'Whenever he happened to be home to see them, you mean.' Cassie commented drily. Then, impatiently,
'I've told you dozens of times, Mother, we don't want any children, we're perfectly happy as we are.'
'Oh, really!' Her mother banged a saucepan down
oo angrily on to the draining-board. 'I don't know what your generation think you're doing. Three children all married and not one of you with any babies. What's the point of getting married at all if you're not going to have any children?'
'Are you suggesting that you would prefer us to be living in sin?' Cassie demanded tartly.
'Certainly not! You know full well what I mean.' Seeing that she wasn't getting anywhere, the older woman changed tactics. 'Your father isn't getting any younger, you know. He was saying only today how much he'd love to have a grandchild before he gets too old.'
'Oh, Mother,' Cassie exclaimed exasperatedly, 'he's not even sixty yet. Anyone would think he'd got one foot in the grave, to listen to you.'
'Well, he probably will have if he waits for you. And anyway, he'll be retiring soon,' her mother added defensively. 'It would be nice to have grandchildren we could take on outings.'
'Well, go and talk to your daughtersin-law, then,' Lassie told her without sympathy, 'because I certainly don't intend to saddle myself with children just to satisfy your grandmaternal instincts.'
'You know I can't talk to them about it. They don't like it if I do.'
'No, and nor do I.' Cassie dropped the teatowel on to the draining-board. 'We live in an entirely different world from the one when you were a young wife. We can choose our own way of life and whether or not to have a career. Motherhood isn't the be-all and end-all that it was when you got married, Mother, and frankly, quite apart from the fact that they would be an unwanted encumbrance, the whole idea of having children bores me to tears!' Then Cassie turned on her heel and walked firmly out of the kitchen, two bright patches of angry colour on her cheeks.
Everyone looked at her curiously as she entered the sitting-room and she realised with some annoyance that they must have heard the raised voices. No one said
anything, though, and the episode was glossed over, although her mother rather pointedly ignored her for an hour or so afterwards.
On the way home Simon asked her, 'What was all that about?'
Cassie shrugged. 'Oh, the usual thing: when are we going to start a family. Though why she always picks on me when the others have been married longer, I don't know.'
'What did you tell her?'
'That we didn't want any children, of course, ever. We agreed on that right at the start.'
'Did we? I don't remember incorporating it into the marriage vows.'
The slightly sardonic note in his voice made Cassie look at him sharply, but then she laughed. 'Simon, don't tease. You know it was an accepted thing.'
He was silent for a moment, then said rather absently, 'Yes, of course.'
He changed the subject then, and it seemed no time at all before they got home, grabbed a few hours' sleep and Cassie was rushing around to get ready for the trip to Paris. Simon dropped her off at the
Underground station and Cassie gave him a swift kiss of farewell.
"Bye, darling. Must rush I'm sure I'm going to be late,' Cassie said hurriedly as she hauled her case out of the car.
Simon laughed. 'Stop panicking, you've got plenty of time.'
But Cassie was already shutting the car door. 'I'll call you tonight. 'Bye!'
But when she did finally get round to phoning him late that evening her only reply was from the metallic sounding voice on the answer-phone tape. She had spent an exciting, exhausting day booking into a hotel, meeting her French contacts, and being introduced to the team of young French designers, who had insisted on taking her out to dinner. Cassie spoke
French reasonably well, but it had been a strain trying to follow and join in a conversation on style and design that had turned into a prolonged debate with good-natured but voluble argument ranging back and forth, and it had been late when they finally broke up and she had got a taxi back to her hotel.
There was also a trip out to a fabrics factory so that
Cassie could check on the quality of the cloth that was to be used, and here again there was some hard bargaining, but at last they managed to agree on figures for quantity and price that left everyone happy, and Cassie also had the satisfaction of getting the designers to sign an exclusive contract with Marriott & Brown's which also gave them the first refusal on their next season's collection.
