Arian (31 page)

‘I’m in love with Jamie, he is my darling. I enjoy him in every way but then I am lucky, there are many who are not so lucky.’

‘Well, in any case,’ Arian said, ‘the pact is made. I’m Gerald’s wife, he takes me whenever he wishes. In return, he looks after me. I suppose I should count my blessings.’ She sighed and looked down at her hands. ‘One thing I’ve realized is that I don’t want children.’ She looked up beseechingly. ‘Is there a way I can prevent it?’

Fon laughed out loud. ‘Me who catches whenever Jamie comes near and you’re asking me that. Look, my love, you know how afraid I was but it’s the most wonderful thing in the world, to be a mother. You’ll see when the time comes, trust me.’

‘I don’t want a baby.’ Arian repeated. ‘I don’t want Gerald’s child growing inside me, I can’t bear the thought of it.’

‘You will glory in it when it happens. A son or daughter would be a great comfort to you.’

‘No.’ Arian shook her head stubbornly. ‘I don’t want a child and I don’t intend to have one, understand me?’

Fon put her hand over her mouth and stared at Arian’s white face. Icy fingers of superstition crawled along her spine and suddenly Fon felt frightened, as though Arian’s words could somehow bring harm to her own babies.

‘Don’t talk like that, please, Arian. It’s not natural, it’s not right.’

‘Damn what’s right!’ Arian rose to her feet and moved to the window, her shoulders were heaving. She stood for a moment in silence and then suddenly she seemed calm. ‘Perhaps we should have a nice hot cup of tea. We’ll forget all I’ve said. I shouldn’t talk like that, not to you.’ She smiled and Fon, eager to do something for her, hurriedly rose and pushed the kettle onto the flames.

Arian wandered over to the dresser and picked up one of the books. It was only when Fon brought the steaming teapot to the table that she saw what Arian had been reading.

‘Don’t take any notice of that old herbal.’ She felt a sense of panic. ‘Old wives’ tales, those are. They tell you how to prevent a baby and how to slip one, nonsense it is.’

‘If you say so.’ Arian took the cup of tea and silently began to drink it. She had become remote, untouchable and Fon felt she didn’t know her any more.

The men returned to the kitchen and the talk became general. Arian joined in the conversation but her brightness was forced, her mind obviously elsewhere. It was a relief when Gerald Simples decided it was time to leave for home.

Obediently, Arian rose and kissed Fon’s cheek in a perfunctory gesture before allowing her husband to help her with her coat.

‘We’ll see you again soon?’ Fon asked but even though Arian nodded her agreement, Fon didn’t believe she meant it. She frowned as the couple moved arm in arm down the pathway towards the road.

‘They look happy enough,’ Jamie said, his hand warm on Fon’s shoulder.

‘Aye,’ Fon sighed, ‘but then, not everything is what it seems, is it, Jamie lad?’

He turned her into his arms and kissed her mouth. ‘Hush, colleen.’ He kissed her again. ‘You can’t carry the cares of the world on your shoulders, haven’t you learned that much yet?’

‘I know.’ She put her arm around his waist as, together, they returned to the brightness of their house and closed the door on the world.

‘I have five more orders,’ Arian said easily. ‘Firm orders at that and some of them from previous customers.’

Gerald was seated at his desk, his shirt collar immaculate, his waistcoat pristine in its cut and style. He had found work with another rich client and Arian sometimes wondered quite how crooked Gerald’s business was.

His investments seemed to bring in results, it was true, both for himself and for his employer and perhaps, she mused, he had simply been unlucky in the past, unlucky and perhaps a little careless.

Gerald looked over his shoulder. ‘Very good,’ he said but it was clear he was not really listening.

Arian left her own desk in the improvised office and moved to the kitchen at the back of the house. She wrinkled up her nose in disgust at the smell of the roots of fenwort boiling on the hob.

She looked down into the small pot resting on the fire. If the herbal was correct, the infusion of roots would make her miscarry. She rubbed at her eyes. Her courses were late, two weeks late and if she should be with child she would go mad. In any case, she intended to take no risks – she would drink the vile concoction if it killed her.

