Capital Sins (23 page)

'But I'm
his patient, I trusted him,' Connie yelled at the sister fearfully, clutching
at the woman's hands in agony as the pain wrenched at her insides.

'He wasn't
to know that this would happen, Mrs Jessop,' the sister said, trying to soothe
the overwrought girl as best she could. 'You weren't expected until later.'

'Oh, Christ!'
Connie bit her lip. 'Where's my husband?'

The sister
pushed her flat gently. 'We've managed to contact him. He'll be here as soon as
he can. Please lie still, you're making it worse for yourself.'

Connie
stared around with huge, petrified eyes. 'Can't you get Mr Myers back? I like
him! I know him!'

'It's
impossible, Mrs Jessop. You'll have given birth by the time he arrives at the airport.'

'So soon
... then I'm all alone,' she whispered.

'Dr Swan
will look after you,' the sister said briskly.

'Who's he?'

'He's just
one of the many capable doctors we have at this hospital, my dear. Now, you
mustn't be afraid. We'd better get you straight into the delivery room, no time
for the labour ward,' she said, as Connie gritted her teeth. 'Your twins will
be arriving any time now.'

'I want my
husband
... '

'Yes, yes.
Nurse!'
The sister looked over her shoulder. 'Take Mrs
Jessop along now.
Quick about it.'

For Connie,
the next few hours were a complete blur. The contractions began to come with
increasing regularity until they seemed to merge into one, long drawn out
excruciating throb. Dr Swan's face swam before her eyes as she gulped in gas
and air. Only when she was informed that Samuel had arrived at the hospital was
she able to relax as she'd been taught. The incubators stood ready like small,
transparent coffins, and she was surrounded by people, garbed all in white,
only their eyes showing.

Samuel
bounded to his feet, his face as white as the masks the nurses wore. One
hurried out from the delivery room and he stepped in front of her.

'How's it
going?' he gasped, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief.

'Doing very well.
Mother and first child are coming along nicely.'

'A boy?'

'Girl.'
She went back inside.

The baby
girl Connie had produced prematurely was under-weight and fighting for life, a
tiny bundle in an incubator, while her mother moaned and ground her teeth for
the second time. The young doctor was suddenly perspiring, eyes worried over
his mask for Connie was too exhausted to push any longer.

'I
am
trying,' Connie moaned, 'but I'm so tired... '

The doctor
realised the difficulty and cursed under his breath. His fingers searched inside
her. The umbilical cord was around the baby's neck. The doctor untwisted the
cord and withdrew his hand.

'Forceps, please!'

A still birth.
The baby was dead on arrival, but for half an hour artificial
respiration was applied and the baby was plunged into hot then cold water.

When Samuel
Jessop was told the news, his face froze into a mask. For a full ten seconds he
neither moved nor spoke. He was like a snapshot of a man, poised, lifeless,
made of cardboard. Then slowly he sank into a chair and covered his face with
his hands. Still he uttered not a sound. The nurse tried to placate him by
saying his wife was well and that his daughter should be fine. Tears seeped
through his fingers, his body rocked to and fro.

Connie lay
in bed – a marble statue. She heard the door open and close,
then
someone trod softly to her bedside. She turned her head. Samuel dropped a bunch
of flowers awkwardly on to the table and looked down at his wife. Her heart
contracted with love and pity when she saw the state he was in. He looked as if
he hadn't slept for a week, and dark circles ringed his eyes. Reflected in them
was such
anguish
that she couldn't bear to look.
Briefly, her eyes fluttered, closed.

'How are
you feeling?' he asked tonelessly.

'Weak,' she
murmured. It was a strain to meet his eyes but she managed valiantly. 'I'm ...
sorry ... about the boy, Samuel.'

'Yes, I
know.'

God, this
was terrible, they were like strangers. She wanted to weep, felt she'd failed
him utterly, and it had been so important to him. If only he'd make a gesture,
say something, even cry… she'd know what to do then, how to react, but what
could she say to a zombie?

She wet her
lips. 'I could've died giving birth to him,' she whispered.

'Well, you
didn't, and he did.'

'Don't look
at me like that! It wasn't my fault, Samuel!'

'No.'

She turned
her head into the pillow but felt too miserable even to enjoy the comfort of
tears. The silence was broken when she heard a chair being pulled towards the
bed and, when she turned her face, Samuel was sitting with his body bowed over
the bed, head cradled in his arms. Hesitantly, almost as if she feared the
contact, Connie lifted her hand and stroked his hair. He didn't move. They
remained like that for a few moments.

'We'll give
the girl away for adoption as soon as she's strong enough,' Connie said softly.
She waited but, when he didn't reply, went on: 'They'll keep her here for six
weeks or so but, unless you want to, neither of us ever has to see her.' She
shifted her position, her body seeking coolness under the starched sheet, but
didn't remove her hand from his hair. 'It'll be hard for you to get over this
disappointment, I know, but you will in time, and then we can start afresh.'

She heard
him mutter and lifted herself slightly to hear
better
.
'What did you say?'

He raised
his face. 'I said
,
disappointment isn't the word for
it.'

His callous
tone surprised her. She was weak, needed his support and love more than ever,
and all he could do was
blame
her. 'It's not as if I
can't get pregnant again, Samuel!' Connie knew she sounded resentful,
rebellious, but she couldn't under stand the depths of his behaviour. Yet her
words seemed to do the trick. He gave a faint semblance of a weary smile and at
last his eyes were compassionate.

'Poor
little girl,' he said gently. 'Of course you're right. You must hurry and get
better now.'

