Illusions of Happiness (23 page)

‘We’re both lying to James,’ she reminded him, hurt, as they broke apart, she making a fuss of taking off her hat and coat, but he hardly seeming to hear her.

‘I miss you. Every day without you is like a lifetime, and now we’re asked to spend one hour a week together. It can’t go on like this.’

‘Then what do you want me to do?’ she shot at him.

‘I don’t know.’

His handsome face distorted slightly in frustration as he turned away. Quickly she hung her warm outdoor clothing on the hallstand peg and went towards him, lifting her hand and laying it on his shoulder. They were alone in the house. As always on Wednesdays, he’d given his housemaid the morning off, telling his butler he’d not be required for a few hours, his cook that he wouldn’t be wanting lunch, so they had the place virtually to themselves. The staff would take up their duties again well after Madeleine left. It had become standard practice and though they knew what went on, they were loyal and discreet.

Madeleine’s hand on his shoulder seemed to melt his mood and he took it, leading her into the sitting room with its blazing fire, where he poured them a drink. But their hour or so was passing. Before she’d finished her sherry and he his brandy, he was leading her upstairs to his bedroom, reminding her of her statement, almost caustically, even needlessly, that they didn’t have all that much time.

‘It’s getting silly,’ he said as they lay naked together after frantic love-making.

‘I know,’ she agreed miserably.

Her hunger had been satisfied all too soon, even as he took her and she cried out in ecstasy, her mind screamed that James could already have arrived back home and be wondering where she was.

‘I hate having to leave like this,’ she mumbled inadequately as they had a final drink together. ‘If he starts asking questions I feel myself going hot and cold as I make up a story as to where I’m supposed to have been. I hate it! I simply hate it – hate the way we have to go on!’

She wanted to add, I wish he was dead, but blocked the thought in horror, her eyes filling with tears – whether from the thought or the fact that she was frustrated having to leave so soon, not seeing Anthony for another whole week, she couldn’t say – maybe a little of both.

Seeing her tears, he put down his glass to hold her to him. ‘I know, my dearest, I know. But it can’t last much longer, his going on as he is. Maybe this time next year . . . We will be together – for always.’

She knew his sentiments echoed hers though neither of them dared refer to it in so many words as their lips met and they clung to each other.

‘But while we wait,’ she said when they finally broke apart, ‘the whole thing is almost killing me. His time at his office is getting shorter and shorter. He comes home in such a state that at times he can hardly breathe. If he’s ill again this winter, I don’t know what I shall do. I won’t be able to leave him to come here. It could be weeks before I see you again. If that were to happen I think I would just die.’

Her words made him hug her to him again as he whispered that she must try to be strong, that he needed her, that nothing must happen to part them. His words gave her strength, making her body tingle again, and moments later she sank with him on to the sofa as he took her once more, fully clothed, handbag still gripped in her hand as it dangled over the side of the sofa.

Travelling homeward by taxi she alternately prayed that James would not fall ill this winter, but if he were to succumb to another serious bout of pneumonia, maybe it would be a kindness if it took him; desperately trying to convince herself that it was not her wish but in the lap of the gods, and yet again hoping it wouldn’t happen.

But as December dawned and the weather turned foul, he was again ill, the pneumonia of last year having taken its toll with yet another bout of bronchitis, this time really laying him low. And now as she had suspected, she was tied to the house, finding herself forced to be by his side despite Dr Peters’ regular visits and a permanent nurse tending him day and night.

Whether it was worry over James or the fretting at the difficulty in visiting Anthony, she too found herself suffering bouts of poor health. She felt tired, listless; prone to weep for no apparent reason. Also she’d not seen a period in a while. It was all this worry.

There had been no social event over the holiday season because of James’s condition. Who’d want to enter a house with infection hovering around? Even though Dr Peters had said bronchitis wasn’t infectious, people were loath to kick up their heels in a place of sickness. It was now February, James recovering slowly. But she felt dreadful in herself, at odd times feeling slightly sick, especially on waking up. Visiting their doctor for a pick-me-up, he’d insisted on examining her after she’d spoken of a lack of energy.

