Sea Gem (16 page)

‘What can we do?’ he asked. He knew they could never get back to the status quo after this and the thought of going to bed with Nicole this evening galled him. He knew Mary was right
though. He could do nothing to hurt a wife whose only crime was to be innocent and trusting. He also had his children to consider and he loved them very much. ‘Are we trapped then?’

Mary managed to halt her tears and look into his eyes. She nodded feebly. His lips were set and his jaw jutted pugnaciously.

‘I’ll not give you up now,’ he grated.

Mary took a deep breath. ‘You’ll have to,’ she told him sadly. ‘Fate is simply against us.’

‘I’ll not have it! I can’t!’ he told her wildly.

Mary sat up and swung her legs down, retrieving her torn knickers and pushing them into her skirt’s pocket. She touched his hand, stroking his large fingers.

‘You’ll have to and so will I!’

He swore lustily, scowled and lowered his gaze. Mary studied him with sad eyes. She knew it was no good and that she must be the strong one for both of them.

‘I must go,’ she said simply.

He jerked his head up. ‘I’ll run you back. The cycle can go on the roof!’

‘No!’ she cried, panicking at the thought. ‘You mustn’t!’

‘Why not?’ he growled unreasonably. How could he simply let her pedal away from him now they had both declared themselves? He felt like keeping her in his private prison. The idea
she would go back to the house and Noyen was too much to stomach.

‘It’s time I went to Cobo and made my number,’ he grated. ‘It’s time my grandmère looked at me as a man and not some kind of bandit. It’s
time—!’

‘Victor! Don’t make it harder for me. I live there, remember?’ she said gently.

He went stiff and cold. What could she mean? ‘Noyen? Does he hurt you? Has he hit you? If so—’

Mary stifled an hysterical giggle. ‘Duret is incapable of hurting a fly because he’s nearly always on cloud nine but if you do turn up, with me, you might get him thinking straight
for once and that I
can
do without. Then there’s Tante Louise. She’s a very old lady. Don’t you dare to give her a heart attack which would only put another burden on my
back. To say nothing of my two children. Be patient, Victor. I’m sure one day Tante will come around. She always stops what she’s doing to listen to gossip about you,’ she baited
cunningly.

‘Does she?’ and he studied her, noting her large, anxious eyes and quivering lips. Did this sea witch really understand how much he loved her? Nicole had only ever had a portion of
his heart and he was honest enough to know that, after today, it would be exceedingly difficult to allow her that much. Mary was correct though. How could he hurt his twins and perhaps do something
to lose them. Dear God! Was there no way out of this trap? His commonsense gave him the obvious answer.

‘All right, I’ll not come—yet,’ he promised. ‘I have to go over to the mainland on business and possibly even make a few trips during the rest of this year. Next
year is another matter though. One day I’m coming to Cobo and I’ll insist upon meeting that stubborn, opinionated grandmère of mine, come hell or high water.’

‘Victor, thank you,’ Mary whispered, then, standing on tiptoes, kissed him gently. ‘Now I really must go. I’ll have to make some excuse like I came off the cycle because
of a stone but I must make it sound authentic. Tante Louise may be old but there is nothing at all wrong with her mind.’

‘Mary!’

‘Don’t!’ she begged. ‘We’ve had a wild, wonderful hour. Let’s treasure it,’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t do anything rash to spoil such a memory.
Please, Victor!’

He cursed then. Long and strong, with a rush of words she’d never heard before but, bowing his head and gritting his teeth, he let her go. It was the hardest decision he’d made in
his life and he asked himself how could he possibly stand life on Guernsey now? He knew he would though just because Mary was
there
.

Mary sat her desk and ignored the account books. Her eyes were riveted on the calendar and carefully she recounted. For the third time she reached the same total and a heavy
stone lodged in her stomach. It couldn’t possibly be true yet her mind told her it was. Never in her life had her period been delayed and this repeated calculation showed she was over two
weeks late.