Somehow, during that second busy day, she found the time to phone Simon's office and they told her that he had gone back to Scotland, which she had already guessed was the most probable reason for his absence.
They gave her a number to ring and she tried it that evening, but she had such a terrible time trying to get through that in the end she just gave it up as a bad job.
Now she looked down at the receiver in her hand in some puzzlement, almost as if it could tell her why her husband didn't answer. Her finely-arched brows drew together into a frown, then she shrugged philosophically.
Well, there was nothing she could do about it here and now anyway. Stifling a yawn, she left a message for him on the tape to say that she had arrived safely, then got ready for bed. This kind of life was very stimulating, of course, but it was also certainly very tiring.
The next two days were also extremely hectic as Cassie attended the fashion show, taking notes of the garments she particularly liked the look of, and got together with the designers and a French manufacturer who was to produce cheaper versions of the clothes for Marriott & Brown's. Quite a lot of haggling took place and, being in France, most of it was done over a meal and a bottle of wine.
Thursday saw her back in London, but when she took the lift up to the top floor of the Marriott & Brown building to her office to make out her report on the Paris trip, she was immediately greeted by the news that Don Ashby, the head buyer for the whole of the fashion department, had broken a leg while skiing and wouldn't be able to return to work for quite some time.
'We only heard yesterday,' her secretary told her excitedly. 'It seems he went out on the ski slopes after a blizzard during the night, but there was ice under the snow and he lost control. Fractured his leg in two places, he did. Not just broke it, but fractured it,' the girl added with morbid enjoyment. 'Oh, and Mr Jepps said I was to ask you to go to his office as soon as you arrived.'
Cassie thanked her rather faintly and made her way to the office of the Buying Manager, thinking that if her own plane had crashed on the way back from Paris it would really have made her secretary's day! She didn't have to wait long in the outer office before she was told to go in to see Mr Jepps, who was the head of the Buying Department and also a director of the firm. After exchanging greetings, she started to tell him about her trip to Paris, but he stopped her almost at once.
'Tell me about that later. Have you heard about poor
Ashby?'
'Yes, my secretary just told me. Is he really that badly hurt, or has it gained in the telling?'
'That bad, I'm afraid. He's going to be out of commission for at least six months. So I've decided to rearrange the buying responsibilities for the fashion department. I'm putting Mrs. Nichols in general charge and I want you to take over all her departments as well as your own. Can you do that?'
He looked at her keenly, but for a moment Cassie could only stare at him open-mouthed. Then she hastily pulled herself together and said, 'Yes. Yes, I know I can. Thank you for-for giving me the chance.'
He smiled. 'Well, you'd better cut along and talk to Mrs. Nichols as soon as you can. You can tell me all about the Paris trip some other time. Oh, and by the way,' he added as she moved towards the door, 'there will, of course, he a raise in salary and expense allowance while you have the extra responsibility.'
Simon arrived home again on Friday, going first to the office to discuss the oil terminal problems with the
directors. He looked tired and there was a taut, strained look about his eyes when he came into the flat, but Cassie was keyed up with excitement; she seemed to have been on a high ever since she'd heard of her temporary promotion, and hadn't yet come back down to earth. She was full of ideas that would give the various departments now under her control a more modem image and was wild to tell Simon about them and use him as a sounding board, but she held herself in check until he'd changed and waited until they were seated at a table in their favourite bistro type restaurant before she told him.
'Oh, don't bother with that, let's just have the usual wine.' Impatiently she took the wine list he had been about to study and gave it back to the waiter.
'I've got something to tell you.'
Simon smiled slightly and nodded to the waiter. 'The Mosel, please.' Then he turned to her, the smile deepening. 'All right, what is it? Something pretty good, from the look of you. Did the Paris trip go well?' 'What? Oh, yes, fine.' Cassie dismissed Paris with a wave of her hand. 'This is much more important news.
You know Don Ashby, the head fashion buyer? Well, he's broken his leg.'
Simon's left eyebrow rose. 'That's supposed to be good news?'
