Snow Angels (28 page)

This was just momentary, he knew. She was going to hate him afterwards when the magic had died with the firelight. He was not entitled to her, was taking something he was not meant to have. But she had wanted him and there had been so many nights spent alone. When he hesitated because he knew how wrong this was, he had given her a way out she had told him that she loved him. Gil knew that it was nearly always men who did that. Was she doing it for what she wanted? So he gave her what she wanted and part of him felt so calm, so cool, so detached,
whereas the other part of him wanted her so much that he couldn’t see beyond it. That part took over until only a vague sorrow and awareness remained and he could not have identified it. He took her past reason, past thought, past the kind of control where she had put her teeth into her lip until she cried out. Helen had taught him a lot about pleasure, about the things that women wanted men to do to them. Somewhere beyond him he had an impression of white curtains fluttering in the breeze. Then they stilled and the Newcastle night threw snow at the window. He didn’t care that somebody might hear her cries, or that the tears spilled or what might happen afterwards, just that she would remember, that it would matter, that nothing would ever be the same again.

*

The fire had darkened in the grate and the lamp was low. The draught under the door made Abby shiver. It was worse than she had feared. There was no easy escape. They were not in bed, so she could not turn away and bury herself in the bedclothes. She was naked on a rug with a man who was not her husband in the room where, as a little girl, she would sit on her mother’s knee and learn the clock. Somewhere above them her father slept. The room was full of shadows. Abby was glad of that. At least she could not see herself or him very well. He began to dress. She watched his beautiful, lean body disappearing behind his clothes, ordinary working clothes. She did not understand why he had such an effect on her except that he was so good-looking. He was nobody.

He glanced at her from dark secret eyes and said lightly, ‘Regretting it already?’

‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I’m staying with friends.’

He didn’t argue. Robert would have put up a fight, tried to get her to go to bed with him so that he could have her again, so that they could sleep together. There was no question, either, of her walking there by herself. She put on her coat and he found
his in the hall and they stepped out into the street together. It wasn’t the kind of weather for talking, but even if it had been a summer’s night she thought the only sound would have been their footsteps. She directed him briefly as they went and when she reached the front door, he wished her a brief goodnight and left her there.

It was as though nothing had happened. Abby went inside by the fire and sat for a while with her friends, talking about small matters. Then she went to bed. She couldn’t believe what she had done. Men did that to high-class whores, walked in, spoke of love, had them and then left, without any kind of affection or relationship. They paid, too. Short of offering Gil money, she had done all that. She couldn’t sleep. She watched the long night finally fade into morning and then she went back to the country.

*

It felt so normal there so that she was easily able to convince herself that nothing had happened. She tried to put Gil from her mind, to excuse what she had done, but she couldn’t. She stayed at home, glad of the safety, able to play hostess to their friends and go to various social events. Everything was bearable until the evening almost a fortnight later when Robert wandered into her bedroom rather drunk. It was late and she was almost asleep. Without any ceremony at all he got into her bed and tried to take hold of her and Abby refused for the first time.

‘Whatever is wrong with you?’ Robert demanded.

‘You’ve had too much to drink.’

‘If I’d had too much to drink, I wouldn’t be able to do this,’ he pointed out.

‘You’re not going to do it.’

‘Goddamn it, you’re my wife.’

‘No!’

Abby punched him in the eye and he laughed, but it wasn’t funny. She did not want Robert to touch her; she felt as though it would wipe out the existence of the lovemaking between Gil
and herself. Abby knew that Robert was entitled to her body, that there was no reason he would see that she should refuse him and that he would not expect it, since she had not refused before. He didn’t mean to hurt her, but he insisted on having her so she gave in and let him, after which he said he couldn’t think what all the fuss was about. For several days afterwards, as his eye went dark red and yellow with bruising, he bragged that Abby had acted like a prize fighter.

He staggered off to his own room to sleep and didn’t appear until noon the next day, when Abby was having lunch with friends. By the time she came back, people had arrived for dinner. To her surprise he drank nothing and when she went to bed he followed her there, putting up both hands in surrender.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve wanted to say it all day. I do most sincerely apologise. I was drunk and you were quite right and if I’ve hurt you—’

Abby began to remember why she had married him.