Dear God, she told herself. She was pregnant with Victor’s child and she and Duret had not had sex for months. Her heart quailed as her mind raced seeking an escape which would be
plausible. The first frantic thought was to see Victor and tell him, then commonsense prevailed. Victor’s reaction would be only too obvious. He would insist upon a divorce. With their
current matrimonial laws, the only way this could be achieved would be with an open admission of their joint adultery.

She shivered slightly. It was not simply the open scandal which would be the end product of Victor’s action but the knowledge she might well lose her children. Duret would have every right
to fight for sole custody and, she told herself grimly, Tante would aid and abet him in this.

Tante’s scorn would be too awful for words. Her contempt for Victor would descend upon Mary’s shoulders. She could well be thrown out of the Noyen home and, despite Victor’s
grandiose schemes, both of them would end up in an awful mess. Certainly Victor’s reputation as an upstanding hotelier would crash abysmally to start with. Nicole would, no doubt, obtain
custody of the twins and Victor doted on his children. It was even possible they might be hounded from the island which did have strait-laced views at times.

No, she told herself firmly. Victor could not be told. Indeed it would be imprudent for him even to know. Whether he might suspect at some time in the future was a hurdle she would have to leap
then.

Her mind switched to her husband. There was only one sensible escape route from her predicament but the idea revolted her. It was not simply the fact she was indifferent to Duret or was
contemptuous but the idea of allowing him to make love to her stuck in her throat. There was also the additional problem of their relationship.

For weeks now the coolness between them had escalated to the point where they exchanged few words and these were but the necessary domestic ones to retain marital harmony for the
children’s sake. It had been at the back of Mary’s mind to talk to Raoul and ascertain just how much work Duret did in the glasshouses. She could not do this now. If Duret got the idea
in his head that his wife was spying on him, he would become more difficult.

Yet she must bridge the gap somehow. Was their estrangement her fault? Was it her personality which had changed her liking for Duret to indifference? She swallowed uneasily. She had to do
something. Duret must make love to her but, once started did that mean his sexual floodgates would be unleashed? How could she cope—after Victor?

Mary took a deep breath and admonished herself sternly. She must find again her old liking for Duret. At least, she told herself, it would only be for two months. Once she could tell Duret she
was pregnant, he would act the gentleman and move into the spare room as he had for her previous pregnancies. Even then, the baby’s birth would have to be premature to fool Tante.

She sat back in her chair, lips tight, and weighed up the pros and cons of her situation. It was always the female who paid the price yet warmth flooded her heart as she remembered. How
wonderful and glorious it had been.

Mary allowed herself a day-dream of life with Victor, wallowing in a heavy dose of self-pity. She sniffed as she felt tears hovering but, with a great sigh, regained self-control. All her
energies had to be focused upon Duret and, biting her lip, she weighed up this need.

There were many evenings when Duret was out. She had no idea where he went or with whom. She considered another woman and rejected this idea out of hand. Gossip of that nature would have reached
Tante by now. Anyway, Mary had a shrewd idea that Duret was not highly sexed. It had occurred to her that his medicine might have something to do with this so her seduction was going to be
difficult.

How to go about this without arousing Duret’s suspicions? Although she had been truthful when she told Tante she thought her husband was, perhaps, mentally unsound, that did not mean Duret
was an absolute idiot. A fool could not write poetry, she reminded herself.

She puzzled and pondered the problem, attacking it from all angles. A tiny idea surfaced. She seized it, examined it from top to bottom, then gave a shrug. It was not brilliant but the best she
could come up with at such short notice.

Immediately she stood, left the room and went upstairs to her dresser. Inside the left-hand drawer was the poetry Duret had written to her from France. It was providential she had kept this. Now
she withdrew the work, written on lined notebook paper and examined it. It did not rhyme; neither did it make sense but it had to mean something to her husband.

Without pausing, she lifted down an old, small photograph, quickly unfastened it and removed the sepia picture. It was one taken years ago of the rocks at Cobo which Tante had given her. In
place of this she inserted Duret’s dreadful poem, fastened the back then re-hung the whole on the wall at her side of their double bed. She shook her head. It all looked rather pathetic but
what else could possibly grab Duret’s attention for her; enough to make him sexually aroused?