'Not for poor old Don, of course, but it is for me.' She raised a glowing face to his. 'Mrs. Nichols has taken over Don's work and…' she paused, her eyes bright with excitement, 'oh, Simon, I've been put in charge of all Mrs. Nichols's departments! That's the designer rooms, evening and day dresses, separates and swim- wear, as well as Top Togs.'
Simon stared at her for a long moment before saying slowly, 'I see.'
'But do you?' Cassie demanded, impatient at his apparent lack of interest, wanting him to share her excitement. 'Can't you see it's my chance to really prove myself? Top Togs has been a great success, but it was an entirely new innovation. The store had had nothing like it before and so they've been unable to compare my work with anything else. For all they know anyone could have done it. But now that I've got all those departments that have been in the store from the beginning I'll be able to show the directors how sales can be improved by a really modern approach. Fashion wise those departments are still back in the Middle-Ages.'
She paused as the waiter brought their first course and poured the wine, looking at Simon with a puzzled frown. He didn't seem to be sharing her excitement at all, in fact he had a rather frowning look in his dark eyes. Which was unusual for him, usually he was right in there, encouraging her, listening to her problems, giving advice and help. But tonight he seemed to have something on his mind and didn't even look pleased to hear her news.
'Well,' she demanded as soon as the waiter had gone,
'don't you think it's the most marvelous chance? If I make a really big success of it I might even be allowed to keep the departments, because Mrs. Nichols is due to retire in a couple of years.'
'And what does Mrs. Nichols do in the meantime?' Simon asked drily.
Cassie shrugged irritably. 'Oh, I don't know. They'll find her something, they always do. Well,' she demanded again, 'what do you think?'
'It's a wonderful opportunity, of course. But,' a rueful look came into his eyes, 'as a matter of fact I have some news of my own. At the Directors' meeting I went to today it was decided to get rid of the chap who's been in charge of the oil terminal up to now and put a new man in his place. And the man would have to be at director level to have the necessary authority to take over.' He picked up his glass and took a drink, then set it down,. his eyes fixed on hers. 'And they've offered me the job with a junior directorship.' 'A directorship?' Cassie's eyes lit up with surprise and pleasure. 'Why, Simon, that's marvellous!' She went to go on, but Simon stopped her. 'Is it?' 'Why, what do you mean?'
Deliberately he replied, 'To get the directorship I have to take the job-and the job means that we'll have to leave London at once and go to live in Scotland for at least three years!'
CHAPTER TWO
FOR a full minute Cassie could only stare at him in dumbfounded amazement. Then, her voice sticking in her throat, she stuttered, 'Scotland? For three years?
It's a joke, yes? Please tell me it's a joke,' she added, watching him hopefully, but he didn't answer, just sat looking at her with the same half rueful, half troubled expression. Slowly she sat back with a sigh and put down her fork. 'You're not joking.'
'Afraid not, darling.'
Cassie shrugged. 'Oh, well, the idea was nice while it lasted. Never mind, darling, I expect something else will come along some time soon.'
Simon's eyes narrowed slightly. 'For whom?' Eyebrows rising in surprise, Cassie replied, 'For you, of course. Mullaine's are bound to offer you another directorship sooner or later.'
'Not necessarily. Vacancies for junior directors aren't that thick on the ground. If I turn this one down for no reason they're going to think twice before offering me another.'
'But you've got a reason,' Cassie pointed out.
'It's in Scotland. No one in their right mind is going to bury themselves alive in Scotland for three years!'
'Except the few million Scots who happen to live there,' Simon put in sardonically.
'Unfortunately the poor things are stuck with it. But that's neither here nor there.' Cassie dismissed the entire Scottish population with a shrug of her shoulders.
`Simon, you can't even contemplate going there. Why, the place is dead, a cultural desert. It's all snow, football hooligans, and those dreadful accents that you can't understand a word of. And didn't you say that the oil terminal is on the coast, absolutely miles from anywhere?'