Resentment against Gerald Simples filled her. He had taken her life, altered it out of all recognition, shaping it to suit himself. Why, she asked herself, had she allowed him to do it?

‘What on earth is that smell?’ Gerald had entered the kitchen and was standing behind her. Arian glanced back at him almost with hostility.

‘Herbs,’ she said tersely. ‘Medication for women’s problems, don’t worry about it.’

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘Arian,’ he sounded concerned, ‘what’s wrong?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ She sought desperately in her mind for an excuse, some words which would appease him. ‘It’s just my monthly pains, that’s all. The herbs ease things of that sort.’

He tipped her face up and studied her carefully. He slid his hands down from her shoulders to her waist and then over her hips and stomach.

‘Are you going to have my child? Tell me the truth, Arian. I have the right to know.’

She shook her head. Suddenly her heart was beating too fast, she felt she would choke. She tried to twist away from him but he held her.

‘Speak to me, Arian. Answer me. Are you expecting my child or not?’

‘I don’t know, not for sure,’ she said at last. ‘I’m a little late in my courses, that’s all. It could mean nothing.’

He released her and moved away from her, his eyes unreadable. ‘You weren’t going to tell me,’ he said, ‘because you don’t want to carry my baby. You are planning to take this’ – he gestured towards the pot on the fire – ‘this herbal stuff in order to miscarry. I can read the truth in your face.’

Arian sank down into a chair, her legs trembling as if with the ague. ‘It’s the wrong time,’ she said in a low voice. ‘We are not in love, Gerald. We are married because you want to possess me; you can’t want children under such circumstances.’

‘Don’t tell me what I want.’ His voice was cold, hard. ‘Do you know what you were about to do?’ He continued speaking without waiting for her to reply. ‘You were going to murder our child.’

She flinched as if he’d struck her. ‘No …’ she held up her hand as though to ward off a blow. ‘I’m not going to have a baby, it’s just a precaution, that’s all. I never thought of it as anything else.’

‘Well think of it now.’ He moved to the door. ‘Think clearly, Arian, with your head and brain, if not with your heart. You could do untold harm to yourself, has that occurred to you?’

She put her head in her hands. He was right; she was a cold unnatural monster.

Gerald stared at her for a moment. ‘Oh, do what you will,’ he said at last. ‘I won’t stop you.’ The door slammed and he was gone. She was alone in the steamy kitchen with the herbs bubbling like poison in the black pot on the fire.

Arian cried until she was exhausted. Then she rose to her feet and taking up a cloth, removed the pot from the flames. She carried it outside and poured the greeny contents onto the ground. The mixture bubbled its way into the soil, sinking at last out of sight, leaving only a residue of scum to show where it had been. Then she went to the pump and ran the water over her hot cheeks and swollen eyes so that her salt tears were cleansed.

She was in bed when Gerald returned home. She stirred as he climbed in beside her. Her eyes were still red and swollen and she felt vulnerable and ill at ease.

‘I threw the stuff away,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Gerald.’ She lay dry eyed beside him and, after a moment, Gerald put his arms around her, not in passion, as he usually did, but as if he was suffering some of her pain.

Together, they lay in each other’s arms and, though it might only be pity on his part and despair on her own, Arian was grateful to Gerald for his gentleness at a time when she most needed it.

As the weeks passed and the winter winds blew through the mountain sides, Arian woke one morning to the realization that she had been mistaken – she was not going to have a baby. She gloried in the knowledge, falling down on her knees beside the bed she shared with Gerald, silently thanking God for sparing her that ordeal and yet, at the same time, an edge of guilt crept into her mind and would not let her rest. She would have to speak with Gerald, tell him of her mistake, and she bit her lip wondering what his reaction would be. She was soon to find out.

‘So you did your worst.’ His voice was bitter. ‘In spite of everything I said, you went ahead and got rid of my child.’

‘No I did not.’ Even as she spoke, Arian knew it was pointless. Gerald had drawn his own conclusions and nothing she said now would make him listen to the truth but she needed to try to convince him of her innocence.

‘I did nothing, took nothing. It was a mistake, I was just late. I couldn’t have caught for a child after all. Listen to me, Gerald.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said flatly. ‘In any case, it doesn’t matter now, does it?’ He walked out of the room and Arian stood staring at the closed door, her mind in a turmoil, her hands trembling. She was guilty, in a way. The intent was there to rid herself of the child and even if she hadn’t actually done it, she had wanted to.