She went about her work, played with the children and watched them carefully in the bath. Margaret was a jolly child when she was not having a temper tantrum. William, although only a toddler,
was totally different. He was phlegmatic in his response to his sibling’s antics. It was as if he surveyed Margaret from a lofty distance and Mary felt herself chill. William did not act like
a normal child. There were no tantrums from him. When he did not get his own way he relapsed into silence or turned his back and ignored Margaret. Sometimes Mary wondered uneasily what might happen
when William became bigger. Already she had the ridiculous feeling he was unreachable, no matter how much she talked to him or tried to play with him.

That evening, Duret was absent for their supper so with a heavy heart Mary went to their bedroom. She wore the prettiest nightgown she owned and waited Duret’s return with considerable
trepidation.

It was eleven before she heard his heavy tread up the stairs and her heart started to thunder. She hastily sat up in bed and half turned as Duret opened the door. There was a smile fixed on her
face as he paused to look at her with surprise.

The last thing Duret had expected was his wife still awake and obviously waiting for him. Marriage had turned into an enigma for Duret. What exactly he had expected matrimony to bring he had not
been sure. For the first year of their wedding, he had adored Mary with blind love and could see no wrong in her. Then Margaret had arrived upon the scene and Duret had felt himself pushed sideways
for a time.

He did not resent this because he understood a baby must come first and he had been content to observe from a discreet distance. He liked the glasshouse work and got on well with Raoul but there
were many days when he felt lonely. His interest in poetry was unshared by anyone except a small handful of like-minded young men. Even then, mixing with them had initially been hard work because
Duret was very shy.

Many nights he wanted to turn to his wife and make love to her but he found difficulties. First she was nursing the baby and it was not done, so Mary had told him. Then there were the times of
her periods. Other nights she had headaches from working so hard so, when he had managed to catch her unaware in their bed, he had been grateful to make love quickly in case he inconvenienced his
wife.

No one had been more astonished than himself when William had arrived upon the scene. A son was very nice, indeed quite delightful, and Tante had been pleased with her grandson’s efforts
he thought. His wife was another matter. She was always so frantically busy which would have puzzled a man less ingenuous than Duret. That his wife made excuses to avoid contact in their bed never
entered his head which, anyhow, was always filled with other matters. Duret had found himself new friends—young men, rougher than Tante would have approved, but fellows who looked up to him.
They praised his poetry and asked his opinions.

He had enough sense to realise these men were not the kind to be welcomed by Grandmère but, suddenly, this was of little concern. He was a man and what he did in his spare time and where
he went was his affair. What made the situation worse was the knowledge his wife had changed. It was as if she copied Grandmère whose awesome character could still make Duret quake in his
boots.

Mary had become strong-minded, argumentative and bossy. Duret was well aware he was no match for her. He was far too pliant to stand up to a dogmatic Mary who would always be backed by a harder
grandmère. So home became the place where he slept, had some of his meals, kept his possessions and that was all. He would chuck the children under their chins, talk some prattle to them but
leave them to the women because females abounded in his home. Mary, Grandmère on her visits, Emily and Gwen. His sole masculine companionship at home was with Raoul who was far too devoted
to growing tomatoes and grapes for Duret’s taste. His real escape was with his new friends in the evenings and gradually his need for sex declined.

Mary took a deep breath. She
must
feel something for Duret or was she about to commence Act I of her play? ‘Duret!’ she cried. ‘Doesn’t it look nice?’

He entered the room, quietly shut the door and peered to where she pointed. His eyes opened wide with surprise. He eyed the framed poem then glanced at his wife as his heart swelled suddenly.
His nostrils caught the aroma of some flowery perfume and he noted her pretty nightgown. Then he looked back at the poem which he remembered writing from the horrific trenches. He had considered it
one of his best efforts.

‘You framed it!’ he marvelled softly.

‘Yes!’ Mary said in a soft voice. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I’m so proud of it and—’ She let a second lie lay.