‘I’m not hurt,’ she said, but somehow she was now much more so than before. She was hurt for him because she should not have gone to Gil, wished she had not, was glad that she had left him. It did seem, though, as the days went by that Robert was drinking more than ever and there were other nights when he came to her room. She didn’t refuse him again, no matter how drunk he was.

Sometimes he stayed out all night and one morning that spring he came home as Abby was breakfasting. He looked tired, unshaven, defeated. He sat down near her in the dining-room and refused everything but coffee. When the maid went, he got up and walked to the window. It was a cold rainy March day and the daffodils in the garden had been knocked over by the weather as they were every year, Abby thought.

‘I have a confession to make,’ Robert said.

‘What’s that?’ Abby thought it must be a woman or some social thing he had agreed to while drunk, so when he said calmly, ‘I’ve lost the London house,’ she was astonished.

She looked up from her toast and marmalade and coffee.

‘Lost it? How can you have lost it?’

‘At play.’

‘You gambled away our house?’

‘I had to, Abby. I had to do something. My losses were huge. It was either that or blow my brains out. Perhaps you’d have preferred that?’

‘It would still have been a debt of honour, so that wouldn’t have helped,’ Abby said dryly.

‘You know these things so well.’

‘How could you have lost so much?’

He turned away from the window, came back to the table and sat down with a sigh.

‘I wasn’t going to get involved but I keep promising myself that I won’t drink and when I don’t drink I have to do something, you must see that. When I’m drunk I’m disgusting to you. It’s not a road I want to go down. After all, I have no son to leave it to. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I don’t mean to reproach you. It’s my own fault.’

He talked and talked; he paced up and down; he became more and more upset all morning. He began drinking when they had lunch, ‘just a glass of wine’, a bottle and then another. After two glasses of brandy he fell asleep on the sofa in front of the fire. By teatime he was awake and they had tea and cake and then a carriage arrived. It was late in the day for anyone to come to the house uninvited so Abby’s heart beat hard and she was right. It was Kate with a note from Gil. Henderson had collapsed at work.

Robert offered to go with her, but he had no enthusiasm and was still recovering from his lunchtime drinking. Abby had imagined it would be difficult to go back to the house in Jesmond, but she didn’t give that a thought now. Her concern was all for her father. She ran into the house, stopped short as Gil came into the hall.

‘Where is he?’

‘Upstairs.’ He caught her arm as she would have gone. ‘Easy, easy. Come into the sitting-room a minute.’

‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’

‘No. He’s asleep. Have some tea.’

‘I don’t want some bloody tea!’ She twisted away from him, though it wasn’t necessary, he wasn’t holding her.

‘The doctor says he should make a complete recovery but he won’t be able to go back to work for some time.’

‘Who cares anything about that? I’ve begged him to stop.’

‘It’s his heart,’ Gil said. ‘He loves his work, you know that.’

‘If it hadn’t been for you he would have been content with the way things were. He’s too old for all these ambitious schemes. He would probably have given it up long since.’

‘That’s not true. His work is all he has.’

‘He has me and you and Matthew.’

‘People aren’t enough. All he’s really had since your mother died is his work. He isn’t the kind of man who does other things. He’s even bored on Sundays.’

‘He hasn’t been well for a long time, it’s just that you haven’t told me,’ Abby guessed.

*

Gil had not been surprised when Henderson was taken ill. He had seen it coming and for a number of days had suggested to Henderson that he should stay at home, but Henderson wouldn’t. He was too involved in what was happening and Gil understood because he had felt the same way when the first express liner was being built. It was wonderful to watch it take shape and to be involved in all the different processes as they went along. He knew that Henderson had had the same ambition as his father, he had just not put it into practice for lack of help and support. He had that now and was enjoying himself, but he was also ill and the illness made him frustrated. He would not stay at home no matter how he felt. Gil didn’t feel quite the same about the second ship. It was not lack of novelty, it was what had
happened since. He didn’t trust anything any more and he was proved right when one of the men ran into his office to tell him that Henderson had collapsed. Finding the older man on the floor made Gil’s own heart misgive. He knew then that it would only be a short time before he did not have Henderson either to work with or to go home with. He couldn’t imagine what that would be like. He didn’t want to. He sent for the doctor and sent a note to Abby. When the doctor said Henderson could go home, he took him.

