Wishing Water

by Freda Lightfoot

  The man was still talking. ‘Eighty million gallons of water are pumped from the Lakes area each day. Trouble is, Manchester could do with another fifty at least. Industry must have its water, eh?’

  ‘Quite.’ God, what a bore he was. Philip drained his glass, preparatory to making a hasty departure, but the man clung.

  ‘The demand goes on. Industry versus tourism, I suppose. I’ve to speak at a meeting tonight, in fact. You’ll read all about it in the local paper, how Manchester Water Board is on the lookout for another site. Most of it is scare-mongering of course. Rumours abound.’ He rolled his eyes and laughed. ‘People panic and come up with all sorts of daft notions. They’d have everyone believe we’re ploughing up half the Lake District to hear some talk.’ He continued with his tale without pausing to draw breath.

  ‘But if we don’t find a suitable valley for a holding reservoir soon, we’ll have to extract from the main lakes, and folk won’t like that any better, now will they? Think they’re holy, those waters, and it’s my unenviable task to help find the right spot. Do preliminary survey work before calling in the geologists and the rest of the engineers. I don’t mind telling you this is my first big job, so it’d be a feather in my cap if I came up with the goods, so to speak.’

  ‘I see,’ Philip said, suddenly thoughtful.

  Andrew Spencer puffed out his chest with self-importance then took a swallow of beer, wiping the froth from his upper lip with the back of his hand. ‘No doubt I’ll be questioned by the local big-wigs and the press ad nauseam. I’ve given two interviews this morning already.’ The man sighed at the trials of unwanted fame. ‘Not my favourite task, I can tell you.’

  Philip was back on the bar stool by this time, dark eyes alert. He glanced at the empty beer glass. ‘Can I get you the other half?’

  ‘Aye,’ said the Manchester man. ‘I wouldn’t say no.’

  Lissa stood in front of the shop windows which someone had painted white on the inside and felt a stir of excitement. Renee had been right. The Gifte Shoppe people had packed up and gone. Miss Stevens’ old drapery was looking sadly neglected. The paintwork was chipped and there were posters and sale tickets peeling off the filthy windows.

  Of course the idea was preposterous. How could she take on the lease? Who would arrange it for her? Where would she find the money? Nor could she hope to keep it a secret from Philip. That had soon become apparent, even to Renee when she’d talked to her about this mad idea.

  ‘Don’t you think someone might notice me behind the counter?’ Lissa had said, giggling over their usual glass of sherry. She made a point of calling in at Nab Cottage regularly now. Renee was good to talk to, and their friendship had deepened.

  ‘Wear a disguise. Buy a wig and a pair of dark glasses.’ Renee had been off again, opening wide her orange mouth and letting the laughter ring out. In the end, however, common sense prevailed and new strategies were devised. ‘Sex. That generally gets you what you want,’ she’d bluntly suggested. But on seeing Lissa’s face muscles tighten and a shudder ripple down her spine, did not pursue the subject further. ‘Sweet talk then. Worked with my Jimmy when I first thought of doing B and B.’ Her face had softened. ‘But then he’s a pet, bless him. Wouldn’t refuse me a thing.’

  ‘Philip isn’t like Jimmy.’

  ‘No, and even Jimbo has his limits. I’d like us to sell this place and move to somewhere bigger.’ Her expression grew dreamy. ‘We could do with the money and we can only take five guests here, six at a pinch, so it’d be grand to have a couple more bedrooms, and a separate dining room. Feeding them is a problem. At the moment we have to put up tables every morning in the front parlour. Bit of a fag that is, I can tell you. We did try them in here, but Jimmy didn’t like it. He likes his privacy, you see.’

  Lissa, remembering how the pair had seemed to be permanently glued together, didn’t doubt it.

  ‘The poor lamb deserves his little pleasures. He works hard enough. He’s a creature of impulse. We both are.’ She winked outrageously, the spiky eyelashes wriggling like spider’s legs. ‘But you can’t go having it off on the rug if some old dear could walk in at any minute for her cornflakes, now can you?’

  Lissa flushed, then giggled. ‘Do you never take life seriously?’