‘Yes, worry might be the cause,’ he said, ‘I shall give you a tonic but it’s best to make sure from the start that it is nothing deeper.’ He regarded her closely as he questioned her. Finally, he smiled.

‘My dear lady, do you not realize your condition?’

‘What condition?’ she asked. It was then a spark of memory hit her – all those years ago, those same feelings.

Seconds later her doctor was confirming her realization. ‘Well, my dear,’ he was saying, using James’s own expression. ‘I am happy to tell you that you are pregnant, and may I be the first to convey to you my sincere congratulations. Your husband will be so very happy – a man of his age, discovering himself a father – wonderful news for you both.’

Hearing him, all she could do was force as bright a smile as she could muster while in her head it seemed her own voice was screaming at her:
you can’t have it – you can’t – you’re going to have to do something about it – somehow!

‘Please,’ she heard herself saying. ‘I want to tell him myself, if that’s all right. I’d be grateful if you say nothing to him not even to congratulate him until I have told him myself.’ It sounded almost like a plea, a guilty plea, but he smiled understandingly.

‘I shall not say a word until you have. A mother-to-be should never be robbed of her moment of joy.’

She couldn’t recall how she had got out of the doctor’s surgery, how she had got herself home, her world seeming to have collapsed around her.

It was a week of abject despair, not knowing which way to turn. Even James, wrapped up in his own ill health as he was, noticed something wrong.

‘You’re not going down with a chill, are you, my dear. You must take more care of yourself.’

‘I’m fine,’ she parried, trying to put on a bright smile – a smile that did not feel as if it were working.

‘Because I’d hate to see you fall prey to anything you might have caught from me.’

‘I’m quite well, James. I’m merely worried for you, nothing more.’

‘Then it may be that you are taxing yourself much too much over me. I’m so sorry, my dear, I try to bear up for your sake. But you must stop worrying on my behalf, sitting up with me for hours on end, that sort of thing. We’ve a paid nurse to do that. You must try to take things easy.’

‘It’s just that I can’t help worrying about you,’ she lied.

‘Maybe you need a little holiday,’ he said, brightening. ‘Get away from the worry of me. I shall be all right. There is our staff and I’m in the good hands of our doctor and the nurse. I could arrange for you to spend a week or two by the sea, before the weather turns too foul – a nice hotel . . .’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she cut in but already her thoughts were pulsing – an entire two weeks by the sea, alone with Anthony. His bank would survive without him for two weeks. Life suddenly seemed wonderful again – until she remembered her condition. How was she going to face Anthony with it? What would his reaction be? And James, the ugly business of having to tell him, the pain it would cause him – he didn’t deserve that. Even if she withheld the news from him, all too soon he would notice the change in her shape.

The future loomed like a black cloud, ever descending to obliterate her world. She seethed with uncertainty so that even the thought of spending two weeks alone with Anthony suddenly bore no excitement for her.

She gave James as bright a smile as she could muster and said, ‘I’ll think about it, love.’

What she would do was tell Anthony what James had suggested, and if he agreed, tell him about herself when they were away together, when she thought the time was right. But after that, what then? That prospect she couldn’t bring herself to face, much less name. Not yet.

Things seemed to be going her way. James had almost ordered her to spend a short time away from him. When she told Anthony he immediately leapt at the idea.

‘I’m virtually little more than a figurehead at the bank. I’ve a capable and trustworthy staff and Robert my assistant manager could run the place single-handed if I let him!’

He had laughed and held her to him as they lay together snuggled and satisfied beneath the warm bedclothes.

‘It’s just a shame it’s not high summer and we could lie on the beach together. But beggars can’t be choosers, any port in a storm, and we’ll just have to make do and mend . . .’

‘Oh, do shut up!’ she laughed gaily at his playful, almost tortured string of clichés.

The following week they drove off to Brighton, trusting that the February weather might be more clement on the south coast. It wasn’t. But despite the cold, the continuous rain, the high winds practically confining them to their hotel most of the day, other than dinner at the best restaurants, dancing at the Pavilion, going to a cinema or attending a theatre, the entertainments up with any London West End could provide – life was wonderful.

