant, I’d never discussed passion with anyone—‘sex’ as Mr. H. G. Wells calls it—well, you just thought it was soppy, didn’t you, and Margaret had only said she’d have a little talk with me later before I had my first dance—of course I had inklings of what went on because of all the animals, but I was still so ignorant—”
“I understand. Now, what was Bobby’s reaction afterwards? Did he immediately ask if he could return the next night?”
“Oh no—no, quite the reverse! Robert, he was horrified, absolutely appalled—and of course that made me more terrified than ever because at that point he seemed irrevocably transformed into someone wicked who did terrible things. He sat on the edge of the bed and said, ‘I’ve done a terrible thing and no one must ever know about it’—oh, God, how he frightened me! Then he got in a state about the sheet because … well, I said I’d sponge it off but he didn’t trust me, he had to do it himself. He was in a panic. He said, ‘You mustn’t worry, you’re still a virgin, I haven’t harmed you,’ but when he looked at my expression he saw how he had harmed me, and he said, ‘Oh God forgive me,’ and I thought he was going to break down but he didn’t, he just repeated he’d never do such a thing again, and then he left.”
“But he came back—”
“The next night, yes.”
“—and completed the seduction.”
“Yes. I couldn’t bear to see him so distressed, and when he broke his word I was almost relieved. I thought: Now I’ll be able to put matters right. But—”
“How many times did full s
exual intercourse take place?”
“There were two more occasions but I didn’t mind, I was just so relieved to make him happy because afterwards the stranger disappeared and he was himself again.”
“And after the final occasion—”
“Margaret came home and the horrors began.” I closed my eyes for a moment and when I reopened them I found myself again staring at the sheet music on the table. “He told her straightaway,” I said. “I think that shocked me more than anything that had happened previously. I knew by that time that he couldn’t be trusted to keep his word, but he’d sworn he’d never tell her and he’d made me swear too … all for nothing. It destroyed him for me when he did that. I hated him. I felt betrayed. It was vile. I felt so filthy, so unclean, so absolutely defiled—”
“What did Margaret do?”
“She was very fierce and very ruthless. ‘I’m not going to let my home and family be destroyed by this,’ she said to us. ‘I’ve been through too much in the past and I’m damned if it’s all going to be for nothing.’ Then she said, ‘Let me think about what has to be done and then we’ll meet again in the morning.’ It was late at night by that time. I went to bed but I was so wretched, so overcome with shame and guilt and grief, that I knew I couldn’t bear to stay in the house. It was Margaret, you see … I knew I’d lost her love forever … the only mother I could remember … I didn’t know how I was going to bear it.”
“Yes.” He paused before asking, “What happened next?”
“I ran away. I thought the least I could do to make amends to her was to run away so that she would never have to see me again. And of course I was frightened of Bobby still, frightened that he would come to my room in spite of everything. I knew I could never live at Oxmoon again—it was all destroyed, the Oxmoon I loved, the Oxmoon of our childhood—the fairy tale had come to this terrible end and I had to escape somehow into the real world outside.”
“So you turned to Kinsella.”
“It was the only solution I could think of. I was so desperate—naturally I’d never have dared to approach him under normal circumstances, but I thought he might help me start afresh in Dublin—I thought he was the sort of unconventional man who might possibly be bold enough to come to my rescue. Well … you know what happened next. I rode to Porteynon, roused the whole household by mistake and wound up making a complete mess of everything. More horrors. Scandal. Ghastliness. The only gleam of light in the ink-black landscape was that I finally succeeded in capturing Conor’s imagination—that was when he realized that I was just the sort of woman he wanted. … But I didn’t tell him the truth. I just said I was unhappy at home. I never told him the truth, never, he tried to make me when he found out two years later that I wasn’t a virgin, but I said I’d had an accident riding and I stuck to that story through thick and thin. You see, I couldn’t talk about it, even to him. It belonged to the horrible evil fairy tale I’d left behind; I felt that if I once talked about it to anyone afterwards it would become part of the real world and I didn’t see how I could possibly live with it. … Oh God, I was so frightened that he’d find out but luckily although he never quite believed in the riding accident, he always thought the lover was you—and he never suspected Bobby at all.”
There was a pause. Presently when I was more composed I said, “There’s not much more to tell you. Soon everyone believed I’d had a row with Bobby and Margaret about Conor and that I was being sent to live with my godparents because I’d behaved so disgracefully. I didn’t mind by then what people thought. I was just so glad to escape to the Applebys.”
“And Kinsella? How had you left matters with him?”
“In all the uproar we barely had thirty seconds alone together but he told me I was magnificent and that I was to wait for him while he went to America to make some money. He swore he’d never forget me and that when he came back we’d be married.”
“And you believed that.”
“Oh yes, I was much too young and romantic to do anything else. But in fact, as even a cynic would have to admit, his attitude was credible enough. I did have thirty thousand pounds. I was, as Margaret would say, ‘fetching.’ Conor was proud, too proud to marry when he was penniless, but once he had a little money behind him it wasn’t so surprising that he thought it worthwhile to return to Europe to collect me.”