  ‘Not if I can avoid it. Jimmy does, bless him.’

  Funny how she and Renee got on so well when they were as different as chalk and cheese. Renee so robust and unashamedly sexy, and herself having forgotten what it was to really love a man. Well, almost. And now was not the moment to recall it.

  Then when Renee had switched on the electric fire and drawn the curtains, the gesture had reminded Lissa of the time. ‘Golly, I must go.’ She’d hurried to find her coat which matched the pale blue dress exactly. Renee smoothed her hand admiringly over the soft fabric as she helped her on with it.

  ‘You’re so good with style. Not like me. I buy summat because I like the colour, then throw things together and hope for the best. I like bright colours, d’you see?’

  Lissa thought about this remark now as she stared at the peeling paintwork. Was it possible? Could she run a shop, build a career for herself? Would Philip agree? Dare she ask him?

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘I’ve been thinking that I might start a business of my own.’

  Philip stared at her, then laughed. It would almost have been better had he shouted at her. But he simply put back his head and roared with laughter, as if she’d said the funniest thing. ‘What do you know about running a business?’

  ‘I could learn.’ But he only laughed again. Then he lifted his head, smiling and handsome, and sniffed the air. ‘Is that the dinner I smell burning?’

  Lissa dropped the knives and forks she was carefully laying on her best white lace tablecloth and flew to the kitchen to rescue the steak and mushroom pie which she had baked especially to please him this evening.

  ‘The Cheyneys will be here at any minute,’ he warned, getting in her way as she flustered about with oven gloves. ‘You are utterly incompetent, Lissa. Why can’t you be more organised?’

  Because I’ve been run off my feet all day cleaning this place from stem to stern, she thought furiously, but said nothing. Perhaps he was right. Mortified by failure as the kitchen filled with acrid smoke Lissa decided that she probably was incompetent. She did seem to make a dreadful mess of everything: marriage, their sex life, even apparently her own children. What made her think she wouldn’t make a mess of a shop as well?

  He came to stand beside her at the kitchen sink, watching as she tried to salvage the pie by scraping off the worst of the blackened pastry. It always made her feel worse when he watched. ‘How silly of me to forget it,’ she apologised. ‘I’ve some cold duck left in the fridge. We could have that and I’ll do a salad instead.’

  ‘I would prefer the pie. This only proves you must keep your mind on your true purpose in life, being a good wife to me. What can be more important than that? Business indeed.’ And his handsome face filled with derision.

  ‘I would so like to be a success at something,’ Lissa said, turning pleading eyes to his, the oven cloth still in her hands. There was no sign of compassion in his face, not a trace of understanding, and in that moment she truly hated him. ‘Can’t you see, Philip? I need a life of my own.’

  ‘You have a life, looking after me and the children.’

  ‘I need some independence. More than that, I need to feel proud of myself, build my self-esteem. I want to be a real person, not a shadow of what I might have been.’

  ‘How terribly melodramatic you sound.’

  ‘Only because it’s true.’

  All she had to say was, I’ve got a business in mind already, but somehow the words wouldn’t come. Lissa flushed at the very thought. Quite impossible.

  ‘Is this supper ever going to be ready? You do care enough about me to give my friends a decent meal, I suppose?’

  She gazed at the pie in despair. Hilary Cheyney was a wonderful cook.
Lissa went and stared in the fridge, seeking salvation.

  ‘You want to abandon your children and a loving husband to play at being a businesswoman, and you can’t even manage one simple dinner.’

  Lissa was becoming increasingly flustered. ‘If you’ll just let me get on with it, I can manage very well. Anyway, I’m not asking you for any money,’ Lissa said, very quietly. ‘What if I grill this pair of trout, add a bit of a bacon and a nice sauce?’ She started to chop lettuce.

  He pushed his face close to hers and spoke to her in staccato fashion as if explaining something to an idiot. ‘You need capital to start a business. Did you not realise, my sweet innocent child? It isn’t a new toy to play with and throw away when you get bored.’

  He took the trout from her and put it back in the fridge beside the cold cuts of duck.