'It is in a remote spot, yes. It has to be, for fear of an accident, but…'
'You mean it's likely to blow up at any moment?' Cassie interrupted caustically. 'Charming!' Simon's features hardened, his lips drawing into a thin line. 'That's always a possibility that has to be taken into account when any kind of fuel is being stored. But the site director's house is over a mile from the terminal, you can't even see it. It sits by itself in the next valley with beautiful views over the sea.' Cassie's green eyes widened as she stared at him. `The site director's house? You mean you've already been to see it? Simon, you're not-surely you're not seriously considering this crazy idea?'
Tight-lipped, her husband said firmly, 'Yes, I am.' 'But-but you can't! What about my job, my promotion?'
Simon's lips twisted into a grimace and he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so Cassie added in obstinate anger, 'I'm not going to give it up, Simon. I'm just not!'
His dark brows drew into a sharp frown as he said shortly, 'Well, thanks for all the loving co-operation and understanding.'
Cassie bit her lip, but had to stay silent while the waiter came to take away their plates and bring the second course. She looked at the succulent food on her plate and found that her appetite had completely gone; she wished that she'd never ordered it, wished that they were at home.
As soon as the man had gone she tried to placate
Simon by saying, 'Look, I'm sorry if I was a bit blunt, but my…'
'Leave it,' he commanded brusquely. 'We'll discuss it when we get home.'
But his high-handed tone annoyed her. 'No, I won't leave it. It concerns me as much as it does you. My job's important to me, Simon, and I don't think you have any right to ask me to give it up.'
'And has it occurred to you that my job is of equal, if not more importance, to me?'
'I don't see how it can be more important.'
'Possibly because I'm supposed to be the breadwinner,' Simon pointed out in heavy sarcasm. 'Oh, rubbish! That kind of thinking went out with the Ark. Marriage is an equal partnership now, and I have a right to work if I want to. And anyway, we need the money that I earn.'
Anger came into Simon's eyes as he leaned towards her and said forcefully. 'You know dam well that isn't true. I was earning quite enough to support you when we married, but you wanted to go on working, no one was forcing you to,, so don't try and make out that we'd be on the breadline without your salary.'
Cassie's mouth set into a petulant line. 'Oh, I see, so now my salary is of no importance.'
'I didn't say that,' Simon returned exasperatedly.
'Of course your money is extremely useful. I was only saying that you don't have to work.'
Moodily Lassie glared down at her plate and picked at the food on it. She had been so looking forward to tonight and now the whole evening was ruined. Simon, too, attacked his meal, pleased to let the matter drop for the time being, but Cassie couldn't let it alone. 'Okay,' she said after a minute or two, 'maybe I don't love to work from the financial point of view, but I do need to work for creative satisfaction. I'm not one of those women who could sit at home all day with nothing to do. You know I'm not.'
'Other women seem to find plenty to fill their time,' Simon pointed out reasonably.
'Oh, coffee mornings and afternoon bridge parties. That's not being creative. And anyway, women like that develop into neurotics who live on Valium pills after a few years. Either that, or they feel that they have to start having children to justify their existence. And that's in London where you have cinemas, theatres, museums and galleries to go to. Heaven alone knows what it would be like in Scotland. I'd probably go stark, staring mad within three months,' she added morosely.
'It isn't the back of beyond,' Simon told her impatiently.
'A daily shuttle plane flies from Glasgow to London. If you did feel that you were incapable of sustaining life with only me for company, you could always catch it and come to town for a few days.' Cassie looked across at him quickly, the note of acerbity in his voice surprising her because it wasn't one she was used to hearing directed at her, but before she could make any remark, Simon pushed his hardly touched plate away and said, 'I don't want this. How about you?'
'No.'
'Let's get out of here, then.'
He called the waiter over and asked for the bill, but had to give repeated assurances that there was nothing wrong with the food before he was allowed to produce his Diners Card and pay.
Sally Wentworth Page 3