Ryman, Rebecca (67 page)

He
swore richly, raised his face from hers enough for her to see that he was
furious. "What are you frightened of, eh?" he hissed between clenched
teeth. "I'm not going to hurt you—and it's not as if it's the first time
you've had a man between your legs, now is it, precious?"

Even
in her state of abject fear, Olivia's shock was so profound that, without
realising it, she stilled. This was
Freddie
speaking,
Freddie?
The
nicest, kindest, most decent man she had ever known?

There
was no time for further wonder. He cursed again and pounced unerringly on a
body made even more vulnerable by shock. Olivia used all her ebbing strength to
fight, to escape his
marauding mouth and hard, plucking hands, to plead for mercy; but he was past
reason and in his drunkenness his strength was prodigious. Past words, past
coherence, past any semblance of tenderness, he set out to systematically and
single-mindedly defile her body in every way that he could. The flimsy
nightgown ("Why, pink for the honeymoon, of course!" her aunt had
insisted coyly) lay on the floor in shredded pieces, wrenched off her with
scant regard for its finery. Rough hands abrased her skin into stinging fire,
pinching and pummelling and almost tearing it off her bones. His breath, rancid
and hot, spurted dribble everywhere. With the brute force of his kisses, her
lips felt crushed and her cheeks and breasts were raw. Her revulsion almost
suffocated her but, powerless, she could do nothing to divert his repeated
violations. And when he finally possessed her, his brutalisation almost cleaved
her apart and Olivia cried out in pain. It was an assault, an act of
degradation, but in her despair and helplessness Olivia protested no more. To
whom? And with what validity?

The
vandal making free with her body was her legally wedded husband. She had
married him not only willingly but eagerly. The ravishment was part of his
conjugal rights. And the sweet Lord knew he would be getting little enough out
of this farcical marriage anyway.

Clenching
her eyes shut to blot out the nightmare of Freddie's love-making, Olivia
trapped her screams of outrage within her throat. Searing tears burnt holes
behind her eyelids, but she willed them not to fall. On her tongue was the
taste of salt as her teeth dug into her lips and drew blood. In her physical
capitulation, she uttered no more sounds but, slowly, she died again within
herself. The husk of her being could be used and abused but it could not be
obliterated; what could be cancelled out was her mind. Blinding herself
resolutely to the present ugliness, Olivia quietly transmigrated into the past.
Like a homing bird, her mind took wing to fly back over forbidden memory to
another world she had once inhabited. She was held in different arms, being
kissed with feather-tipped lips, in love, in tenderness and in a passion that
dazzled with its purity. Drugged with the past, she forced herself to forget
the present.

But
yes, I do love you . . .

The
fibres of her skin turned into glowing repositories of memories, golden and
guarded, unforgettable and eternal. One by one she savoured them again, turning
them over on her tongue like drops of an elixir too precious to be swallowed.
Where
are you Jai, my love, my life, my everything?
The silent echoes in her
heart
reverberated hollowly.
Why have you abandoned me to this, to this...?
There
were, of course, no answers. But then there would never be.

Floating
within her trance into a realm that was hers and hers alone, Olivia barely
noticed that Freddie's appetite was satisfied. Drained and replete, he now lay
snoring by her side dead to the world. Olivia struggled up, stumbled to the
bath-room and was heavingly sick. Then she scrubbed herself clean, changed into
a fresh night-gown and returned to the cabin overwhelmed with defeat and
abandonment. Her head swirled, her body felt sore and bruised, but sleep was
impossible. For the rest of the night she sat crouched on a stool gazing out of
a porthole. Her eyes were dry, but everything else inside her wept, mourning
for something that would now never be hers again.

Her
hand strayed unconsciously to the gentle mound of her stomach. It felt warm and
alive. A strange emotion, unfamiliar and potent, stole across her heart. She
filled with revelation, a sense of something miraculous. She was not alone
after all. She would never be alone again.

The
odium of the night washed away. She could bear it.

"Morning,
dear heart, I've brought you some hot milk. Feeling better today?"

Olivia
awoke with a start and recoiled. Freddie was leaning over her and there were
still whiffs of alcohol on his breath, but his expression was open, anxiety
writ all over his face. Eyes wide with nervous tension, Olivia merely turned
away.

Freddie
flushed, his pink skin turning even blotchier. "I know I, ah, drank rather
too much last night. Stupidly, I let the captain talk me into a, ah, few."
He laughed sheepishly. "I wasn't too, ah, rough with you last night. . .
ah, was I?" He crimsoned further and lowered his eyes.

Rough?
Slowly
Olivia sat up, took the cup he offered and started to sip with her face still
averted. "Why, don't you remember?" she asked with bitter sarcasm.

"Well,
actually, no." He grinned quite cheerfully. "Never can, you know.
Dashed waste and all that—especially on a chap's wedding night." He
frowned and looked dreadfully cross with himself.

Concealing
her astonishment but still wary, Olivia scanned
his face closely. There were no
indications of subterfuge, of shame or cunning; as always, he shone with
earnestness and a sort of inane innocence that had always been his hallmarks.
She was bewildered—could it be that he was telling the truth? But her
suspicious disbelief lingered. "You really have no recollection of . . .
last night?"