  Anger rose hot and sour in her throat. Lissa wanted to shout that she knew all of that, that she did have money. Money which had been left to her, and she could manage very well without him. But some part of her made her hold this piece of information back, as if she needed to keep the knowledge secret, for protection.

  How could she defy him? Philip loved her. Wasn’t it her duty to make him happy?

  ‘You’re probably right,’ she sighed, shutting the fridge door. The anger had faded, swamped by depression. There could be no escape. Philip would have his way in everything, not understanding her desire for independence.

  Lissa reached for the cloth but he took it from her with finger and thumb, grimacing with distaste as he dropped it to the floor and gathered her in his arms. ‘You are young, and vulnerable. I want only to protect you and keep you safe. I need you here, Lissa, my darling. What is so wrong with that? For my pleasure alone, free from all outside troubles and influences. Forget the pie,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘I’ll ring the Cheyneys and tell them you’re not well. I find I’m not hungry this evening after all, not for food anyway. Perhaps it was meant that you burn it. A lucky omen to make us take an early night.’

  He was leading her from the kitchen and a tide of panic flooded her. She couldn’t face it, not now, not tonight.

  Unbidden, the image of Derry came into her head. She saw his smile, heard his laughter and his cheerful chatter, remembered the smoothness of his skin, his loving arms about her as they had been on that day at Kidsty Pike. The truth was that she still wanted him, as much as ever.

  ‘No,’ she said, very firmly, removing herself from Philip’s grasp. ‘Not tonight.’ Then picking up the oven gloves Lissa calmly proceeded to carry the pie dish into the dining room. Philip blocked her way, his face dark with anger.

  ‘I’ve told you I’ll ring and cancel. Go upstairs.’

  ‘Cancel the Cheyneys by all means, if you wish, but I said no, not tonight.’

  ‘Are you disobeying me?’

  She laughed as she adroitly side-stepped him, and though Lissa quailed at her daring she secretly revelled in the shock that came over his face at her temerity. ‘I suppose I am.’ Feeling the exhilaration of her defiance soar through her veins. ‘I’m hungry and rather tired. I’ve had a busy day.’ She drew in a deep breath and sat down, arranging her skirts, more composed than she had felt in a long while.

  What had come over her?

  Where was she finding this courage? From fear? Or an echo of that old Lissa, not quite dead after all?

  Philip towered above her, angry, menacing, and Lissa lifted her chin to smile up at him. ‘Do stop huffing and puffing, darling. Are you going to ring them or not? The pie will go cold.’

  He lifted one arm and swept it from the table. The dish broke as it hit the floor and rich gravy and pieces of blackened crust spilled out on to the blue carpet.

  ‘There now,’ said Lissa, with not the faintest tremor in her voice. ‘Now we can’t possibly have the Cheyneys to dinner. Not until we buy a new carpet.’

  It was an insubstantial victory. Philip rang and put off the Cheyneys till the following Friday. Lissa spent an hour on her knees cleaning the carpet. But she had learned never mention the subject of taking a business ever again.

  A cold winter changed into an indifferent spring and then into a summer of sweet scents which lightened her heart. She loved to see the boats bobbing on the lake, their masts bristling with importance, white sails flapping, children squealing with delight. It made her think of that long ago joyous summer when she too had felt her blood sing with the promise of youth, all her future before her. Lissa constantly needed to remind herself that she was still young, even as the thought of growing old with Philip somehow made her shudder.

  She felt as if time was slipping through her fingers and she had no control over it. But then she had no control over anything. And every time she passed the old drapery she felt that it symbolised in some way the loss of her freedom.

  She devoted more time to her children, much to Nanny Sue’s annoyance. Any change in routine was strictly frowned upon but Lissa took to impromptu picnics, to longer walks by the shore, and bus rides to neighbouring towns. Anything to keep her occupied and out of the house. Not that she could stay away too long. Philip rang regularly to check how she was. And though he smiled in fond amusement when she told him of little incidents that had occurred on her walks, he expected her to be home in good time to be ready for him.