After that, Gerald was cold and withdrawn. He moved his things into the spare room and Arian breathed a sigh of relief; what did it matter what Gerald thought, so long as he left her alone. But strangely, she found it did matter.

She immersed herself in her business more than ever before. Most days, she worked mornings at the bench with the old cobbler she’d hired. Together, she and Vincent repaired boots and shoes for their growing number of customers.

In the afternoons Arian wrote out orders to other firms like Clark’s of Somerset and Lotus who made fine slippers, a favourite with the ladies of the town.

Later she would spend an hour or two walking around the streets of Swansea, collecting money due and giving out catalogues. She was always recruiting new customers, as though she felt the need to prove that she was making something of her life. The business, though the profits were small and the money sometimes slow coming in, brought her a small measure of independence, the feeling that she still had an aim in life.

One evening as she sat over her books, working out her profit margins, adding up her expenditure and balancing it with her intake, she sat back and took stock. She was not making a fortune – the repairs were a regular if small source of income and the catalogue business was just about breaking even. Still, all things considered, she was beginning to make some meaning out of her life. She was comfortable in the house Gerald had bought for them, even if she was often alone there. Her hours she could fill with things to do, new catalogues to design, new slogans to write, this was part of the work she really enjoyed.

Gerald came home early. She folded away her papers and sat back in her chair. She could hear him moving about in the other room and she wondered what had brought him home at such an early hour. There was nothing for him here, not now – he didn’t even share her bed. Their marriage was no marriage at all.

Gerald came into the room and looked down at her. ‘You know something? You look very desirable tonight.’ He sounded a little worse for drink. She thought she could smell another woman’s scent on him but she remained silent. What he did was no business of hers.

‘Very desirable.’ He rested his hand on her shoulder, his fingers moved down to her breast and she tensed, knowing by the light in his eyes that he wanted her and intended to have her.

‘Gerald,’ she spoke softly, urgently, ‘please believe me, I’m sorry about everything, about the mistake … the …’ Her words trailed off as he drew her to her feet.

‘Let’s not talk about that now.’ He rested his hands on her shoulders, his tone was abrupt but he was roused and made no attempt to conceal it.

She had no illusions about him. Gerald wanted her, wanted her body. He did not care about her responses. He was a man after all. Love and gentleness did not enter into it.

He led her into the bedroom and undressed, dropping his clothes on the floor. He pushed her back on the bed and took her as he would take a whore, it was a quick coupling with no regard to her feelings.

When he had finished, he rose from her and disappeared into the other room. She could hear him pour water into a bowl and she lay there feeling used and angry. He returned after a few moments and stared down at her.

‘Perhaps I should leave a few shillings on the bedside table.’ The sarcasm in his voice brought the colour to her cheeks.

‘You underprice me, Gerald.’ Her reply was sharp. ‘I demand much more than that for the sale of my body, you more than anyone should be aware of that.’

‘Move over.’ He climbed into bed beside her. ‘I might as well have my money’s worth.’

In the morning, Arian could not bear to stay indoors. Instead, she did her rounds of the nearby streets, taking so many orders that she wondered if she would have to employ a younger, full-time cobbler; the work was getting too much for Vincent and her to handle alone.

She was outside the house of one of her richer customers, busily writing in her notebook that, yet again, Mrs Willerby had failed to pay for the goods she’d received over a month ago when she became aware of a presence, a shadow falling over her.

Arian looked up into the eye of the cold sunlight and for a moment was blinded by it.

‘Well, if it isn’t Mrs Simples.’ Calvin Temple’s voice held a marked note of derision. He moved a shade and she saw him clearly; he was looking at her as though she was something distasteful to him. ‘Happy are you with your well-to-do husband?’

‘Calvin …’ she began, but he made an impatient gesture which silenced her.

‘You are looking well,’ he said. ‘Living off your husband’s ill-gotten gains suits you.’

‘Don’t be so quick to judge. You are no angel, your sins are just different ones so why should you be anyone’s judge?’