Each night and most afternoons they made frantic love as though it was their last time, she pushing him to almost insane lengths, leaving them both gasping; at the back of her mind she thought such rough, almost rape-like handling, making her cry out like one in pain, might shock the – as yet – minuscule thing inside her to abort.

Each time, cleansing herself in the bathroom, she would look for signs, but there was nothing, not one drop of blood that might have set her heart soaring. By the end of their stay, she was at her wits’ end. She was going to have to tell him. Better him than James. He would know how to handle his uncle. And who knows, he might be excited to find himself a prospective father, for all his talk about not wanting a child. But even that would raise complications – James having to be told and he so ill at the moment. How would it all be solved? No matter how, it would be James who would suffer. That prospect made her feel sick as she and Anthony lay in each other’s arms that last night of freedom.

What made her say it, she didn’t know, but suddenly it burst out of her. ‘Anthony, I have to tell you, darling. I’m pregnant.’

It seemed to her he had stopped breathing. The moment seemed to go on and on. Then he suddenly shot up as if propelled from his pillow to stare down at her.

‘You’re what?’

She sat up slowly, feeling a little sick, caught by the tone of his voice. ‘It must have been one of those times when we were too carried away to use something. It has happened on a few occasions . . .’

‘. . . because you were too eager to wait for me to take the necessary precautions first.’

His voice seemed to grate so that all she could think of to say was. ‘I’m sorry, darling.’

For a moment he didn’t reply. Then in a husky, flat-toned voice, he said, ‘Are you sure you’re pregnant? You could be imagining it. You could be mistaken.’

‘I am sure,’ she whispered. ‘It’s been nearly three months since I last saw my monthlies and I’ve always been so regular. So I saw a doctor and he confirmed it.’

‘Then you’re going to have to get rid of it.’ His voice sounded almost matter of fact – the voice of one pronouncing the death sentence upon a criminal in the dock, no inflection, no feeling, completely insensitive.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked stupidly.

He gave her a look then got slowly out of bed, his strong, naked body lithe and pale in the thin glow of the hotel’s lights – the body she never stopped loving to look at.

‘You know what I mean?’ he echoed, now staring out of the window. ‘You can’t have it.’

‘How can you say that?’ she burst out. ‘It’s yours! Your baby!

‘And what about James – he’ll ask questions when he finally sees you bloating up.’ That suddenly sounded so coarse to her ears. ‘You’ve told me you’ve never had relations with him. And when he realizes that you and I . . . What then? It stands to reason he’s going to have to divorce you. The pain that’s going to cause him, and him being sick . . .’

He broke off, still gazing from the window, his outline beautiful to her eyes – now so clouded with tears as to make his shape indistinct.

‘And what if he refuses to divorce you?’

She remained silent, her mind filled with that dread.

‘What if he claims to the world that it is his? What then?’

‘But it’s
your
baby!’ she cried out. She saw him turn abruptly from the window to face her, his silhouette now a dark outline.

‘What if I say it isn’t mine?’

Madeleine could hardly believe what she’d heard. ‘How can you say that, Anthony? This is your baby!’

‘But I don’t want it.’

‘What?’

‘I – don’t – want – it.’

‘But it’s yours . . .’

‘Don’t keep saying that! You know how I feel about us. We certainly can’t have a child when we’re not married and I’m not prepared to face the world in that situation and neither should you be. And even when the time comes – if it comes – when we are able to marry, I don’t want kids the second we’re spliced. I told you before, Maddie. I need to enjoy a decent social life first, you and me – together.’

But she could still hear those earlier words of his ringing in her head
if it comes,
almost like a threatened death knell to their relationship. She needed to confirm that she had misinterpreted them. All she could think to ask was, ‘What if he did divorce me?’

‘Then we’d be married, darling.’

Mellowing, he moved back to the bed and stood gazing tenderly down at her. Her rapidly beating heart slowed a little. In a moment he would take her in his arms. It was going to be all right.