He
was instantly stricken. Grabbing her hand, he covered it with kisses.
"Then I
was
rough! Forgive me, forgive me, my beautiful, perfect,
mistreated darling—I would rather blow out my brains than hurt one single hair
of your exquisite head. I am an oaf; no, worse, a
cad.
I don't deserve
the honour you have done me by becoming my wife. I—"

"No,
you weren't rough." Quietly she cut him off. "You were most
considerate." Heat flooded Olivia's cheeks and she again turned away.

He
let go of her hand to crush her in a clumsy embrace, laying frantic kisses all
over her face. "If in my sottish stupor I did or said anything to offend
you, my sweet, I beseech pardon, I did so unknowingly." His voice
quivered. "I do love you with all my heart, Olivia, you must believe me,
you must."

She
almost retched afresh with the foul fumes of his breath but, gritting her
teeth, she somehow managed a smile. "No, you did and said nothing to
offend me. You worry unnecessarily."

His
relief was pitiable as, with reverence, he kissed her hand again. "Does it
make you unhappy when I drink?"

"Yes.
Very unhappy. It is stupid to indulge to the extent that all memory is wiped
out."

"All
right, in that case I won't." His chest filled out with manly pride.
"Not one drop from now on. It won't be easy, dash it, but if it will make
you happy, so be it."

She
didn't believe him, of course. "If that is a promise, Freddie," she
said, trying inwardly to equate this disarming, utterly simple and likeable man
with the crude, brutal animal of last night, and not succeeding, "I assure
you it is worth more than all the diamonds you could possibly give me."

"Of
course it's a promise! I'm a man of my word, dear wife, haven't I proved that
already?"

Throughout
that day Freddie remained Olivia's ardent slave. Every wish of hers became his
command, her comfort his only consideration. In an infinite number of ways he
waited on her hand and foot, talking when she wanted conversation, falling
obediently silent when she didn't. By evening Olivia was convinced that his
lapses of memory were genuine, and the realization
filled her with
sadness. Poor Freddie! Underneath that veneer of infallible good humour and
self-effacement lurked resentments. Sober, he could sublimate them, perhaps was
not even aware of them, but when loosened with drink, they erupted over his
tongue with all the viciousness so carefully suppressed under unconscious
pretences. How would he be able to survive a lifetime of this duality?

How
would she?

Stone
cold sober that night, he lay with her again but with trembling, almost
reverent awe. For Olivia it was still unmitigated torture, but, grateful for
minimal crumbs of mercy, with the force of her sheer will-power she endured his
clumsy gropings, his stuttering declarations of love and his constant pleas for
responses. Somehow she quelled her nausea, allowing only one thought to
dominate others: A bargain was a bargain. Whatever the cost it had to be paid.
Freddie had fulfilled his part of the deal; on hers she could not and would not
renege.

Olivia
hated Madras.

Only
ten degrees north of the equator, Madras—unlike Calcutta—had no winter. It was
hot and humid all year round, its atmosphere soaking up all her strength like a
carnivorous sponge. They stayed in a tidy little whitewashed bungalow belonging
to friends of the Birkhursts who were away, and like all European habitations,
this too was comfortable and well staffed. If the bamboo blinds were lowered
early enough in the morning, the stone interiors remained reasonably cool
throughout the muggy day. But forevermore, Madras for Olivia became a station
associated with disgusting sickness. Nausea now was her constant companion; she
could not keep down even the tiniest morsel of food. Sometimes she was laid low
for hours with not even the energy to curse. Had it not been for Freddie's
unfailing devotion and understanding, she felt she would have gone mad.

The
choice of Madras for a honeymoon had been dictated by a polo tournament now
being held at the local army establishment, Fort St. George. Freddie had been
looking forward to the games with tremendous enthusiasm. "Will you come to
the match this afternoon?" he inquired anxiously two days after their
arrival.

With
a shudder, Olivia clamped a handkerchief to her
mouth, waiting for the spasm to
subside. "I will not be able to sit through it, Freddie, and if I were to
be sick I would be an embarrassment to you."

"Oh."
He looked crestfallen. "How much longer does this, er, sickness
persist?" he asked, suddenly awkward.

"A
month or so, I guess." Then, because he asked so little of her and his
demands were so few, Olivia felt ashamed. "If I rest all morning, perhaps
I will feel sufficiently recovered to sit through the match. I've never seen
you play before. I think I'd like to."

If
she had given him the moon on a plate, he could not have been more ecstatic.
"Capital, capital! The chaps all want to meet you, especially their lady
mems. I say, after the game I'd like to ask them for supper and maybe a glass
of beer," he said, avoiding her eyes. "Can you manage something at
home or shall we stay on at the Fort?"

It
was such a trivial request that she did not have the heart to refuse. "Of
course I can manage something here. The servants are well enough trained. All I
have to do is give the orders."

Overjoyed,
he crushed her in an embrace. "My God, I want everyone, the whole world,
to see just how lucky I have been in my choice of a wife."