  ‘My own sweet darling. You mustn’t do too much,’ he would say, kissing her brow. ‘Is my drink ready?’

  The twins loved these little adventures, as they called them. But however much she might fill her days, there was no escaping the nights. Each evening Lissa found herself filled with an increasing dread. Partly from the fear of his unremitting interrogation about her state of health, and the sense of ruthlessness that was edging into his lovemaking. He still hoped for a son.

  Clad in her silk robe, hair brushed and face cleansed of make up, she looked like an innocent young girl and Lissa found herself trembling as she walked into the bedroom. Today the humidity had developed into a summer storm, wrecking her plans and keeping her within doors, making her edgy.

  ‘I’m so tired,’ she said, the moment she saw Philip’s face. ‘It’s been a hot, trying day. The twins were fractious because the rain spoiled their walk.’ It was still beating now on the window panes, emphasising her claustrophobia.

  ‘You do look a little pale,’ he agreed, his voice warm with consideration. ‘Are you well? Is there no sign yet?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ trying to disguise the tremor in her voice.

  ‘You must see Doctor Robson again.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And take more care. We don’t want you overdoing things.’ There were times when he wanted her to appear sensual and sophisticated, when he liked to invite men to dinner and watch them drool over her beauty and their wives grow cold with envy. He loved to sense their need, bask in their jealousy. But in the bedroom he preferred her to exhibit a more virginal appeal. ‘You must rest more. I shall insist upon it.’

  She saw at once her mistake. If she became too tired to please him he would confine her to the house even more.

  ‘I’m just ready for a good sleep, that’s all,’ she said, sounding bright and cheerful as she went to draw the curtains. ‘What a dreadful night.’

  He moved up behind her and slid his hands over her hips and down between her legs, making her jump, loving it when she gasped. ‘I need a contented wife. Willing and loving.’

  Lissa eased herself gently from his grasp to attend to the other window.

  ‘I thought I might take the children for a drive tomorrow. I promised Meg. I haven’t seen her in ages.’

  ‘A drive? Alone?’

  ‘Why not? May I use the new car?’

  He looked doubtful. ‘I would feel happier if I were to drive you.’

  ‘I can drive. I took lessons and passed my test, remember?’ It had been one of her minor successes.

  She’d finished attending to the curtains and moved back to the dressing table. Philip watched every nuance of th
e way the silk gown clung to her slender body, the peak of her nipples thrusting against the flimsy fabric. The need in him was growing and he revelled in the anticipation, only half aware of her words. ‘You are such an innocent, my darling. Driving a car is a serious business.’

  ‘I’m perfectly capable.’

  ‘We’ll discuss it later, shall we?’ He smoothed his hands about her throat, kissing the nape of her neck.

  Her chin came up, neatly evading his hand. ‘No, Philip, we’ll discuss it now. I want to go. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.’ Rebellion was crisp in her voice and he felt a flush of irritation that she should spoil this sensuous moment for him.

  ‘Dear me. You sound like a sulky child.’

  ‘I mean to go.’

  ‘Perhaps your little adventures have gone to your head?’ He kissed her bare shoulder and she shrugged it away. A look of irritation came to his face. ‘I’ll take you on Sunday if you wish, and we can fit in a visit to Larkrigg at the same time. More effort on that score wouldn’t come amiss.’

  Lissa bit down on a sigh of vexation but said no more, taking her frustration out on her hair as she dragged her brush furiously through tangled curls.

  Philip smoothed the curls with his fingers, noting how she shivered at his touch, how she really wanted and loved him to touch her. ‘I can understand how you might have a problem with families, having been rejected by your mother. I know Meg claims to have loved you, but you’ve failed to keep her love, haven’t you? My own mother, now, was a wonderful woman, absolutely devoted to me. But you have me to take care of you now. I will never let you down, my darling. A visit to your grandmother wouldn’t come amiss, as I have told you many times. You could make more effort to build a relationship.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Lissa was tired of the argument, wishing he didn’t make her feel so inadequate, knowing the subject would be brought up time and again until in the end she would be forced to agree for the sake of peace. I dare say you’re right, Philip.’