He and Abby hadn’t met since the night they had made love on the rug in the little office, but he could tell when he saw her that that had gone completely from her mind. All she wanted was for her father to be better and they both knew that wasn’t going to happen. She stayed the night, sitting up in her father’s room while Henderson slept. Gil wished he could reassure her, but the words would mean nothing so he didn’t say them. He looked after Matthew, read him a story, went up to make sure that Abby was all right, put Matthew to bed and then did some work. It was only when Abby came downstairs late that he could tell she remembered what had happened between them, because she came into the office to see him.

‘He’s sleeping peacefully now,’ she said to fill the silence.

‘You’re not going to stay up all night with him, are you?’

‘I think I might. If he takes another bad turn I want to be there. You go to bed.’ Gil began to protest but she said, ‘I’d rather you did.’ So he went.

He didn’t sleep. Having lost so many people whom he loved in so many different ways, Gil didn’t think he could stand Henderson’s death. He went through it again and again to try and arm himself for if it should happen, when it would happen, although he knew that you couldn’t prepare yourself for something like that. The idea of being completely alone with nobody but a child for company was impossible to face, so it was not just for Henderson’s sake that he was upset, it was for himself. Henderson had done so much for him, much more, he knew,
than he deserved. He was aware that Henderson would not live to see the big liner built and it seemed cruel that he would not achieve his ambition. William had done that, though it must have been a sour victory when the
Northumbria
left Tyneside and he was not there to see it. He wondered how his father had felt, why there was no pure pleasure, no undamaged triumph.

In the darkest hour of the night he left his bed and went through into Henderson’s room. Abby had fallen asleep in the chair but her father was breathing freely and easily and the rest would do him good, Gil thought. He went back to bed for fear of disturbing her. He was glad when daylight came and he could go to work and leave Abby in charge. She stayed almost a week and during that time they did not have a private conversation. Gil stayed at work as much as he could. She sat upstairs with her father in the evenings. At the end of the week she went home and Henderson was strong enough to tell Gil that he was glad she had gone.

‘She fusses over me.’

‘She worries about you.’

‘She can worry about me from the country.’

He stayed at home for the first two days of the following week, but insisted on going in for an hour or two on the days after that, even though Gil tried to dissuade him. He had dragged from Gil every detail of every happening and even when Gil came home in the evenings he questioned him closely, as though he couldn’t know enough about what was going on in his shipyards. Gil was happy to tell him as long as Henderson didn’t want to go back full time. It was difficult for Gil to manage both shipyards, but when he suggested putting a manager in at the smaller yard Henderson lost his temper and called him names. Gil knew it wasn’t good for him to be upset, so he went away to the little office and worked. An hour later Henderson put an apologetic face around the door.

‘All right, all right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted and cursed like that. Yes, we’ll have a manager and yes, I’m a silly old
fool. Being old means having to give things up and I’m not ready to do that yet.’

‘I wasn’t asking you to give anything up—’

‘Yes, you were. You and Abby both think I shouldn’t be there. I want to see that ship finished.’

‘The big yard needs all the help it can get. It needs both of us.’

‘It’s a good thing you didn’t go into the diplomatic service, you’re totally transparent,’ Henderson said. He came into the room and closed the door. ‘I’ve got something to say to you, something I should have said before. It’s serious and you aren’t going to like it.’ Henderson looked down at his feet and then straight into Gil’s eyes. ‘You’re very like your father. I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s true and until you got here he was the most successful man on the river. Now he isn’t because you’ve taken it away from him. People can’t help their nature. You have one advantage over him: you’re cleverer than he is and it’s good for us because we are using that for our gain.