Absurdly,
she felt as if she were going to cry, and turned aside. 'Perhaps ... you'd
better leave now, Samuel I'm tired, I think I'll try to get some rest.'

Samuel, who
had been to see her daughter in the hospital, told Connie that the baby was
going to be very pretty, blonde, a lot like her mother. She tried to gauge her
feelings towards the baby but couldn't seem to work up any strong emotion
either way. It all seemed so unreal, as if the birth hadn't actually involved
herself
, as if she hadn't participated. Yet once or twice
during the next few weeks Connie wondered whether she were doing the right
thing, giving her baby up for adoption,
rejecting
it
as she herself had been. She persuaded herself that since she didn't have any
maternal feeling towards it, adoption must be the best course for them both.

She was
relaxing in her bedroom when Samuel came to inform her that he had signed the
necessary legal papers and documents, and the adoption was under way.

'It's all
arranged, honey.' He stroked her long hair as she lay on the bed. He thought
she looked very demure and womanly in a silk Japanese housecoat in vibrant
colours. The loose, flowing material effectively hid her stomach which was still
a little flabby, although she had been assured that with exercise she would
soon be her normal size.

He pressed
his lips briefly against one bare shoulder where the robe had slipped. 'She'll
be going to a Mr and Mrs Came. You don't have to worry that she won't be looked
after properly.'

'She's
getting a better start than I did. I didn't have anyone I could call mum and
dad.' She sat up and he put his arm around her. 'You do think we're doing the
right thing, don't you?' she asked tremulously.

How could he
tell her that to have it otherwise would mean that the child's presence would
be a continual reminder to him of his
disappointment.
'Don't you think so?' he parried.

'I guess
so,' she said distantly. She flung her arms around him and buried her face against
his chest. 'What happened doesn't make any difference to us, does it, Samuel? I
mean about the way you feel for me?' Connie gazed at him earnestly.

'You know
it doesn't. You said yourself that we can start anew.'

'I know, I
know.' She squeezed him to her. 'But sometimes I can't help being a bit afraid.
When
you
 
came
to see me at the hospital, it seemed like I waited for you for ages to come to
me, and there was no one, no one at all.'

'I was very
upset, very distressed
... '

'Then when
I saw you, I felt as if somehow I'd lost you. That you had died with the baby
... '

'You're
being fanciful.'

'I suppose
so.' She stared up into his eyes. 'You do love me, Samuel? Really, really love
me?'

To pass the
time Connie joined flower arranging classes, pottery lessons, spent hours
lazing around the suite or going shopping with friends; new friends, girls
belonging to a class that Samuel encouraged her to mix with. They all seemed to
spend money wildly, freely. Connie was the youngest in her set, the most
unsophisticated and gauche, but the young
marrieds
weren't deterred and included the young Mrs Jessop in their luncheons and
coffee mornings. She had a great deal of freedom and did as she pleased. As the
wife of a rich man, she wasn't even a housewife. There was nothing for her to
occupy herself with at home; the cook and maids did all the work. She learnt
who the best hairdressers were, began attending beauty clinics regularly, grew
idle and was spoilt by everyone.

Connie was
greatly admired for her beauty and was in a fair way to having her head turned
by all the flattery and compliments she received when they dined with friends.
Yet Samuel kept her feet securely on the ground and Sheila, whom Connie still
saw now and again, kept the girl sensible. Connie was a great favourite with
all Samuel's men friends but, in spite of many subtle hints and offers from
some of them, never dreamed of being unfaithful to Samuel.

And then
her doctor gave Connie the green light and all that day she pampered herself.
Sheila, who was unfailingly useful to Connie when it came to choosing clothes,
met her for lunch and together they went to buy Connie a new gown. She had her
hair done, had a session in her beauty salon,
then
gave the cook the evening off. She would prepare dinner that evening
herself
. Vases of flowers were everywhere and she spent ages
arranging the table. When Samuel arrived home he looked at his wife curiously
when he saw how she looked. He automatically pecked her cheek, then stepped
back to take a longer look.

'Are we
going out again, or have I forgotten that we're expecting guests?'

Excitement
made her appear unusually vivacious and her eyes positively sparkled. She
looked entrancing.

She gave a
low laugh. 'Silly man, this is all for you.'

'I'm
flattered. What's the occasion, your birthday or something?'

'You'd have
known about it before now had it been my birthday.' She laughed. 'No, I just
decided that for once, you and I were going to have a cosy evening at home
together. We're always going out for dinner or having guests in for drinks, I
thought it was about time that we had an intimate
U!te
a
tete
, brush up on that homely domestic scene that
you're so fond of imagining.' She smiled gaily. 'And I cooked the meal myself,
so don't you dare say anything, even if you hate it.'

'I
promise.' He smiled, falling in with her good humour. He cocked his head to one
side.
'New dress, too?'

'Like it?'

She
pirouetted for him and the black, foamy material billowed around her long,
slender legs. She looked as if she'd stepped out of
Vogue,
good enough
to eat.

'Why
shouldn't I look my best for my husband?' she enquired, with mock severity.
'Anyway, stop gloating over me like that, the
dinner'll
be getting dried up, and I've got champagne on ice to go with it.'

They had
dinner,
then
relaxed on the couch together, listening
to the stereo. They chatted about his day, what she had done, whether her
French seemed to be improving, how Sheila was, and then Samuel announced with a
yawn and a stretching of his arms that he was tired and was going to bed.

'Good
night, darling, it's been a lovely evening.'

She laughed
impishly. 'You sound as if you're leaving me. Then she patted his cheek
indulgently. 'Go on then, get yourself ready.'