“True. But you lost faith in him, didn’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have become engaged to Timothy.”
“I never entirely lost faith in him, but Robert, as time went by I began to see another horrible prospect drifting towards me and I knew I simply had to marry to escape it. I didn’t dare wait for Conor any longer.”
“Oxmoon?”
“Exactly. I was terrified that in the end I’d have to go back. You see, once Margaret became confident that she had Bobby in control she was quite shrewd enough to realize how odd it would look if they didn’t offer to have me back; they couldn’t go on exiling me indefinitely because of my mad behavior with Conor.”
“Margaret discussed this with you, I assume.”
“Yes, she was very kind to me. She guaranteed Bobby’s good behavior and said I was never to think she wouldn’t welcome me back to Oxmoon whenever I chose to come. Oh Robert … I cried when she said that. I was old enough then to see how absolutely she’d saved us all … but of course I knew I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t trust Bobby, you see, no matter what she said. I knew I could never trust him again.”
“No, of course you couldn’t. So, in conclusion, you became engaged, disengaged and—finally—married.”
“Yes—out of the frying pan into the fire as usual. But that’s another story,” I said, and when I managed to look at him I saw he was smiling at me.
“Oh Robert …” I began to cry. I sniffed and snorted and huge tears streamed down my cheeks and I’m sure I looked a perfect fright. I’ve never had any patience with those romantic heroines who weep beautifully into dainty pieces of lace while the strong silent hero tells himself she’s A Woman Sorely Wronged.
“Why the devil is it,” said Robert exasperated, “that you never have a handkerchief? Here you are, take mine and start mopping.”
“Oh Robert, you do believe me, don’t you? I’ve told you the whole truth, I swear I have—”
“Yes, I realize that. Have another cigarette.”
I started weeping again because he was being so nice to me. I was in far too emotional a state to wonder now genuine his mood was and what it all meant. I was simply living minute by minute, second by second, and marveling that I should still be conscious after such an ordeal. I now thought of the ordeal as “over.” Where it left us I had no idea but I was for the present too relieved to care. At that point, I told myself, matters could only improve. Now that Robert had all the information at his fingertips he could sort it out, file it away, erase all trace of the mess and tell me how to live happily ever after.
Looking back I can see I was positively unhinged by my relief. In fact I was almost on the point of hallucination; as Robert lit my second cigarette I had no trouble seeing him as the hero who would forgive me everything and swear never again to mention my past.
“Very well,” he said, extinguishing not only the match but my sentimental delusions. “So much for 1896. Now let’s turn to your marriage. How often were you unfaithful to Kinsella?”
That shocked me out of my tears fast enough. It also brought me face to face with reality. My ordeal wasn’t over. On the contrary it had just begun, because although Robert had got what he wanted as usual—the truth—he couldn’t cope with it. Unable to bear the thought of me with his father he was now ricocheting in self-defense toward the murky waters of my subsequent sexual experience.
I knew very well that he had loathed Conor. In fact I was almost tempted to confess that Conor had been unable to keep me to himself, but fortunately despite my panic I still had the sense to see that any pleasure Robert might derive from this information would be utterly outweighed by his horror that I
had given myself to other men. Robert was deeply jealous and very possessive. (This was now part of his attraction for me; in his jealousy and possessiveness I saw the shield that would protect me against predators.) However although I was willing to tolerate and even embrace this side of his personality, I did clearly see that a little jealousy could go a very long way.
Discretion was obviously called for.
“What makes you think I was unfaithful?” I said to play for time while I decided what to say.
“Ah come, Ginette, you may as well tell me about your marriage—why not? What could be worse than what you’ve already told me this morning?”
He had called me Ginette again. My spirits soared. Whatever happened I now had to avoid the disaster of falling at the final fence.
“But I was never unfaithful to Conor,” I said, assuming my most candid expression. “I loved him too much to look at anyone else.”
Robert gave me one long contemptuous look. Then he stood up and walked out.
“Oh my God.” I’d fallen at the final fence. Rushing after him I caught him up in the hall. “Robert, wait—Robert, please—”
“I can’t talk to you anymore.” He began to hurry up the stairs. “I can’t listen to lies.”
“All right, I’ll tell you the truth, I swear I will, I swear it, I’ll do anything you want …”
He took no notice. He never even looked back.
I hitched up my skirts and tried to race after him but I nearly fell flat on my face. Sometimes I think women’s fashions should be abolished by act of Parliament. I was wearing not only a hobble skirt but a vile corset, currently much in vogue, which reached almost to my knees in order to ensure that the skirt fell in the right lines.
I was still teetering absurdly up the stairs when I heard the door of his bedroom slam in the distance but I never faltered, and seconds later I was bursting across the threshold. “Robert,” I panted, “Robert, listen—”
I had grabbed his arm but he wrenched it away. “No hysterics. I can’t stand hysterics. I won’t tolerate them.”
“All right, I’ll be calm, look how calm I am, I’m so calm I’m virtually dead. Robert, I admit I wasn’t faithful to Conor, but I only lied to you because I couldn’t bear the thought that I’d make you even more upset—”
The Wheel of Fortune Page 17